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By The Light of The Moon

On a worn, oak bench, a pair sits together as they look out to the sea. They feel the poorly-cut grass tickle their ankles, the mosquitoes landing on their necks and wrists, the bone-deep chill with every gust of salt-laced wind. From afar, they’re two people enjoying the night in a secluded but beautiful area. It’s the scene that poets write about in their books—they would say that you can see them then, twenty years from now, stuck in the same place, with the same love.

But there are tears in one of the person’s eyes. Their partner doesn’t seem to mind as their sobs shake their whole body in an effort to stay quiet. It’s every bit fragmented, disconnected, and ugly—like the mold on the feet of the bench they are sitting on and the uncomplimentary colour of limestone that has melded into one, big lump.

Yet, despite the ugliness despite the carelessness of the one leaning their forearms on their elbows and looking anywhere but to their left, despite the ugly twisting that must happen in the other’s hear and the ugly tracks of black pigment under their eyes—they still look like they would be a novice painter’s first masterpiece.

There is gentleness in the way the light refracts and reflects on the dropping teardrops, or on a pair of bored, dull eyes, or on the falling leaves that have no role but to be a reminder of tonight when they take off their clothes and find a leaf tucked under their collars.

Somewhere between the unrelenting, sharp, sticky, sweaty air, and the harsh distance of two people sitting side-by-side, is a light that smoothes out all the harsh contrast.

The moonlight glow on those tear-stained lips highlights the sine and hides the tremor that would show under a light that would cast a clear-lined shadow. Those dull, bored eyes reveal what the owner doesn’t want anyone to know—those eyes are glossed over, red with the effort to stay hidden. And those jagged, ugly rocks glimmer with the microscopic shards of glass from countless of bottles of beer smashed during someone’s bonfire here from decades ago, only to be seen under the soft bask of moonlight glow.

As the bone-chilling air skins two people deep, the light of the moon wraps them to soothe the raw ache of being stripped bare.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

Letter: Implementation of AI in Classrooms

Dear Madam Rose,

I am Emmerson, a tenth grade student who is currently studying Artificial Intelligence in class. I am writing to you to discuss my views on the implementation of AI into our classrooms.

To start off, intelligent tutoring systems are already implemented at baseline level. These challenge a learner in a way teachers are expected to without a teacher present. As we know, teachers are expected to have extraordinary capabilities—empathy, resilience, and organisation—but this is an unrealistic expectation to put on any person working in any profession. Implementing AI would allow for a more adaptable teaching system, as any change could be shared across a database. This could also allow for textbooks to be generated and distributed to students earlier. AI could help make learning more customizable, which is something that teachers cannot always do with so many students in their classrooms. Furthermore, virtual reality could aid in providing better understanding for learners and prepare them for a future that will rely on AI.

However, automating a whole profession would take decades before it reaches its maximum potential and a lot of funding to be made a reality in the first place. There is also one quality of a human that a robot cannot replicate: emotional intelligence. Humanity is a crucial feature that teachers need to connect to their students, and this might never be mimicked by any robot. Moreover, convincing parents, teachers, and students will take an even longer time than its implementation, and teachers might feel like they are being cast aside to be obsolete.

In my opinion, there is a compromise that can be made here. While no digital system could completely replace the qualities of a human, there are also not enough teachers in the world to fulfill the remaining twenty million needed to ensure every child’s access to quality education. A robot does not need rest, food, or wages; and they do not make human errors. This is helpful in grading essays, tests, and creating lesson plans. They can learn students’ personal habits and progress, and cater a learning plan personalised for them; this is impossible for a teacher to do in a classroom with many students. This level of personalisation would also benefit students with disabilities to have more control over their education. Then where robots lack, is where humans could flourish—this entails social interaction and building a crucial emotional connection with their students. Robots and humans fill the gaps that each other have.

As a student myself, I strongly hope that you consider implementing AI into our classrooms to further perfect our learning. A hybrid system would help lessen the burden on teachers, which allow them to perform better. A better teacher is a better student. Thank you for your time, I expect to hear your thoughts soon.

