My Morrie
During lunch break, after I finished eating, I went to check on my e-mail in the hotel. Maybellene Gapuz Galuba, a high school classmate of mine, informed me what our teacher Mrs. Sumahit is going through now. As I logged out I successfully fought back my tears from falling then I went back to work.
I was alone inside the service elevator and when I pushed the button for ground floor, I broke down and cried.
The last time this happened to me at work was when the children of Gaza were dying. I wrote a piece for those children to ease my pain. And here I am again trying to ease my pain.
Mrs. Clarita Sumahit was our Journalism teacher in first year at University of Baguio Prep High School. She had long hair with curls, dressed neatly everyday and she was one teacher who never raised a voice or got angry at anybody. And that made her one of the most beloved teachers at UB high.
Ma’m Sumahit was fond of giving us pop quizzes. Where she would say the meaning of ten words and we would try to write down what those words were. It was tough and no one would get pass by three correct words. She praised me one time when I guessed the word “confetti” even though I spelled it wrong.
It was during my sophomore year where depression hit me. I couldn’t tell where it came from or why. One day I woke up then “BAM” I was blue. I couldn’t shake it off and didn’t tell anybody.
One day while I was climbing up those steep step at UB high, I saw Ma’m Sumahit coming down for her P.M. class. She said hello and asked how I was doing. I don’t know why, but I told her the truth.
Whatever she said to me that day were long forgoten. But I thank her for listening, caring and giving advice even though she was all ready late for her class.
Probably it wasn’t only for my family name that she took me to become a reporter for the school paper UB Newslite. She didn’t ask me, she just said I’m one of the reporters.
I wasn’t good at writing. I wasn’t good at any subjects back then. In fact I struggled with my grades. But as an adviser for the school paper, Ma’m Sumahit took me. I think she was the only person who believed I could write.
But it would take many years before I could find my “quill” and start to write.
I’m happily married with two boys. I’m a porter at a hotel here in Italy. A part time maid and I write, thanks to Mrs. Sumahit.
I thank her for believing, at a time where I only took the job as a reporter for kicks.
If the author Mitch Albom’s greatest mentor was Morrie Schwartz, mine is Clarita Sumahit. She is my Morrie.
sigh…..