She will be missed. Certainly.
Damé (read "dam" with a goat's mee) left us almost 5 years ago. But she is missed and will always be. She was a charming stocky woman of humble height and complexion as brown as her garden soil. Her legs would arc like bows pressured against the ground. She had that noticeably black thick hair that would unfurl into a wavy length reaching her shoulders. She had finely-drawn pencil brows above her dark deep eyes that would give you an inch of fear in a single look. And who would ever forget her faved fashion - stripes and tucked in just above the belly? Damé wasn't really a charming woman, but she was my fifth grade teacher.
But this is not how I remembered my "maestra". There were much more to those thick dark lips.
There is more to those casual pinches she gave us. There is much more intimacy in what my "maestra" taught me than any other teacher I have ever had. Frankly, it wasn't the high grades either. She taught me how to be a better person - but never better than how she was.
The elementary years shouldn't be this reminiscing. I loved the sunshine as everyday our "maestra" would distribute the hoes and water containers and shovels to everyone and in her usual mumblings, "Get out of the room and into the garden!" We'd rush to it and side by side tackle the morning tending our Group gardens. You see, Damé loves to plant peanuts and tomatoes and eggplants. She would roam around pinching at every child she sees doing less. I wasn't the teacher's pet but I would always find my "maestra" standing beside me murmuring things sometimes I couldn't understand and sometimes I just don't wanna listen. I might be her favorite receiver as she broadcasts her witty remarks that would cover from Politics to Celebrities. I'd listen, or perhaps, I was just forced to listen.
One morning, she had us to another routine gardening. We were planning to plant peanuts that time and the garden is being prepared. It was like holiday that day and only a handful of us were present. I was over-eager that time as I loved peanuts. With my hands I scooped a handful of half-moist soil and sprinkle it back gently silting out dry roots with my fingers. Damé gave a frown as she looked at me with soil in hands. "That isn't done like that. You see, plants are like people, they wouldn't want spurs in their mouth." Then as if like a master of her own craft, she gently scooped a good amount of soil and using her fat fingers, gently silted the sand. As if good pupils, we found ourselves mesmerized by her skills and we soon found ourselves listening and watching each of her words. You see, it was special that day. We were few and our "maestra" is giving us the best times of our lives. Certainly, she wasn't a terror after all. She was famous for being one. Maybe it was just that because she was holding 40 students and it's more than what she can deal with? I had more questions afterwards.
She was teaching Filipino language to us. In fact, she was supposed to teach nationalism but she always ends up teaching more to character. I hate sermons so do everyone. When she's busy on the board writing, we would make fun of her. But she had a keen sense and she'll get down to her favorite pinchbag Arnold. "Ouch!", Arnold would say with one eye winked and tongue out. Damé wasn't very sensitive anyway. It was 1986 that time and the EDSA revolution was on the radio. We live far from Manila so we never mind about it. But our "maestra" was better than our other teachers, she said,"How about 10 points for telling us about EDSA?" She's giving it all away so I gladly raised my hand to volunteer. "Ma'am, Cory and Ramos are now hiding at Kamprame!" Of course I just overheard it from a radio on my way to school that afternoon. 5 years later I would know it to be "Camp Crame". But Damé did not say anything. She might have thought that those things never interest us. Or maybe she thought that that was enough to interest us? She was right twice.
The elementary was over and soon I found myself going back to her. But this is different. She already retired from teaching and I was a budding Education student. She was not my inspiration. I was sent to her house to help on cleaning things up. Being a faithful student, I helped her tidy things up. Sorting our her cabinet, I discovered that my old "maestra" had skeletons in her closet. Not really. She had the most complete Comic collection ranging from the time when comic books were published in only three colors. She had American Comics (novels only, no Capt.America) and Filipino Comics. I was a comic collector and so I was greatly impressed. Would you gladly give me some? "You can borrow them but you have to return everything." she answered. Smiles were drawn on my face. I love the wretched hag! After leaving with a carton full of reading goodies, she called out, "Can you let me borrow that Spanish dictionary of yours?" "Certainly ma'am," as I realized I was holding that dictionary which is a Christmas gift from a friend. "Why? What will you do with it?" I asked earnestly. "Sometimes, I have to review my past." she replied with a charm in her smile.
Five years later, I had to go to the Funeral Parlor. She died of colon cancer. The terror "maestra" left in her 70's. But she will be missed. Questions in my mind came like balloons popping as I finally realize what things I much have missed from her. What did she really taught us? Oh yes, peanuts don't like soft soil, ants would eat their way to the peanuts' seeds. People don't like soft words, they eat your heart out blindingly. Comic books tell stories, keep them faithfully. Sometimes people have secrets worth keeping and better left untold. There are still more to the woman I should have learned.
Looking into my life, I find myself walking into steps she had made before me. I was merely fitting my soles into these hollow engraves on the sands of time. I am now a "maestro" and I don't know if I bring terror into the eyes of my pupils. I can't say if my pupils listen to what I speak and mumble about. I can't tell if I was inspiring them something. These I don't know. But do they know about my valued comic collections in my closet? Do they know about my hidden interests in fish hobbying and blogging? Do they know that I was proficient in Spanish once? Certainly not.
Ma'am Damé, now I know how it was. Certainly you will be missed.
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