Sincerely,

Emmerson J.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Directed Writing).

Speech: Student Participation

‘Student council is nothing more than a performative act.’ this is what we might hear when we ask people for their thoughts on student council. But is the idea of ‘student participation’ performative and flawed by design, or by practice? My name is Marsya Edeline, and today I will be talking about why student council is argued to be bad, why it isn’t and lastly, what conclusion can be formed based on both views.

Firstly, people argue that the student council is inherently a falsified body, that it is merely lip service. Arranging and attending student council meetings are argued to be ineffective, as students claim that they are not heard. Moreover, some educators believe that students lack the knowledge and insight needed to positively and effectively impact students’ education. These educators claim that students should not and could not interfere with issues that they do not understand, and student councils merely waste the time of teachers and students alike.

However, recent research has shown that placing students’ involvement at the very core of education significantly increases the benefits and opportunities for them. Student participation is most effective when students have a voice on the ‘real’ issues that involve them, such as the curriculum, regulating behaviour, or developing new teaching initiatives. Give students the chance to make a difference, and difference will be made. There will be improvements in school lids, such as students’ behaviour, attendance and results because students gain self-esteem that is a result of better communication, negotiation, and decision-making skills. They will provide a fresh, new perspective and oftentimes have clear views and opinions over the matters that impact them. But this can only happen with the commitment to make their voices matter. Teachers are guided to set clear aims, expectations, and lay the bases for students to fully step into the role. If these things are carried out, then the benefits will arise.

In my opinion, both sides have some truth in them. The student council is mere lip service, yes, but only when they are not given the chance to be heard. When school officials are not committed to involving the students, students won’t ever learn to develop a sense of responsibility. Educators are experienced, but times change and lessons learned often change along with them. Involving students can help educators by communicating fresh ideas that will definitely help students, as they are the ones that will experience the effects. Mutual trust and commitment need to happen. A student council can help teachers with relevant and creative solutions to new problems, whereas teachers can help students achieve and fulfill their needs. Students will improve their decision-making skills and self-esteem. This will contribute positively to school life.

In conclusion, a student body can benefit students and teachers alike if both are committed to actually involving students in the decision-making process. If that is fulfilled, then a fulfilling school life will be achieved.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Directed Writing).

'Small Change, Big Difference?'

Is there really anything we can do, as an individual or a community, to make an impact? Especially regarding big issues such as climate change? This has been argued, time and time again, but what really is the answer? Do our actions do not have a big impact or do we all have the potential to start something big?

Some people argue that the answer to this question is definite—in the context of grand issues alike to climate change, individual actions hardly impact the outcome, they have stated that major efforts have had an actual positive impact on climate change were the result of national legislation, international laws, and treaties. It is argued that compared to the crisis itself, individual changes are inadequate to actually solving the issue. The emphasis on individual behaviour causes people to believe that they have done their part, some state that environmental progress is done by collective action, by forcing people to stop environmentally damaging things and start doing environmentally benefitting things, instead of relying on people’s individual green morals. Efforts such as green shopping drive up production—which is environmentally damaging—even if recycling habits are increasing.

But on the other hand, people argue that everyone has an impact, and that we need to start thinking about ways to make everybody capable of living a more sustainable life. The wealthy and privileged need to analyse their consumption habits and how they impact the environment. It is argued that people always have an opportunity to create a change by making things better for other people, animals, and the environment. It just requires a lot of effort.

In my opinion, these two views each argue valid points, individual acts cannot solve big problems, but that doesn’t mean individuals do not have any sort of impact on their surroundings. I believe that there could and should always be a compromise. Individuals need to start finding ways to lead increasingly sustainable lifestyles, but also find ways to pressure governments and industries to do better. There needs to be a collective effort from everyone to spend less, to live more green, and to expect better from groups that can make more drastic changes.

In conclusion, when we come together, with a change no matter big or small, our impact can be big. That is why, schools like ours have to come together and encourage others to do the same. Keep on doing more, expecting and demanding more from governments, industries, and ourselves. That is how we could create an impact of magnitudes greater than ourselves.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Directed Writing).

