They say those who cannot do, teach—but you could do everything. You could walk into the classroom, rain or shine, morning or afternoon, on a good day or bad, and bring with you the most inherent good I have ever experienced come from another person. There was never a moment when I doubted your love for what you were doing, the students you were teaching, or the photos you were sharing of the world through your eyes. I feel like the luckiest student alive to have learned from you, talked with you, and to have had a teacher with so much passion in his heart. Though I cannot discredit all of my other teachers, because I have had many outstanding teachers throughout my life, you were entirely different. Walking into your classroom every day was like walking into another world. A world where my opinions truly mattered, my dreams were not as far-fetched as I made them out to be, and where cultures I knew nothing about were presented to me as if they were hidden treasures only you had the knowledge of.
Your classroom stood as a shrine to the great thinkers, explorers, and scholars before you, and acted as a museum for your students. A museum inspired by the inner workings of your ever-intriguing mind. As well as an exhibit, your classroom was a space for discussions and open-mindedness, even during the most chaotic times. Students from every corner of the school were welcomed into that safe space, no matter what situation life had most recently thrown them into. You decorated your classroom from floor to ceiling with flags from across the world, notes from students, artwork that would make even the toughest of students feel their hearts swell, and comfortable arm chairs that could wash away the gloomiest days. There will never be another energy like yours to fill the space within that classroom, nor will there be lessons taught that encompass the same appetite you had to absorb and share knowledge.
Above all the lessons you taught me, and all of your students, be it Freud’s mommy issues, the life of Napoleon, the beauty of Italian operas, or the surprisingly exciting life of Luther (taught in the form of a rap) it is what you taught me about being a person in this world that I will never forget. You were able to teach me how to keep an open mind whenever debating with someone—no matter how strongly I may disagree. You taught me how to embrace the music, art, and beauty of other cultures though they may be vastly different from my own. You taught me how to listen to others in their darkest times and help guide them towards the end of that tunnel. But most of all, you taught me how to show compassion and love to anyone I come across in my life and how to learn about everything that’s out there, floating in the universe, waiting to be seen through my eyes.
To the teacher I lost: thank you for teaching me, sharing your passions with me, and allowing me to share mine. Arrivederci.