I got on the train this morning to go to class and I realized there were a lot of homeless people sitting, just riding around. This is normal for this city since we do have a lot of homeless people roaming around the streets. I see this one man wrapped in a blanket and across the row there was another man who was munching on some peanut butter crackers. I wanted to stare at them because they simply made me sad and I wanted to ask them so badly how they ended up homeless. If I had been in the same situation three weeks ago, my reaction would have been different. I probably would have gotten mad because these men, along with a few others, were abusing the metro system by getting rides all across town going absolutely nowhere. I would also say that they were probably mentally ill and could not afford medication. Lastly I would have been mad because I think anybody can get a job at McDonalds. But that was me three weeks ago. Today I feel pure empathy. What changed? Well, I met a poet.
I can say it one, two, three, five hundred times. I hate poetry. I realize that a few years back I posted a poem or two. I posted those poems because the person I loved claimed to be an excellent poet. I was still in high school trying to get a grasp at iambic pentameter so I thought that if I sat down and grabbed a thread of inspiration, I could come up with an equally amazing poem. Many years later I realized I would never be like him and therefore I assumed I was bad and my loath for poetry was born. I don't like reading it and much less studying it. I like fiction. I'll even go as far as liking nonfiction. In my eyes, poetry has a lot of gray areas of interpretation; you can think a poem is about a certain subject and in the author's mind it is something completely different. Then there's all that rhyme and meter stuff. I was told over and over that a poem did not have to rhyme and that is true but then there is the meter nonsense. And style. My goodness. I took a class last semester to study poetry and although I technically passed, I cannot keep the grade, so I must take another class to replace that credit. I had a great teacher, but the subject...I just don't like it. I don't like reading it, I don't like writing it, I don't like revising it, I don't like interpreting it, I don't like thinking about it, I don't like it.
And then there was him.
I will abstain to say his name for personal reasons, but we'll call him The Poet. This guy came in to our school and immediately, my teachers began talking about him. We were required to get his books for our classes and start reading them immediately. They went on and on about how great he was. Then one of my teachers said that he would give us extra credit to go meet him. And so, being a very dedicated student, I went. When I saw The Poet come in, I thought, "Wow, this guy looks so ordinary." I had imagined a very well dressed man wearing an expensive suit and maybe even a fancy briefcase. I imagined a man who talked with great wisdom and eloquence. A man that carried himself like a god. I mean, my teachers made him sound like this, but this guy was totally normal. He looked like one of us. A common man eating his sandwich talking asking us who we were and why we were in the university. Out of curiosity and more motivation for more extra credit I went to every event he held in the university. We got to know each other...very well.
I don't know what it was about him. It wasn't the way he talked or what he was saying. I guess deep down I just liked that this man was so normal. He wasn't arrogant or conceited. He lectured in two of my classes and picked on me constantly. He liked me, you see. And I liked him. It wasn't like I saw him as my uncle or grandfather. I guess he was just the voice I had inside. There are a lot of things that I want to write. Things that I am too scared or embarrassed to write about. I feel like in this space I have written about more personal stuff than I would ever dare discuss in public. However, there is still a lot inside of me that wants to come out. And then there is all the nonsense about the educational system that I am very passionate about. If I could take anything from my week with The Poet, it would be that I cannot give up. I should not care what anyone has to say about me being a high school teacher. I should not give in to the popular idea that high school kids are the worst. I should not judge people's present circumstances because everyone has a past. Even I have a past that I am not too proud of! Life is very hard and we live in a system that wants to swallow us whole. We cannot allow that. We have to fight in order to remain true to ourselves. We may be beaten down and oppressed, but even when times get rough, we cannot let the system beat us. Its all about survival.
I don't care if I never see him again, he left a part of him in me. I walk down the hallways thinking that I'm going to run into him. I feel like he's still here. I can hear him telling me "You need to go to Stanford, they'll love you there." Well I'm not going to Stanford because I cannot afford it. More than anything I want to write and teach. I have other goals, spiritual goals. Those are more important than anything else. But my desire to teach remains. My desire to write remains. One day I hope that I can be the teacher kids remember. For me, it was Ms. Purser. I still remember her as if it were yesterday. That's the thing about people that make a difference in your life, even after they leave, you still remember them.
When I got on the podium, I thought I was going to faint. I could feel my fingers going numb and my legs turning to jelly. My eyesight got blurry as I addressed the auditorium. I don't remember how I managed to read but I did. I remember feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride. It was a moment that perhaps many students wished they would've had. I don't think of it as my 5 seconds of glory. I think of it as my 5 seconds of light. In college, I want to remain invisible. I walk with my head low and only speak when I have something to say. I try not to socialize. Solitude is a better friend to me in this building. I like things this way, so having him ask me to come to the podium to read in front of an audience was perhaps the scariest moment in my life. It made me realize I don't want to be popular or famous. I want to be a teacher. I want to continue writing. I want to embrace my identity. I'm not only glad I met him, I feel at peace. I see people different and although he thinks of me as someone that will make some kind of social difference in the future, I think of myself as someone that will continue to see people with an eye of kindness and love.
