Hang on, Brave Teacher – MG

In a quiet classroom when shadows creep,

The long corridor you’ve always clean,

There are stories to tell,

Each lesson of sweat, each stayed up late,

Each every teaching with a smile;

Each frustration on a cue,

The happiness you spent with kids,

And sometimes arguments on its finest,

The ignores of the colleagues,

And most of the times the isolations from the leaders,

All these speaks the truth, you’re a fighter!

With every stumble, with every fall,

You rise again, you stand up tall.

The world may turn a blind eye now,

But the stars still shine, and they know how

You guide the weary, the lost, the naive,

You shore up the dreamers to crave;

And that’s your win!

So hold on tight, don’t lose your way,

The dawn will break it’s just a test,

Your hard work whispers, “I’m not in vain,”

Each effort counts, through joy and pain.

In the tapestry of time, your thread will gleam,

For every tear that’s graced your cheek,

Is a step toward the future you seek,

So lift your chin, let courage swell,

In the depths of struggle, you’ll find your spell.

For someday soon, they will see,

The brilliance that lies in the heart soul.

Keep faith alive, let hope ignite,

For you are teacher a BRAVE teacher.

With every heartbeat, with every breath,

You’re crafting a legacy that conquers death.

So hold on, brave teacher, the journey’s not done,

Your story is waiting, your victory’s begun.

In the tapestry of life, you’ll find your place,

A shining beacon of strength and grace.

Remember your soul the seeds you sow

You will reap someday.

 

The Untold Story (once upon with bullies) - MGS

Janna Willies, a 15-year-old high school girl, is the silent type; she speaks less than anyone knows. On my way to school gate, I spot her out of the corner of my eye. She is bending her head, busy bagging her old belongings. I notice that she has lost her slim figure, but I can still recognize her. Her nails are unpainted, and her hands are covered with old gloves. She went to the same middle school as my brother, Billy.

As I remember the days in high school school, I recall that she was the dazzling, sweetest girl who immediately attracted the attention of all the high school boys. She was a head taller than me, her black hair shining with vitality. She was the top student in her class, Class A. She owned a pink satchel bag, which meant more than owning an iPhone nowadays. She often polished her nails in bright colors that matched her stylish, well-tailored clothes.

I was in freshman when I first saw her with my brother Billy in the gym. We never formally introduced ourselves, but we always saw each other at the gym, where mostly Saint Andrews students played volleyball. She barely smiled or talked to me. In fact, during the first year, she hardly looked at me. I was quite loud but never raised my voice to anybody in school. She was a loner, and staying alone while reading novels was her happiness—something most kids didn’t care about.

One day, after spring turned to summer, she reached out her hand square and masculine and said, “Let’s be friends.” I rolled my eyes as my heart raced, nervous yet happy; my mind went blank, and I thought of running away from her. My classmates started giggling, some of the girls shouted, the boys clapped their hands, and they all began teasing me, which made me feel awkward. After a brief hesitation, I replied, “Sure,” stretching my hand out to touch hers. I wasn’t sure what that "friendship" would be like, but I knew that being her friend meant being part of her life as a "friend" a "close friend"?

After school, they asked me if I could come to the high school gym. I was invited to join them in their favorite game volleyball. I had no clue how to play volleyball; in fact, I had never tried it even once. They begged me to join, and it didn’t matter if I could play or not because they were willing to train me. After one game, we went to the school backyard. It was a desolate clearing coated with chaotic weeds, hidden behind the grove that faced the boys' restroom. The moist air was suffused with the pungent smell of wet grass mixed with the odor from the restroom. We slightly bent our knees to start the "poker game" when five girls, including her, stood in front of me. She was behind a tiny girl named Lily. Janna had already changed into her sports outfit red shorts and a yellow T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In front of Lily was a big mesh bag filled with volleyballs.

