News of my teacher's death came through the e-mail today. Funny how such news can travel so fast. I remember reading somewhere, a long time ago, about a boy who had to read aloud the telegram reporting his mother's death because his father couldn't read or write. How times have changed. But I digress.
The e-mail was short, a succinct announcement of just the name and the time of death, ending with a line promising more details to follow. That was it, a rather unceremonious note to the populous. At first, the name meant nothing to me as I haven't thought of this particular teacher for over ten years. Then little trinkets of memories slowly rose to the surface, suddenly the disembodied name had a face and emotions associated with it. All of a sudden, I was back in seventh grade sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field during lunch. Next to me was a teacher sitting there smiling as he watched the school children running around chasing after a soccer ball. I remember it being a curious thing because teachers don't usually sit outside in the heat during breaks, instead they hid in their air conditioned lounges gossiping away, probably dreading the lunch bell which signals another hour or two of facing down our bratty lot. Yet, there he was, a serene look upon his face. I don't remember what it was that made him looked my way, I think it was the fact that I was the only kid not playing on the field. But he looked at me and asked me why I didn't join in the fun. I just shrugged and said I wasn't good enough. He nodded, and motioned for one of the kids to come over. Next thing I knew, I was in the midst of the fray, running about, without a clue of what I am supposed to be doing, but nonetheless part of something. That was my first encounter with this quiet teacher. Each lunch, I would find him sitting at his usual spot, sometimes with a book, but often times just sitting there watching us play, perhaps vicariously living off our enjoyment.
I got to know him a bit more over the next two years, and although he never taught me in a class I realized I have gained quite a bit of hidden treasures simply through our daily interactions. He was a jovial person, with a certain serene quality about him. I guess the Chinese classics and philosophy certainly rubbed off on him because he seems to embodied a lot of the virtues that flew by my ignorant head. The calm that radiates from him, the dignity in which he carried himself was the culminate manifestation of a disciplined mind. We would talk of random things, topics ranging from Chinese history to daily musing. Looking back, I now realize how profound and enlightening those conversations were. He was indeed very didactic. There was no pretense, nor was he ever preachy. Instead he was inquisitive, and constantly prod me gently to observe life's lesson through the smallest thing. I think most importantly, he taught me the greatness behind simplicity. It was never about grand theories for him, instead it was about searching and being open to answers from any source, however irrelevant they may appear at first.
I guess he was a much beloved teacher, I never quite found out because after two years I switched schools and never talked to him again. Pretty soon, his existence vanquished beneath the other chapters that marked my youth. That is until today when the e-mail arrived with a name and a date of death. Funny what you remembered, and funny how people can impact you without you ever realizing it until you are suddenly confronted with mortality. I don't think I know this teacher well enough to eulogize him properly. I shall leave that to his more sincere pupils. But I believe him to be a decent fellow, and I lament his departure from this transitory earth. I will remember him fondly as the guy who managed to get me in on my first soccer game at a new school. I shall miss the tactful way in which he instilled knowledge upon me, wraith-like suggestions turning into concrete concepts that has subtly sustained me all these years.
Farewell Mr. Chan, you shall be missed.
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