Crossroads

The train station always reminded Sam of life. It’s where people, scattered across different parts of a region, gather to part ways once more. People with lives so similar yet so different. People whose steps and destinations vary, yet they cross right here.

The guy beside Sam is chewing loudly in his chair, a single earbud on to keep an ear out for a robotic voice to call the queue for his train. The music from his earphones bleed into the space around them—it’s some Japanese pop music Sam doesn’t recognise, but it sounds a lot more pleasant than the loud chewing of gum in his seatmate’s mouth.

Two seats over from him is a pregnant woman, who got her seat from a pink-haired person with a studded choker around their neck. They exchange warm smiles, until their attention goes to the broken cry of a baby beside the gum-chewing man. He’s looking over at the wailing baby and the father beside him too, and he waits for the father’s nod before reaching up to touch the child’s flushed cheeks. He turns to his phone and taps a few buttons, and I hear the pop music change to a faint lullaby. His hands reach up to plug one earbud from his ear and another inside the case he produces from his pocket, and he gently inserts them into the baby’s ears after downsizing the silicone tips of the bud to fit the baby’s ears. The baby’s cries die down a minute after, and the station is filled back with the sounds of chatter from the people sitting and standing as they wait for their train.

The smell of musk, soap, sweat and cologne blend together and it smells like what life smells like. It’s unexplainable, but it also makes sense. It doesn’t smell nice, but it’s a scent that reminds people of how diverse life is. Some are ragged and sweaty from finishing their night shift, some are clean and fragrant for their morning shit. But either way, they all feel and wait for the rumbling of a train beneath their feet, and they all have felt the warmth of lifeless, plastic chairs and humid air.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

After Death

Sol wakes up to faint tapping on wood, to feather-light brushes on his toes, and the rustling of leaves outside his window. When he opens his eyes, slivers of light peak through webbed vision—and he sits up.

He would usually stay on his bed for a few more minutes, but it seems as if more and more things cloud his four senses: an itch on his calf, a growing tang on his tongue, a high-pitched cry of a bird perched on the tree outside his window, and a smell of powdery, white florals.

He now goes to his kitchen to pour himself a glass, but something makes him stop—a soft warmth, similar to that of the traces of a person, right at his bedroom doorframe. At first, he thinks of an intruder, but as he steps closer, the warmth at the floor and ends merely at his chest. He reaches for the source, but he gets stopped by nothing.

With his open palm in mid-air, he feels the heat dissipating—or rather, moving, he feels. He opens the door, feeling precipitation collect in the creases of his elbows and morning dew stick to his puffy cheeks. The small pockets of light that usually pours into his vision is not as bright as it was in his house, and the cold breeze that just blew past raise the hairs on his arms, but he shuffles with his arms spread wide to try and find that same warmth again like a moth to a fire.

He stops when he feels it on his elbow and swivels—the ground is cold and wet, he thinks, but he pays it no mind even when his senses are on the brink of overdrive—he reaches out his hands, and starts following the faint trail that someone—or something—had left behind.

Dirt collects between his toes; his skin feels cold and warm with the precipitation under his arms; but he keeps going. Overhead, he hears songbirds continue to get louder, and when he stops to take a deep breath, the smell of petrichor rushes into his lungs and his throat feels drier than it was before.

He continues walking again, and his brain forms images of textures and ambience. The smell of wet soil, white florals, the cool drop of rain on his shoulder, the taste of the earth on his tongue—he doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he walks.

When he takes an uneven step with his left foot, he lands on stone, no, concrete. He reaches his hands in front of his stomach, palms facing downwards, and he feels wood. Damp wood with something slippery at the dents. He explores the surface with his hands, and gathers that it is a bench, and upon further inspection, assumes that it is an old bench, with moss and fungus growing at the gaps.

He directs his hands to one end of the bench, finding a rusting armrest. It feels scratchy and brittle on his fingers, and he could definitely smell the metal oxide, but he forgets about all of that when his fingers catch on something underneath the armrest. It unlatches from the metal as he tugs on it, and he twists it around his fingers.

The surface of the cuboid is matte, he feels, and he finds dots at the top. They’re braille, he recognises, and the dots form the words “For my lovely boy”. He takes a deep breath, a twisting, growing pain in his chest rising to throat, and he presses the button he found on the brick not too long ago.

The button produces a satisfying click, and the velvety voice of his mother fills the damp space around him completely.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

The Moment

As the clock ticks heavily as it strikes twelve, a headache-inducing chime quickly follows from the phone on the table. UNIVERSITY LETTERS, it reads, and it is turned off. The mouse clicks seem to scream in the suspense-filled air around the computer screen. Tap, tap, tap, a password is typed into an input box, click, and the computer screen is now adorned with a red banner on the top column.

Time seems to be frozen, despite the subtle ticking in the background. Sweat starts to accumulate in places they normally do despite the cool breeze from the open window, and an overbearing pulse throbs under the large expanse of skin.

The mouse clicks on the large, unavoidable button, and it turns a spinning circle. The page turns blank, and no breath is spared — until the page is filled with a wall of text.

Eyes skim over the words — thank you for your interest- we have reviewed- the department head has — until it reaches the one word that is most important: Congratulations!

Air spills out all at once from screaming lungs, and the pulse still thrashes unrelentingly as the world seems to spin and hands shake. Chapped lips are licked, tasting this morning’s cold brew still lingering, and the silence is broken with a squeal and a clap.

Sweaty underarms start to dry down now, and music starts playing with a few clicks on the keyboard. A cake is pulled out from the fridge, the smell of gourmand diffusing into the surrounding air as the plastic lid is lifted. Sugar sticks to the throat just with the inhale of sweet air, and an unpreventable force pulls up the corners of lips into a giddy smile.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

Bustling Day

A stern voice talks lowly at a fuming mother. The owner of the voice wears a suit — Manager, it reads — and her speaking partner heatedly points at her cappuccino and ten-year-old son as he blushes and looks away while pursing his lips. The manager lets out a slow sigh and gives the mother a grim look before muttering a few last words and turning away on her heel. The mother deflates as her mouth opens and closes like a fish, and her son starts talking to her with a reluctant tone.

The manager leans against the counter of the shop with a relieved sigh, observing the people working behind it. A gangly teen boy awkwardly chirps at a customer, asking them for their order and nervously looking over to the door every time the bell above the entryway chimes — which is every twenty seconds, and each time he loses his train of thought until a customer has to remind him and his fingers fumble as he clicks on the buttons of the cashier machine.

Behind him is a lean and tall woman — clad in a green apron and visor. She works quickly; brew the coffee, pour the oat milk, write the name, call the customer. She moves with notable efficiency, and she weaves through the cramped space behind the counter and around the equipment like she has done this for years.

Somewhere from the back door, a chubby man brings over a large tray of golden-brown pastries. He has flour on his apron, and he smells like cranberry jam, cheese, and the tray of baked goods he’s carrying. He lifts it above his head, moving accurately with large steps through the little half-door of the counter. The tray thumps as he places it on the counter behind the glass, and he quickly grabs a pair of tongs from the tray and refills the quickly-emptying pastry display.

The man wipes the sweat on his brow, and he looks at the manager to find her looking back at him, then the coffee machines. He sighs, then washes his hands to go help the tall woman with the quick hands and hair that would smell of coffee and hazelnut for days to come.

They all bump into each other’s hips as they try to manoeuvre around the tiny space, trying to work as quickly as possible to stop the line in front of their teenage coworker from growing further into the back of the shop.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

The Factory

The building has changed since its abandonment. Cracks running up the walls, fissures littered across the once-strong brick and weeds growing at the base. The large, bold letters above the door no longer light up, now left only a beige tint on the edges where dust resides.

Inside, the floor is cold, but the room is humid. Moss-green water flood the tiles, pieces of thin leaves and stems floating at the surface, sometimes getting stuck between toes with a random step. There's no sound except the swishing and splashing of water and the occasional hiccup of a dying machine.

The steel cogs were once ahead of their time, feeding consumerism and its workers at their peak. It once gleamed under the bright lights, but with the lights gone, only a shade remains, no glimmer found.

Industrial tools that were the nation's pride and joy now stood still, oil at the joints now dried up and ant nests nestled between gaps. Vines and weeds grasp at the bases of tables and machines, firmly holding them in place for the eternity it will stay unmoving, unrelenting, and alone.

Along the walls are bulleting boards, employee charts, posters, and goals. Some of them are marked with a check, while some are left empty. Pictures of the factory at its prime, certificates of achievement and acknowledgment, medals and awards presented proudly still --- but now with no one to wipe the frames clean or keep the dust from finding home in the ridges of engraved medals.

The musky taste and scent of the living still remain in the air somewhere --- faint and barely noticeable, but it's there. The debris in the air latches onto skin like salt does on a beach, and sometimes a cold droplet from the leaking piped stain white clothing brown.

Somewhere along the way, the damp air makes it harder to breathe, and lips start to taste acidic whenever they smack.

The factory was once a powerhouse, but with no one in it, it was clear what gave it power in the first place. What fed the nation, what filled the shelves, what brought prosperity. It wasn't the flashy, turning gears and laser beams --- no, they were only statues on the floor now --- but rather the souls that created noise and life inside.

Now, cold, humid, and empty, was just a shell of fragile greatness, waiting to be made anew by someone who would find the remnants of glory between the strands of overgrown weeds.

Written by Marsya E. for IGCSE First Language English (0500), Paper 2 (Composition).

Smartphone Photography: A New Era?

For a very big period in history, photography has always been a hobby approached by enthusiasts or those with the riches to do so. So it’s no wonder that photography has been associated with advanced skill and the purpose of capturing a scene in its perfect wonder. With every advancement of technology, photography has evolved, and it has become more and more accessible with every change. But even though the technology has changed, its purpose and limits haven’t.

Well - until now.

While smartphones, in its nature, is not a device specifically made for photography, it has certainly changed the way photography exists with its purpose. As modern smartphones become a necessity in today’s age, and as smartphone cameras continue to improve, photography has never been more accessible. Everyone could and has become a photographer, and the purpose of snapping photographs itself has shifted from capturing the essence of the moment but rather sharing a unique experience. The way people respond to photography is radically changing with the rise of social media and the improvement of software. It pushes photography to boundaries that would be otherwise left unexplored without the improvement of smartphones themselves, by the use of filters and other features.

But otherwise, the statement is true - the smartphone was never meant for photography, it was always intended to allow for seamless, wireless interaction between people and the world around them. The quote from the famous inventor, Nikola Tesla, proved this:

“When wireless is perfectly applied, the whole earth will be converted into a huge brain, which in fact it is, all things being particles of a real and rhythmic whole. We shall be able to communicate with one another instantly, irrespective of distance. Not only this, but through television and telephony we shall see and hear one another as perfectly as though we were face to face, despite intervening distances of thousands of miles; and the instruments through which we shall be able to do his will be amazingly simple compared with our present telephone. A man will be able to carry one in his vest pocket.”

The textbook definition of a smartphone also does not mention its served function in photography, but rather highlights its computing power and compares it to a computer.

Furthermore, photography has, for the most part, existed as an art form. Its purpose was to capture the moment perfectly in a single photograph; and whilst today’s smartphone cameras have improved tremendously, they still fail to compete with professional cameras and fully satisfy the vision of the photographer themself.

The smartphone was never a device purposefully made with photographers in mind. But even then, it has certainly caused a pivotal change in the history of photography itself and expanded the horizons of what photography could be.

Written by Marsya E.

Charity Letter: Nature in Nurture

Dear Supporter,

Since long ago, in the remote rainforest areas of Kalimantan, Indonesia, many individuals have had no choice but to chop down trees in order to afford their medical bills. But with the help of our supporters, Nature in Nurture has successfully reduced the number of illegal loggers in Indonesia by 89% by offering price reductions of medical bills for the reduction of illegal logging activity.

However, when the pandemic struck, it not only affected the health of the population, but also the economic welfare of families. In these communities, farmers are the ones that are affected most as they struggle to find buyers that would pay them adequately. So, in a desperate attempt to support their families through these trying times, some of them had to resort back to logging to get food on their tables and medicine in their blood.

But no one should have to choose between the health of their families and the health of the environment.

NiN is working hard to make sure that the people and environment are equally nurtured, no matter the circumstances. Our Conservation Stimulus Program was created in 2020 to make this a reality. We purchase crops from farmers at pre-COVID-19 prices and distribute them back to the needy. Ex-loggers who decide to nurse trees in the Chainsaw Buyback program are also provided monetary incentives.

We work alongside local national parks to ensure that our help fulfils what they need to protect and grow their homes. At our clinics, we have consistently provided vaccines, medication, immunization, and contraception at an affordable price.

But as we try to replant the trees that have been logged and provide impactful help to these communities, we need your support to sustain these efforts.

A donation of Rp. 100.000,00 will help us provide medical, educational, or financial help to someone in need or plant a hardwood tree in Kalimantan, Indonesia under your name.

Your donation could help us enrich human life and Mother Nature together. Please extend a helping hand today and join us in our lifelong effort to nurture life in nature.

Thank you in advance for your support. We will ensure that your contribution will bring smiles to these communities and more greenery to these rainforests.

Yours Faithfully,

Marsya Edeline

National Aid Department

Disclaimer: Nature in Nurture is purely fictional.

Memoir: Simple Moments, Best Memories

In the summer of 2016, my family had our second trip to Bali.

We had packed up a few days prior, and we woke up early to go to Pekanbaru and catch our flight. I hated being woken up early, and I hated showering early in the morning even more. I grumbled and complained up until I finished my shower, and when we got to the car to drive to Pekanbaru, I quickly fell back asleep.

As we arrived at the airport, the sun was already up and blazing, just like the usual Indonesia-June-sun. The realisation hasn’t set in yet when I was on the transit plane from Pekanbaru to Jakarta - but I finally had an ‘oh snap!’ moment when I boarded the plane from Jakarta to Bali. I quickly became so excited that I couldn’t sleep on the flight. My leg kept on bouncing, and I probably read the magazines provided at least three times. I ate airplane food - it was surprisingly nice - and spent the rest of the two-hour flight praying that the plane wouldn’t crash so that we could see Bali again.

And by some luck, we all arrived at the Ngurah Rai Airport in one piece! We traversed through the large airport, seeing everyone of different colours and ethnicities with the same excitement to finally experience Bali. There were posters of Balinese dancers, shows, and there were big stores and shops that didn’t exist in Pekanbaru! But despite the largeness of the airport, we didn’t stay there long and quickly went on a bus to go to our hotel in Nusa Dua, where we spent the rest of the evening resting for the week ahead.

We did many things that week, but the most memorable memories were the simplest - I remember walking to the backyard of our hotel, and we would arrive at a white sand beach! I would bury my brother in the sand and he would struggle to get out beneath the heavy, viscous blanket. My mom would just laugh and occasionally worry about my brother getting a crab in his pants, while my dad would tell her not to worry as he sipped his cold beer. When we weren’t at the beach though, we would play billiard. I remember being absolutely terrible at it, and I would get frustrated as I frequently missed, but it was a fun game that brought me and my brother closer. It was one of the few things we could play together.

I remember feeling weightless at the time - like it was just me, my parents, and my brother and no thoughts of the simple worries that a fifth-grader could or might have.

These memories were simple, and weren’t as extravagant as the other activities we did that week, but they were focused on the relationship we had with the people around us and not so much the commotion that surrounded us. We weren’t distracted by spectacular dances or worry about monkeys that would jump on us, but the simpleness around us made us appreciate and focus on being around each other more. It wasn’t something that I appreciated more back then, but now that I’m older, the slowness that lets us connect with each other better is something that doesn’t frequently come by in the present. What completes our journeys aren’t the new places we see, but rather the bonds we tie and strengthen along the way.

