Pa’no ba ako magiging isang santo?
Kismet •January 25, 2026 • 5 min read
Tomorrow, I will submit my resignation…
At first, I tried to hold on. I told myself I would stay a little longer because there were kids who loved me enough that if I wasn’t the one handling their classes, they would rather be absent than be taught by another teacher.
But today knocked me back to my senses. Something in me finally admitted that this is not where I belong.
It happened during my first class. There was this kid—he was around fourteen or fifteen. I had never seen his face because he attends online classes. It was only his third time joining my class, and I thought he was starting to feel comfortable.
Before the lesson started, I asked him the usual questions. Today’s lesson was about reading, and since he said he didn’t have anything prepared, I asked him to repeat after me instead. I tried so hard—my jaw even hurt from smiling and encouraging him—but it was all to no avail.
We moved on to the next activity, sentence completion, but he still wasn’t responding. I waited for two long minutes—hoping, giving space, believing he would try—before I finally gave him the answers.
This was the comment he left under my name. And the frustrating thing is—it will stay there forever, as long as I remain in this company. It will be a stain that time may never erase.
How am I even supposed to defend myself? How can I explain that this time—it’s not my fault?
That’s when it hit me. I’ve been holding on too long, convincing myself that my patience and effort would be enough. But some things aren’t worth sacrificing my peace for. Some battles aren’t mine to fight. Today showed me clearly that this is not the place I should devote my time, energy, or heart. And so, tomorrow, I will submit my resignation—not out of anger, but out of clarity.
I feel small. As if all the effort I poured in, all the patience and performance I carried every day, were erased in an instant—because one kid decided I was someone he could trample on.
I couldn’t even defend myself. I didn’t have a phone or a plate on my desk. I was just looking around, trying to find a tissue to cough into—yet somehow, that moment was turned against me.