Janna took my hands, grabbed a ball from the bag, and asked me, “Are you ready to be hit by the ball?” They all started to laugh, while other girls cheered, yelled, and tapped their shoes on the ground. A sense of foreboding washed over me. Before I was ready (if I even knew how to get ready), she tossed the ball toward me, hitting my shoulder. All the other girls grabbed balls, imitating her, and I became their target. As I stood frozen, the balls hit me from different directions. I fantasized about hitting some back like a pro on an Olympic team, but I was paralyzed with fear. I simply couldn’t do it. Each hit hurt terribly; their piercing laughter intensified the pain. I fell several times and could hardly stand when they finally ended the “training.”

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Janna glanced at me, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Her sarcastic smile pained me, and the other girls laughed even louder. The triumphant group strode away, leaving me crying quietly and wiping the dirt from my shirt and pants. It took me longer than usual to get home. My parents were already home from work. My mom asked me why I was late, and I made up a reason that made sense to her. She didn’t probe further. My parents rarely asked me anything about school as long as they knew I got good grades. After dinner and washing the dishes, I went to my room and locked the door, weeping again.

In the following days, months, and years, I became the laughingstock of those girls. I wanted to fight back, but I didn’t know how, and nobody helped me. If life were a book, the days in high school would be the pages I wanted to tear out and fling away. But today, after 46 years, I saw her again.

When she finished bagging her old belongings, she came toward me. Her eyes fell on me for a few seconds but quickly drifted away. I walked over to where she was standing, and she grabbed my hands quickly and said, "It was you?" I didn’t know how long I had been sitting on the backyard bench, pondering the childhood experience that had been buried for years. I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my son, Adie, back from school. “Are you okay, Mom?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I am. I was just caught up in some old memories, but I’m okay now.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back, ready to retreat to his room. “Adie,” I turned to him, holding my middle-schooler boy in my arms, and spoke softly, “Tell me about your day at school. I will tell you about mine.”

********* 

In the shadows of my everyday life, there existed a nightmare that I couldn’t escape. The days were filled with fear and anxiety, and the nights were haunted by tears and loneliness. I felt trapped in a cycle of torment that left me feeling like my life was a mess.

 

A cry at night (effects of bullying) - MGS

Their illness was eating them up. It was a parasite consuming their 

brain cells. They couldn’t make responsible decisions. But despite knowing that these 

symptoms were caused by their mental condition that they blamed others and 

especially me. But their illness cannot be their scapegoat. It is not an excuse to make 

up stories and gossips. Their tiny brain can't cover up all those lies that resulting from 

losing someone's reputation. Their mental illness will lead them to nothing but hell.

Reflection 1

Body

1. The Daily Struggle Each day began with a knot in my stomach, knowing I would face the bullies. Their taunts echoed in my mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. I would walk through the hallways, feeling invisible yet painfully aware of their eyes on me. The laughter and whispers felt like daggers, piercing through my self-esteem and leaving me feeling utterly alone.

2. The Impact on My Well-Being The bullying took a toll on my physical and mental health. I found it difficult to eat, my appetite lost in the turmoil of anxiety. Sleep became a distant memory; I would lie awake at night, tears streaming down my face, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I cried silently, hiding my pain from everyone around me, especially my parents. I was terrified of burdening them with my struggles, so I carried the weight alone.

3. The Burden of Secrecy Hiding my tears became a daily ritual. I would put on a brave face, pretending everything was fine while inside, I was crumbling. The fear of letting my parents know about the bullying kept me silent. I worried they wouldn’t understand or that it would only make things worse. So, I bottled up my emotions, feeling like I was drowning in a sea of despair.

4. The Isolation As the days turned into weeks, I felt increasingly isolated. Friends who once supported me seemed distant, and I felt like I was living in a bubble, cut off from the world. The loneliness was suffocating, and I longed for someone to notice my pain and reach out. But I remained silent, trapped in my own nightmare.

Conclusion

Looking back, I realize that those days were some of the darkest of my life. The bullying not only affected my self-esteem but also my ability to connect with others. It took time, but I eventually found the courage to speak up and seek help. I learned that I wasn’t alone and that it’s okay to share your struggles. My hope is that by sharing my story, others who are facing similar nightmares will find the strength to speak out and seek support.

Final Thoughts

Writing about our experiences can be a cathartic process. Remember, it’s important to be gentle with ourself as a reflect on these memories. If you feel comfortable, consider sharing your writing with someone you trust or a support group. You are not alone, and our story matters.

