Dear Teacher,

You lived doors away when I was in Kindergarten. Everyday, as I came home from school, I would pass by your house – unable to stop myself from surveying you and this group of students you always seemed to be talking to. All afternoon, you guys would just sit there, huddled up, engrossed in what seemed like a stack of paper I would later identify as ‘books'.

One day, on my usual after-school routine of observing (I can't remember how or where exactly I got the guts), I finally approached you. That right there, was one of the moments I was actually proud of myself for braving up. That right there, would probably be one of the things kids have that many adults would die for – effortless confidence (plus maybe the inability to contain curiosity). I asked what you were doing, and even had the audacity to inquire if I could join you. You welcomed me with open arms because you were one of those people who simply couldn't say no to a little kid. You were kind like that, and I was and always will be thankful.

In the following days and weeks, I found myself excited as I was dismissed from school, knowing that I had you and a new set of friends waiting for me when I got home. The little group we had formed was my “second school,” I remember thinking. You would read stories and do homework together, and I happily chimed in. I was aware that the other kids weren't my age, they were taller, pretty much experts in reading, and had more confusing homework than I had (you should have seen my face when you guys did Math problems). It's funny recalling how I was exposed to Algebra at such an age; I remember wondering why there we're letters involved, when to the innocent child that I was, Math was always just numbers (how I wish it stayed that way). Even then, I knew I wasn’t the biggest fan of Mathematics. Still, the amazement was there, and I remained quite pleased as you went through your lessons, disregarding my then bare knowledge of simple operations. I always felt that I belonged, nonetheless. My favorite time was always reading time, where you and the students would take turns in reciting parts of the stories out loud. I was only 5 or 6 years old then, and I couldn't read, yet there was just this feeling of comfort, listening to you and looking at the pages with countless bundles of letters I was yet to be introduced to. Somehow it excited me – staring at the stuff I couldn’t read, staring at the unknown.

After about a few weeks in, my mom began to wonder why it was taking a while for me to get home from school. Yes, due to my excitement, I often rushed to my “second school” right after class, with my uniform still on, trolley bag behind me, forgetting to go home and ask permission. Eventually, my mother found out about my little secret, of course, and ended up enrolling me to what was actually an official tutoring class you let me join without hesitation. I was overjoyed. From then on, I was able to relish going to your class free from guilt and interrogation when I went home late. More so, it was then that I graduated from just listening to the stories to actually starting to read them on my own – one word at a time. Slowly, I began to pronounce and spell words I had only previously heard from people's mouths. It's a magical time, the moment one transitions from being a listener to an actual reader; it's as if you are introduced to a whole new world – a world of feeling and expression, a world of words. Cheesy, I know.

I will never forget one of the first words you taught me – the article, “the”. It's one of the most basic words in the English language, one that is necessarily used and spoken ever so often, it's hard to speak and write without it. It may have been much of an ordinary word for any reader, but to the little kid that I was, it was just as much extraordinary. I remember thinking how bad ass I was when I learned that word; I proudly pointed it out and read it out loud whenever I saw it written on the streets and especially when the teacher wrote it on our blackboard in school. My classmates must have been annoyed. Still, I can't help but smile as I now realize it was the joy of learning that single word that fueled my passion for reading. It was through your kindness, patience, and efforts that the world now has one more person who will never stop reading. Because (no matter how cliché this is) indeed, he who reads will never stop learning. And, the most intelligent of all people are exactly those who refuse to do so.

To you, my dear teacher, I am eternally grateful. One of my deepest regrets will always be that I wasn't able to say that directly, personally. Know that I will never be the person I am today if it weren't for your diligence and faith in me. I pray for your wellness wherever you may be right now.

Blessed to have been a pupil of yours, even for the shortest time.

Sincerely,

Your Student Who Will Never Stop Reading