12/10/2025
๐๐๐๐๐๐ | ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐๐๐ฏ๐๐ซ ๐๐๐ง๐ญ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ
I awoke from a strange dreamโone that felt too real to fade. Suddenly, I was back in those old corners of the classroom where I had spent so many days. The whiteboard still bore the faded marks of the ink that never quite disappeared. Sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting a golden glow on the desk. In the corner, someone called out, โMaโam, one-fourth po?โ and laughter filled the room, just as it always had.
And as I looked around the students laughing, my eyes fell on something I had never really noticed beforeโthe lamp in the corner. But this time, it looked different.
I stood up from my chair and walked closer to the lamp. Its gentle flame flickered, softly brightening the room to guide the many students who had once come through that door and sat on those chairs. It had always been there, giving light without asking for anything in return. It witnessed all the hurried footsteps before the bell, trembling voices during recitations, late papers, laughter poorly suppressed, and quiet tears shed. Through both the good and the hard times, it kept burning, illuminating everything around it.
The air felt stillโas if the world had paused inside the dream. I was in awe, staring at it when I felt a gentle hand on my back and heard a familiar voice, โKamusta ka na? (How are you?)โ. The warmth of that voice and the glow of the lamp seemed to blend together, until I understood what the dream was trying to tell me.
The lamp is never just a lamp. It is those real heroes who may not wear capes but always have a spare whiteboard marker in their pockets when the one in their hand runs out of ink.
They are the ones who stand before usโexplaining, guiding, correcting. Those who repeat lessons for the tenth time, knowing someone still needs to hear them. The ones who stay after the day is gone and the sun has set, preparing for tomorrow while loved ones wait at home. What may look ordinary from the outside is, in truth, extraordinary. Because what they give keeps burning long after the bell rings.
And perhaps you never realized how far your light has reached.
In that moment, it felt as though the dream was no longer mine aloneโbut a way to thank the teachers who have guided us all this time. Because this light, this flame, has always been yours. There are students braver today, voices steadier, and hearts more certainโall because you believed in us when we doubted ourselves. Some people will never walk into darkness the same way again because you lit something in them they never knew could exist. There are futures unfolding differently, all because you keep burning, even on the days it costs you.
That is the wonder of light. It never asks for recognition, yet it leaves the world transformed and enlightened. Even when the classroom empties and years pass, the flame endures not in the wick, but in the hearts it has rekindledโit lives on in every mind it once illuminated.
To our teachers, our second parents, our patient guides, and our beacons of wisdom, your light walks with us in every step. We remember your grace in second chances, your kindness when you saw our tiredness, and your faith in us before we could believe in ourselves.
When I finally opened my eyes, the classroom was goneโbut the warmth of the lamp remained. And years from now, we will still carry that light in the quietest of momentsโwhen we face uncertainty, when we hesitate to speak, when we search for the right path. It will be there, steady as ever, reminding us that someone once believed we could find our way. The lamp does not fade; it simply changes places, moving from the corner of a classroom into the corners of our lives.
๐๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ฆ๐ญ๐ค๐ฆ๐บ ๐๐ข๐ด๐ฑ๐ฆ
๐๐ณ๐ต ๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ฆ๐บ๐ด๐ฉ๐ข ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ
