Cindy Velasquez tells us that flowers, tears and literature can be beautifully interwoven.
It was the last day of school. And my students were performing poetry, songs, and dance. They told stories about a soldier, a wash-woman, and a nightingale. Suddenly they called my name. They asked me to stay in the middle of the classroom. One of my students started singing a song. It said: “Thank you for teaching me how to love. Showing me what the world means. What I've been dreamin' of. And now I know, there is nothing that I could not do. Thanks to You.”
I tried to fit everything what I felt in that instant with a single tear drop.
And I asked myself: Is there a word for that feeling when you believe you are so thankful in the most unexpected place and people; is there a word for that? I wish there is.
I knew at that moment, my tear learned more than my mind did.
While my students started to stand up slowly, one by one, they looked at me as they continued to sing the song. Then, I wrote a letter for them, to each one of them inside my heart even if I had not memorized all their names. I sent letters into their memories. But I prayed hard, asking a mail man to send those letters into their memories. I prayed that the mail man would be familiar with my words. I wished that the mail man would carefully give my letters in the right time. Yes, in the right time. Those letters, the lessons I taught them and the lessons they taught me.
Suddenly, they gave me a bouquet of flowers.
THANK YOU to all my students!
My first bouquet was given by my students. As I carried it going home, I carried it like a baby, a five month old baby. Five months, five months of being with my students, I was determined to hold it right. Not too firm, not too tight, just right so that the petals remained perfectly. I was glad I was a holding a five month old baby.