Like a Good Neighbor, Teachers are There (ANONYMOUS):
During my sophomore year, I faced many tribulations. For example, it was the first year I experienced an AP class, so my stress was at an all-time high. My stress followed me every moment of my day, and it only cultivated as May approached. It didn’t help when I had to balance my school stress with my accumulating personal stress; I was experiencing issues with a friend to the point where my thoughts became very self-deprecating. I found it hard to manage my two worlds. I felt the dam I carefully constructed threatening to collapse by a sincere “Are you okay?” I had to continue to adorn my face with my “I’m perfectly fine” mask.
Two weeks before my AP test, I was walking to my first period class. I always took the long way, because I arrived at school very early. The “long way” consisted of the English hallway in the main, and sometimes I am able to see the English teachers get ready for their first period (if they have) or their day. I noticed one of my former teachers in the doorway of her classroom. I always see her in the morning, and I made it my mission to greet her when our paths cross. We both noticed each other at the same time, and our routine began. She asked me how I was doing, and I replied with my monotonous “I’m alright.” However, she noticed I was not emulating my normal cheerfulness and asked how my AP was going. I felt a crack in the dam. The next thing I knew, she took me into her classroom as I let the dam dissolve and everything poured out. Then, the self-deprecation started. She listened with sincerity and understanding. She consoled me as I confided in her about school and the personal stress that has been going on. I trusted her, because I knew that she actually cared about my well-being. I never had a teacher like her before.
She ended up connecting me with the school’s psychologist after my episode, and I was so grateful. I learned that there were teachers that not only wanted you to succeed, but also wanted to see you succeed as a person. From that experience, I continued to pour my heart out into my poetry as an outlet for my misery. I continued to talk to my old teacher, even if it’s just a greeting. I realized that I had an ally. I felt welcomed. I felt supported.
Haseeb Haider’s note:
Picking who to feature in the first volume of Echoes in the Hallways was not an easy task. There were many spirited remembrances of experiences, important ones, that I simply couldn’t endorse for practical reasons. Maybe in the next cycle, things will change; but, because this is the first, there were a few abstract works that I couldn’t—for readership’s sake—add.
The stories featured here feature the real lives of real students, some of whom have decided to withhold their identity; please respect their wishes—even if you know them.
If you’d like to get involved with Echoes in the Hallways, please join the google classroom; here’s the class code: agjqp65. We patiently await your submission!