The love this instructor has for his students, reciprocated by his students, this is a good sort of a teacher-students relation…translated…
My husband, Rui-Ze looked at my purse, told, "so broken, get a new one?", he'd looked at me questioningly, couldn't understand, how his wife, who had never been, frugal, would keep using a broke down purse.
"How can I? It's given to me by my teacher, and she'd brought it back from the U.S., I can't, throw it, out!", I couldn't, just toss this gift from my former teacher who is in her elderly years, who'd brought it back from the U.S. to give to me.
I was the very first set of middle school students, since the village had a new middle school, there was, a group of newly graduated college students who became teachers. The instructors went from the cities to the countryside to work, they'd established a good rapport with us, a group of down-to-earth, students from the countryside.
During the weekends, we took our instructors to visit where we grew up—the Taroko Scenic Area, along with the secret spot where only local kids like us would know about; riding our bicycles together, we'd gone picnicking all over the local areas. On the weekends, the teachers took off their strict covers that they wore during the workweek, became very close to us, like they're, our, older sisters and older brothers.
After we graduated, the teachers and students parted, and we got on our, own, ways.in a foreign place, how do we define ourselves? That tiny spot where they'd stayed to work temporarily, how much of that would be, kept in the, memories?
More than fifty years later, our instructor moved back to Taiwan, from western United States, to find back his youthful days. Revisiting his old stomping grounds, to, relive his youthful dreams of old. And, us, the group of young girls, are all on his, "to-visit" list.
He was really kind, every year, he'd given us individual gifts. After we'd gathered for the meals, he'd, taken the presents out, squinted his eyes, and, with great difficulty, read out the names he'd already, prewritten on the gifts.
"Chiu-Yun, this is yours, Ming-Ju, here's yours………"
We were in smiles like we once were as adolescent girls, called our "here" in loud voices, bending our backs, bowed, with two hands, we'd, carried the presents he'd handed to us, in joy. In the celebratory mood, I'd always, felt the warmth, imagining how he would, select out the presents he was, handing to us.
In the pandemic, he'd still gone through the quarantine phase, still met up with us, still brought along the presents just the same. We'd all, forgotten how many years had passed, how the times moved forward in that river. The world may have forgotten, but we're, still, all, young.
Talking about my teacher's presents, we're all grateful, my former classmates in their late sixties, approaching seventy stated, "Teacher cherishing us!", that light adjective, spoken of the long way he'd, traveled on life. The wonders of this life, the connections which are, everlasting.
And so, this is the connections the students have toward and with their instructors, because they are a tightknit class, and everybody still stayed connected during their lives apart, and, they'd all felt grateful for how kind this school instructor of theirs had been, and now, as they are, older, they'd still, shown him the gratitude, for his kindness in treating them.
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