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The Teachers I Never Forgot

A four-year-old stood quietly in a corridor among students much taller than her, all waiting to bid goodbye to one of their favourite teachers. She wasn’t crying, but her tiny heart was. She had only come to know about the farewell from conversations among the senior students.

The teacher I used to meet every evening before dinner, after my study time, was leaving.

I still remember that day.

I was too small to be noticed in the crowd. As she walked past, I desperately wanted to stop her. Without thinking, I reached out and held her hand.

She turned around, smiled, bent down, kissed me gently on my cheek, and walked away.

That was the last memory I have of her.

Even today, after all these years, that one moment brings tears to my eyes. Some stories end so abruptly that they stay unfinished forever in our hearts.

Looking back now, I realise she wasn’t the only teacher who quietly shaped the person I would become.

As a four-year-old entering a boarding school, I was confused about everything. I didn’t know what was expected of me. To make matters harder, I struggled with the language everyone else spoke. Compared to the other children, I kept to myself. I was the quiet child who watched more than she spoke.

Then I met my Lower Kindergarten teacher. She was affectionate, patient, and made school feel less frightening. For the first time, boarding school didn’t feel like a place where I had been left alone. It felt like somewhere I belonged.

When I moved to Upper Kindergarten, another remarkable teacher entered my life—Ms. Ruby.

She was tall, stylish, elegant, with a neat bob haircut. Everyone loved her. Yet somehow, she noticed the little girl who stood quietly in a corner because she couldn’t communicate well.

She became my friend.

She taught me my first kindergarten song and encouraged me to perform on stage. When the day came, I stood there frozen. I didn’t sing. I didn’t dance. I didn’t even move.

That was me.

But she never gave up on me.

She constantly encouraged me to study well and become like the senior students I admired.

One day, she asked every child a question. When it was my turn, I couldn’t answer. She scolded me.

For most children, it would have been an ordinary classroom incident.

For me, it wasn’t.

My favourite person had scolded me.

I cried as loudly as my tiny voice could manage. It wasn’t because she had shouted. It was because I couldn’t bear the thought that I had disappointed her.

After class, she walked away to the staff room.

I couldn’t rest.

I climbed all five floors of the school building just to reach the staff room. When I reached the door, one of the teachers smiled and called out,

“Ms. Ruby, your favourite student is here.”

She immediately came outside, knelt before me, kissed my cheeks, and softly said,

“Like a good child, study well and become great.”

That one kiss erased every bit of sadness inside me.

Children are simple.

Sometimes, one hug, one kiss, or one reassuring word is enough to heal a heart.

As I grew older, another teacher discovered something in me.

She loved dance.

She encouraged me to participate in competitions and believed I could perform well.

During one inter-school competition, she scolded me after my performance.

“You danced well,” she said, “but why didn’t you smile?”

The next time I stepped onto a stage, I remembered those words. Throughout the entire performance, I smiled as much as I possibly could.

As I walked off the stage, the very first compliment I received was from her.

“Sansu was the best dancer today. She smiled throughout.”

To a child, there is no greater reward than praise from someone they admire.

But childhood wasn’t made up only of beautiful memories.

There were teachers who unknowingly left scars too.

By Grade II, studies had become serious for everyone except me.

I wasn’t interested in books.

My world revolved around playing, eating, laughing, and playing some more. Even sleeping felt like a waste of time.

One day, while the teacher was explaining a lesson, I absent-mindedly tapped my maths scale against the desk.

The teacher started repeating the sound, trying to make me realise what I was doing.

Without thinking, I copied the sound again.

Only later did I realise she was imitating me to correct me.

I felt deeply ashamed when she scolded me.

I wasn’t the brightest child in class.

In fact, I often felt like the least important one.

Years passed.

By the time I reached eighth grade, I was still an average student.

Then one sentence changed something inside me.

In front of the whole class, a teacher loudly said,

“Knows nothing, but keeps smiling.”

I don’t think she realised what those words would do to a child.

Until then, smiling came naturally to me.

From that day onwards, I became conscious of it.

I actually forced my lips together because I thought smiling made me look foolish.

Even today, those words still hurt.

The same teacher often mocked me despite knowing my circumstances—that I had lost my father when I was just two years old and had grown up without my mother beside me.

Life teaches us that not everyone who becomes a teacher becomes a source of encouragement.

Some become lessons in a different way.

I continued through school as an average student.

Then came pre-university.

One day, one of my professors disciplined me and firmly said,

“If I don’t do this today, you will never progress in life. I must nip it in the bud.”

I cried.

By then, I was no longer a little girl.

But unlike the criticism that had broken me years earlier, this correction came from someone who genuinely wanted me to become better.

That day became a turning point.

If I have achieved anything worthwhile in my life, much of the credit belongs to that professor.

Even today, in my quiet moments with God, I pray that wherever he is, He keeps him healthy and happy.

Teachers truly mould the minds of the future.

Sometimes they rescue a child who doesn’t even realise she is lost.

Years later, life came full circle.

I became a teacher myself.

I entered every classroom carrying only one dream.

To be a good teacher.

Not the most knowledgeable.

Not the strictest.

Simply a teacher who would leave children better than I found them.

I don’t know how successful I was.

I even received an award recognising me as a good teacher.

But that was never my greatest reward.

One day, a student quietly told me,

“Teacher, you are the best teacher I have ever had.”

Nothing—not an award, not a certificate, not recognition—has ever meant more to me than those words.

Because I know what a good teacher can mean to a child.

I still remember the kisses on my cheeks.

I still remember the words that lifted me.

I still remember the words that broke me.

Teachers rarely realise it, but they become chapters in someone else’s life story.

Long after lessons are forgotten, children remember how a teacher made them feel.

That is the privilege of teaching.

And that is the responsibility that comes with it.