Praying for the Future

I sometimes have to wonder if I gave my teachers the same amount of stress as a student back in the day. 

Today, I had a major breakdown. Emotionally. I couldn’t believe how much I cried, hyperventilated and just completely, absolutely crashed.

All this, of course, because a student walked out on me. 

It was the first time I’ve felt so helpless, so incredibly disgusting, so incredibly like a failure. 

And the worst part was that in the end, he didn’t even care. What I had spent 2 hours crying, hyperventilating, regretting and praying for God to pull me through took him apparently the same time to slap back on a goofy smile and move on. 

I understand he has an issue with authority and dislikes being told what to do or being made to sit a certain way or asked to do work. I have been working to not act authoritative, but to be more understanding by asking in soft tones for his cooperation and to use each event with a positive light in order to explain why we expect certain rules/ But to be blatantly disrespecting everything that the school stands for is the last straw.

He had been coming late (by about thirty minutes) to finals for exam week and then refused to come in this morning on time so he could skip out on Assembly exercises. Then as we transitioned into a morning of decorations and clean-up, he began to complain about what a useless waste of time it was for him to come in. This continued to escalate until the point where he finally began to clock out of everything and start to play disappearing acts as usual. After hunting him down twice, finding him balking at my music rules and playing loud music to disrupt the kids and create complete havoc, asking him whether he had a headache to explain him checking out of class, and finally, catching him sleeping behind a podium when listening to a guest lecture, I was fed up. 

When he finally got off the stage after I called him three times and he eventually approached me, I didn’t have any words. And unfortunately, I suppose my tactic is not especially effective. I normally collect my thoughts before I speak and begin with loaded silences. But the student approached, glared at me, said, “What.” and seeing my non-moving expression, exasperatedly repeated, “What?!” And finally, before I could open my mouth, he openly blew out a stream of heated mutters and stalked out of the room. Acting on his threat to leave early. 

I have never felt such sudden surge of emotions. I couldn’t explain it. It was a flushing of complete rage and sorrow and extreme emotional loss. And of course, he subsequently left the school in a moment of teenage drive. 

I couldn’t believe what had happened. And spent an entire hour attempting to calm myself down. I made wudhu several times and prayed, but then would burst into tears again from the sheer memory of a single word. It took a few words from some of my co-workers to remind me of the inevitability and reason for what had happened. 

I honestly cannot say what I would do without Islam. I really can’t. It’s my strength, my pillar, and my one standing backing when all else fails. Although I have a supportive family, we cannot always be there for one another, and as I sat on the bathroom floor, wiping off the horrific mess I had created on my own face, the pain and anger and sorrow subsided while I washed and remembered God. And as the feelings overwhelmed me once more, my co-worker enveloped me in a warm hug, patting me while saying,

“It’s all God’s Plans, and He is the Best of Planners. This is not something to be disappointed about, not something to despair over, because God only plans what is Perfect. And what had happened is always perfect for our lives at that point and time. If it is an event to learn from, or an event to rejoice over, it is regardless, an event for us to pick up from God’s bounty.” 

It was disorienting to have to pick up my shattered self and move on, but it felt right. Even while I was struggling to hold onto my emotions and keep a straight face, I felt as though I had begun to develop another area of myself: to learn to control my emotions in extreme moments. And perhaps I had failed this test in its initial phase, but I would surely know what to work on the next time around if it ever did once more occur. 

Later that day, he returned, with a nonchalant smile on his face as he sauntered to the stage and apologized to the whole school and myself at the orders of the Principal and with his mother present. But the moment he walked through those doors, my heart went bizarre and my tears began coursing again, the stringent acidic taste of bile rising in my throat. The second he finished, I pulled out. Couldn’t understand. Brain completely shot. It took an additional thirty minutes. I couldn’t see how he could take it so simply and so easily without any repercussions on his emotional well-being. 

But of course, I was the hysterical teacher who had lost her marbles. And I had forgotten what he had said not so long ago, 

“No one else matters. It’s all me. I don’t care about anybody else, because they don’t matter. Why should I?”

And it kills me. Because I care. And the rest of the teachers do. But what can I do? I’m only a teacher. And I cannot change his mindset. And yet, this horrible regret that I did nothing to make him a happier person, one who loved more openly and who had emotions for those who loved him… that’s what kills me the most. What is a school for if not to protect and cherish our children? My year of teaching ends in two days, and I’ve just now hit the final destination. 

I can only pray, with the Wisdom that God possesses and executes, that this child learns to love. Learns to care. Learns to understand how much we love and care for him.