I woke up this morning to hear devastating news. Legendary icon Whitney Houston, to whose music I had grown, had passed away. My eyes were in tears as I walked inside the classroom to careless students whose teenage recklessness would not understand the tragedy.
I told them of the news I had read online in my office before entering the class, but to my dismay, they did not recognize the name, and started asking who Whitney Houston was. I could not believe my ears.
After a succession of three classes back to back, I went outside for a cigarette where I started thinking about my students’ reaction to what seemed to me like and end of many things. Then I start thinking about how my life is changing. Just yesterday I was that teenager who could not give a toss about some singer dying. Just yesterday I was that kid in school who could not relate to his teacher’s grief; who graduated high school, discovered a completely new world, relationships and genuine friendships, discovered sex and alcohol without any thought of responsibility. Just yesterday I was the child of the new generation, I was young. Why do I suddenly feel older, and wiser with the mere death of a singer whom I’d listened to and admired my whole life? Am I now, suddenly, out of the territory of this rising generation, do I have to make way for the fresh, new faces of my students and others of their age?
All I know is that now, I am no longer the teenage student. Now, I am the teacher.
My life has been a manifold story of now seemingly meaningless laughter, and teenage drama. Filled with the insecurities and cockiness of a boy who was coming of age. A story of many chapters that seem endless with diversity, a story that I can easily write with infinite words. I know for a fact that today’s realization and pondering are just another closing of yet another chapter. And so I decided to write. I decided to start my memoirs, to remind myself that even though I am getting older, I will always be young through my words, and no matter how many chapters of my life come to an end, be they sad or filled with joy, this manifold story will never see its end, because try as I may to start over, or put an end to it, on go the days, and on goes the story…