 

A Life With Faith -MGS

In the world where we are all connected

Life unfolds like thread of dreams and fears

But I find joy, wisdom, and laughter through prayers

In strong faith I will stand a new hopes in life

With dreams fulfilled and skies so blue

Life’s gentle hand will guide my way through

With blessings bright will come my ways

God is my strength my steadfast light

In every shadow, He’ll shine so bright.

Through trials faced and mountains climbed

I’ll find my peace my heart aligned

I’ll be showered with laughter and cheers

Gathering stories with loved ones near

With tiny hands I'll embrace my dears

The magic of life the love I bears

I'll wander the world from shore to shore

Exploring the wonders forever more

From bustling cities to quiet streams

Each journey I thread with dreams and will

With every sunset a promise I will make

Of joy and adventure that memories told

Life will be good I’ll dance in the sun

For with God beside me I'm always a winner

So here’s my future a bright and divine

Because faith is my compass my heart will align.

In another more years  I have more to see 

The beauty of life and all what will be given to me. 

 

My Passion in Teaching -MGS

SY 20215-2016

In the quite bustle of morning  bright,

I stand before my eager teary eyes,

A canvas blank, a world in sight,

With dreams to weave and hopes to rise,

Each lesson crafted, a labor of love,

Words like seeds in fertile ground.

I nurture, like stars above,

In every heart, spark is found.

Through trials faced, I stand my ground,

For every tear, a smile will bloom,

In laughter shared, my soul is bound,

In this noble profession I chose,

Here I am with open hands,

I’d lay my life, my heart, my soul,

For every child who dares to dream,

To guide them gently toward their goal,

To help them find their own bright beam.

For I am a vessel with light to flow,

For teaching is the path I chose to have.

 

UN-EVEN -MGS

In halls where echoes of laughter fade,
A shadow looms, a heavy grade,
The clock ticks slow, the minutes crawl,
As dreams are stifled within these walls.

Promises made, yet seldom kept,
Incompetence lingers, while hope is swept,
Forms misplaced, and emails lost,
Each day we bear the mounting cost.

The rules are tangled, a web of red tape,
While students struggle, trying to escape,
A system that falters, a ship without sail,
In the storm of confusion, we all seem to pale.

The bell rings loud, but silence reigns,
As visions of progress dissolve into chains,
We raise our voices, but they fall on deaf ears,
Frustration builds, fueled by our fears.

Oh, to be heard, to feel understood,
To see change blossom, to feel it’s good,
Yet here we stand, in a bureaucratic maze,
Lost in the shuffle, caught in a haze.

But still, we gather, united in plight,
With passion ignited, we’ll continue the fight,
For every misstep, for every delay,
We’ll carve out a path, we’ll find our own way.

So here’s to the dreamers, the ones who believe,
That change is a journey, and we will achieve,
Through frustration and struggle, we’ll rise and we’ll stand,
For a brighter tomorrow, we’ll take back our land. 

In the glow of fluorescent lights, we toil,
Each desk a fortress, each chair a soil,
Where dreams are planted, hopes take flight,
Yet shadows linger, dimming the light.

Voices rise in the morning's hum,
But some are silenced, their words go numb,
A nod, a glance, a whispered sigh,
Unseen battles, as time slips by.

The clock ticks on, a relentless beat,
Yet some climb ladders, while others retreat,
Merit ignored, as favoritism reigns,
A heavy burden, a weight of chains.

The coffee breaks, a fleeting chance,
To share a laugh, to join the dance,
But whispers echo in the break room air,
Of dreams deferred, of burdens to bear.

A promotion promised, but never bestowed,
While others ascend on a well-trodden road,
The talent unrecognized, the effort unseen,
In a world where the loudest are often the keen.

Yet in the silence, a fire ignites,
A spark of courage, a call to rights,
For every voice that dares to speak,
A chorus rises, strong and unique.

So let us stand, united and bold,
For fairness and justice, let our stories be told,
In the workplace shadows, let light break through,
For every heart matters, and so do you.