When She Was Gone

  All I remember, I was a punctual student. After joining college I gave it another brain storm: Was I a "punctual student" or a "passive student"?
  I think it differs. It carries huge bulky differences within its folds. Being punctual doesn't mean to be as silent as I used to. Being punctual doesn't mean fearing teachers as I felt. Being punctual doesn't mean isolating as I did. I was passive. I was a student, but invisible one. She has her name on the class list, highest grades in her report, but where is she? Her name when it was called out, she had to raise her hand to ensure that this face she had, belonged to that name. She thought it was a part of punctuality, but the adult her found out that it was simply and obviously passivity.

   Days passed and she was lost. She joined a college in a blur. Blurry future in a country whose existence became blurry as well. She didn't know where her dignity and future would be secured. She didn't know what job would polish her prestige. She didn't know what would fulfill her pride. She didn't know where her interests can soar. All what she believed in is, letting her fate drive her to the mysterious destiny.

  Till one day, she.... I mean, I.... had a vision. Like a psychic. A collapsing world in a minute. A past, present and future, interlacing at a point. School buses on the sides of my college's road. Teachers crossing the street, dressed in black. Students from different colleges heading to the mosque. It was the funeral of my school's principle Mrs/ Ameena El-Deeb. The first thought hit me "Why are tears running down on my cheeks? I didn't interact with her. I had a thought back then 'who visits the principle frequently, is a bad kid.' I know it's wrong, cause later I realized honored students do so too. So, am I crying over her death? Or.... Am I crying, actually we may say: tearing, over that student she had once in her school yard, that girl who was under her supervision, that girl whose graduation she attended and handed her prizes, cause she made it to med-school,  the girl who's the very same person attending college, but this time, she's under the literal word which contradicts punctuality?

   Then, the whole picture enlightened in front of me. When I thought of myself as the one who died and she was the one who survived, watching more generations released to build a new world. A Shakespeare moment, right? Actually, what enlightened wasn't the dark imagination I own, but the more important thought which conquered my strength to survive through that day. When I die, who would attend my funeral?

   If my spirit will spread its goodbyes nowadays, I guess barely my friends would know of it, cause I am usually out of sight. My parents will absorb the shock for my little sister, to keep her moving on. Other than my family, who will attend my funeral?

  In a moment, I was stuck among null invisible thoughts in my head. Out of the blue, one word hit me "Teacher." Teachers are really blessed to have us all. I guess, specially, in this era. We communicate quicker, the news spread in a blink of an eye. Of course, this one won't be a cheerful one, but anyway she/he has many to pray for her/him after she/he's gone. I remembered that professor who was mentioned by a four- academic-year-older student and how sad all classes felt for him and how many attended his funeral. The blesses weren't only for him, the students even supported his son who was in his final years of high school.

  When she was gone, I felt the obligation to be a teacher. When she was gone, I felt it's important to be a mother, cause heaven will be yours; but it's more important to teach many: Your kids, their friends, your colleagues and your neighbors too. When she was gone, I realized the name "teacher" equalizes a Queen's honor. When she was gone, I knew my end is more important than my living. When she was gone, I didn't bury the old me along; I thought I have to improve it, so when I give a visit, I'd be welcomed. And this is what happened when she was gone.