Written by Marsya E.

Descriptive Writing: The Cottage Left Behind

My grandparents left the house for me just like how they lived in it. A small, but lived-in home; one they chose to spend the rest of their days in.

They bought the cottage decades ago, with a big front yard and a pond behind it. They would sit by the pond under the morning sunlight, humming along with the birds that frequently chirped and soared overhead. A wooden door, and a cool, metal handle for them to easily clean.

On the inside, the walls are covered - flower patterns dance along the walls, just like how the grapevines do on the outside. The wallpaper is sticky on some areas - the glue has seeped through with time.

They merely had a ceiling fan to keep them cool, and that fan never turned off, even after they left the house forever.

After a long day, they would sit down on their brown, tufted couch over some brewed earl grey tea. The couch still smells like my grandma's perfume - powdery, flowery, and faint. The direction of the furs of the rug under the dusty coffee table is scrambled - traces of handprints, one big and one a bit smaller, then a not-so-well drawn heart between.

Along the flowery walls are memoirs of past friends, family, and themselves. Them, in love and in college. Them, on their wedding day. Them, in front of this very cottage. Some pictures are more recent than others; they gained more colour as the pictures reached the corner of the room. At the end of the wall are bookshelves, filled from top to bottom with what looked like photo albums. Their lives encapsulated in photographs.

The spines of almost every album on those bookshelves are creased, and there are bank streaks on the shelves where dust should be. Everything's a bit dusty - whether it's the coffee table, or the wooden counters, or the television stand - but the photo albums aren't. The photos on the walls aren't.

They cherished their lives together, lived and re-lived it every day together. The smell of their last meal still lingers faintly in the air, and even after they left, their warmth still lingers all the same way.

Written by Marsya E.

Interview: Life as a Teacher

Below is an interview I conducted with Ms Rose, an English teacher from Mutiara Harapan Junior and Senior High School.

Interviewer: Marsya Edeline, a student of the interviewee.

Interviewee: Jacqueline Rose Solis, junior high and senior high English teacher.

Marsya: How did you come to be a teacher? Is it your dream job?

Ms Rose: At first I thought I was passionate about Science so I dreamed of becoming an environmental scientist, but then I was also considering my parents’ hope of seeing me become a successful lawyer someday. So when I was in university, I took up Environmental Science as my initial course for half a year but shifted to a Political Science degree which I studied for another six months. For my first year in the university, it was a bit convoluted as I was still unsure of which university degree I should take as my final path. Then I went back to my high school and rubbed elbows with my former school principal. He told me about the current international demand for Filipino English teachers overseas and advised me to pursue English teaching. Thankfully, I finished the program and succeeded in teaching abroad.

Marsya: You have been teaching for 16 years, what makes you choose to continue on being a teacher?

Ms Rose: I was made aware that I had this hidden passion in teaching which unfolded in the most astonishing turn of events. For 16 years in the teaching industry, I was given the opportunity to experience almost all kinds of positions present in the educational system from managing, coordinating, supervising down to simply teaching learners in the classroom. These various responsibilities and challenges have fostered both my professional and personal growth which I cherish until now.

Marsya: If you could restart your career journey with the knowledge you have now, would you change your career path? Why or why not?

Ms Rose: Definitely not. Well, I believe that I am where I am now for the right reasons. Throughout my career journey, I have acquired a myriad of educational pedagogies that are valuable for my teaching profession, human relations and interpersonal skills.

Marsya: Is teaching in the classroom vastly different from what your education has prepared you for?

Ms Rose: I have finished aligned qualifications useful for my instructional responsibilities in the field I am teaching - English, and gained sufficient experiences relevant to classroom mentoring.

Marsya: What is the most notable lesson that you have gained from teaching?

Ms Rose: The virtue of humility.

Marsya: What can you say to aspiring teachers that you wish someone had said to you before you started teaching?

Ms Rose: Love your students.

Marsya: That’s all the questions that I have for you, thank you so much!