Gone are the mum days, Mx. Desconsideradx!

Gone are the mum days, Mx. Desconsideradx!

by Almira Almiñana

“Teacher, teacher, may I go out?” Says the child who was supposed to be quietly seated at his own tiny hut. Silence enveloped the entire screen of black filled with squares of bewildered students. Right through the screen, furrows of trimmed ocean brows were seen. Someone among the crowd faked a gasp followed by a stifle of laughter and was then rejoiced with slams of quirky feedback right next to its side by a private chat room. The student who was brave enough to raise his personal concern in the middle of a three-hour on-going lecture class was quite appalled by the reactions received right across his seemingly distorted hand-me-down laptop screen. What was it that made his sudden excuse turned him as the limelight of the class? He sighed. Maybe it is a pity that he had to butt in to his Professor’s lengthy discourse in order for him to gradually continue pursuing this wearing course. The teacher looked straight into his newly installed web camera—as if trying to fix the missing piece into his puzzle of a student. After a quiet while of silence, the teacher then barked a storm of adamant laughter. “Yes, you may”. Finally, an answered prayer, says the child who thinks that his needle of concern is finally out of hay. Everyone in his class was astonished—quick enough to fill their screens with heartfelt emojis as a sign of agreement to the teacher’s supposedly kind reply. The young boy smiled. He then thought that he was indeed lucky enough to be one of his Professor’s guests as he shared his gift of wisdom in his home of academe. He was about to deliver his gratitude speech when his Professor was quick enough to unmute himself once again. The latter then cleared his throat—just enough to catch the entire class’ attention. He pinned the poor boy’s screen and smiled with no remorse as he looked back at his now confused student’s face. The Professor shrugged. “Yes, you may go as you please. But come back no more as you are already zero on my quiz.” The poor boy was left mouth hanging open and even right before he could explain his side, he was already kicked out from the online meeting site. He tried to reload the site and once again pleaded with his Professor to accept his request but zero to nothing, no one answered his sincere pleading. The boy thought that maybe it was disrespectful of him to interrupt his Professor in the middle of his clamor of thoughts. But then, ain’t a triple of his minute a little to nothing to spare for his student’s simple request? Maybe it was too much of a plea. Maybe it was the child’s fault that he had to excuse himself for a while from the class just so he could extend his data connection in a nearby store. Maybe he should’ve seen beforehand that he won’t be able to manage to attend a lengthy hour of class per day as it would also compromise his fixed monthly budget. Or maybe he should have done his part as a son to his good parents who are trying to mask their weariness despite the lack of resources to push through on a daily basis amidst the circus of pandemic crisis. Maybe it was his fault—but not entirely. Maybe he acted so rudely that it pissed off his Professor who is as equally insistent with his vertical standards. However, ain’t it a daze of chance that he has no pity for a child with clear intent at hands? Observe and you shall see. One minute late and you are free to embrace your seemingly unprofound friend, sixty. Thirty seconds is quite alarming; make it three hundred and do not forget that you are free to attend his class but next semester. Internet connection’s as rocking as your neighbor’s slow-moving reptile friend? Need say no more as your concern is thrown out of the door. Everyone’s grieving anyways. What gives you the credit to be more mournful, right? But what light is it that needs to be dimmed in order to flight its fight? A cup of coffee on one hand and a metallic sober-ish keyboard on the other, I sat down in front of my barely composing four-year-old laptop screen. I narrowed down the shortcomings presented and the seemingly unfettered underlying concerns of a not-so progressive twentyish student. And then I asked myself, was it entirely necessary? No, this question is not directly intended to the Professor who was just a mere casualty of this twelve month and unprogressively still lockdown crisis. It is more of a throw-in-the river-rock type of query. To whom it might probably be intended to? I’d like to sip on my coffee first before I could finally pitch the perfect match to the unjust system and its deliberative antagonizing catch. The educational system has affected both parties in many ways relatable. It has caused a pile of burden especially to low income families who have lost their jobs last year and are still perplexed as to how they could rebuild their once shaken homes. The students on the other hand had to step up their A-game in their individual tasks at hand despite the backlash and challenging demands of the educational system. May it be from A to Z, it was clear enough that the Government promised and insisted that there would be no students left behind in this academic year. But how come these stories exist? How come students are left stranded in the comforts of their homes, waving white flags on their digitally distorted screens—surrendering to the unlimited load of requirements knowing that one could only handle a piece of handful at the one time? Several concerns were raised mostly coming from students who are supposed to graduate with wisdom and gratitude on their faces. Sadly, gone are those days. And so are the mum days. Writing this narrative with so much eagerness to exploit the unfair system, yet, I would like to understand the sentiments of a forty-ish Professor who had to ride the tide in order to survive one’s daily demand at side. How was it for you? How are you coping with? I know that it is so unfortunate that you had to speak and share your years of hard-earned knowledge right through a screen filled with boxes of unknown learners. And I know that it is as equally hard for you knowing that you are completely new to this kind of set-up. Running late to zoom meetings while trying to figure out the right link to click is no new for you for sure. Waking up to screens who are as tired as what you may seem, right there and then, you’ll know how hard it is to gradually continue this aching phase. However, we are in no way pinpointing who's more at fault and who’s more aggressive in terms of coping with this prejudiced system. But one thing must be highlighted with yellows and greens this time. Teacher, you were once a student. You know explicitly how hard it was to please and reach the standards of the educational system laid at hand. Student, you are in your way of becoming one someday, somehow, when the time unfolds for your journey to bloom. By now, for sure, you are beginning to process how difficult it is to unfold your legs in order to step on your next path. And while you are still figuring out your way out of the room, leave nothing that would cause you to become the person that you detest with burning passion as of the moment. Protest and stand for what is right and just. Demand for accountability. But lose yourself not in the process. And to end the narrative that was written so keenly above, the old boy remained seated in his now air-conditioned room. He blankly stared at his closing monitor screen. He was taken aback by what he had said. Tears started flowing down his cheeks. He then wiped it using his now calloused right hand but right before he could finish doing it, he saw a familiar bracelet lingering on his wrist. It was a gift from one of his mentors—a teacher he once loathed. Streams of regrets flowed moreover. While he is weeping for the time loss, his phone beeped for the twentieth time. And right there and then, with floating tears, he read it out loud. “Teacher, teacher, please help me out.”