(no subject)
It has passed. No more questions, no more rumors. It's official.
Monday will be met, not with excitement but with anxiety. Monday in Troika will never be the same without the familiar voice booming on the microphone, "Do I sound like I'm coming from a can?", nor will it be the same without seeing our teacher come in, greeting us good morning with his tumbler in hand.
He told us, as he was grasping for words, that "it isn't goodbye...but tomorrow"; that we were shooting stars that blazed the darkness, no matter how fleeting. That he will always remember Elizabeth, the one who reigns in his heart and rocks his world.
We will miss him. He said that, we should feel all the more special because we were his last batch. But I don't feel special. I don't feel special because we never got to hang out with him, nor hear him sing while playing his guitar. We never got to do our proposed Radio Talk Show. We never got to know him any further.
My cousin once told me that you're not a Scholastican if you haven't been under Mr. Rono. Like he was part of the legacy that St. Scho is. He defined Troika Hall,he defined Speech IV. He defined so many things in life that each meaning was worth a million memories.
But I will smile. We didn't know it, but in each meeting we had, he was reaching out to us, leaving us with wisdom we never knew existed, and was slowly saying goodbye.