From resentment to empathy
Khrawkupar Kharshiing
Influencers. That’s what they call teachers now. But how far do we go in our pursuit of being a positive influence?
Six years ago, my decision to become a teacher was not random – it was a conscious, deliberate one. I wanted to be the teacher I never had.
As a student, I wasn’t one of the brightest. I was one of those kids whose name my teachers could barely remember. One of those who managed to move to the next grade without anybody even knowing I existed. I slipped through the cracks. My report card comments were the usual: “Promoted on consideration,” or “Needs to work harder in the next grade,” or “Weak in all subjects.” The cycle continued until puberty hit.
It felt almost like divine intervention – a below-average child, hardly seen or acknowledged, suddenly started seeing blue marks on his report card. My school had a system where anyone who scored above 90 had their marks highlighted in blue. If a student failed, the marks were in red. No one understood what brought about the change. Even to this day, I’m not entirely sure what caused the change. Maybe it was a deep desire to be seen and heard, a longing to make friends, or perhaps just a shift in interest brought on by puberty.
The silent boy who avoided raising his hand in class started becoming part of the “me, me, me” group. The boy who would avoid looking at his teachers for fear of being called upon to answer a question began to ask them questions. It felt like the voice I had muffled for so long was suddenly unleashed, just like the hormones rushing through my body. My teachers never understood the change. Maybe they never tried. Maybe I never mattered to them.
But some things tend to linger, albeit with slight changes. This time, my report card had comments like “Needs to work harder in mathematics” or “Weak in mathematics.” The faint blue marks on my report card were always contrasted by the glaring red ones. They all said I needed to practice! But how was I supposed to know what to practice? I tried looking at my friends’ notebooks, but the equations, HCF, division, and multiplication continued to elude me.
For three years, I fought the battle – alone, mentally. My eyes tried to capture everything, but I could barely manage a score of 30. Yet, it didn’t matter. They still didn’t care.
I wanted to conquer mathematics. But I had no resources to help me. Nor was there anyone willing to guide me.
Then, when I was in the 9th grade, my mother, with her limited income, agreed to hire a tutor. Through a friend, I found a math tutor.
I never imagined that those 7 am classes would change my life. The tutor realized I was in desperate need of help. She pressed the reset button and decided to take it from the very beginning. I was taught subtraction, addition, multiplication, and division. Her dedication and the hope she had in me sparked something inside me – a part of my brain that had previously refused to shine. Mathematics was no longer elusive. For the first time, I scored a 54. It was a huge achievement for me. By the end of 9th grade, that blue colour finally adorned my mathematics score.
For years, I nurtured a profound respect for my math tutor. Had she not been there, I wouldn’t have been able to conquer mathematics. But that respect for her also planted a resentment towards all the teachers I had had in school. ‘Weak,’ ‘needs to study harder,’ they would say. They could have done better. I hated them and always felt that my school life had been of no use. Somehow, puberty transformed me into a better student and destiny brought the math tutor into my life. My school teachers had no role in it.
However, after becoming a teacher, the resentment gradually waned. How could my teachers have focused on me when they had 50 other students in the class? How far could they have gone to be that positive influence in my life? Perhaps they were willing to help but simply lacked the energy, resources, or support to do so. Maybe that one red mark didn’t matter when they had so many other students to tend to. Now, as a teacher myself, I don’t harbour any hatred towards them. Instead, I empathize with the challenges they faced.
As I move forward in my journey to becoming an influencer, I’ve come to understand that it’s perfectly okay to be like the math tutor who was willing to reset and restart when needed. However, it’s also important to recognize that perfection lies in knowing what’s within our control and what isn’t. Our desire to influence and guide our children should never come at the cost of our mental peace, family commitments, or personal time.
One of the school heads I worked with once said, “We are not gods. We can only do our best and leave the rest to him (god).” Perhaps, in the end, my school teachers left me to him as well.
Khrawkupar Kharshiing is a passionate learner who constantly strives to learn and apply learning in the classroom. Being in the classroom makes him happy. He finds joy in reading and expressing himself through poems when he is not teaching. His poem “Caged” was awarded the tenth rank in the National Poetry competition organized by S7. He can be reached at kharshingkhraw@gmail.com.
