For me, loss is the most painful phase in life. How could it not be? We are forced to let go of things we love, things we care about, and things we have enjoyed every second with. In my life, the hardest loss I have experienced was having to say goodbye to the middle school students I taught English to during my internship, those kids who made me feel seen and needed almost every day.
Every morning, I had to wake up earlier than usual, leaving home when the sun had not fully risen, traveling 10 kilometers to arrive at the school on time before the morning assembly started. Sometimes, I had to leave even earlier, worried about traffic. If I got stuck in traffic, I would be late, and I never wanted to make the kids wait. Going home was not easy either. The heavy traffic in the afternoon often greeted me with the endless sound of honking horns and fumes from vehicles, making me exhausted before I even reached home. At night, I still had to attend my classes, finish assignments, and prepare the next day’s materials for them.
For four months, this routine continued. I can’t deny that there were moments when I felt tired, bored, and even thought about giving up. But somehow, every time I arrived at the school and saw their bright, eager smiles, the exhaustion faded. When they ran up to me from the end of the hallway, when they raised their hands high to answer my questions with excitement, or when they innocently shared their dreams for the future, I felt that every struggle was worth it. There was one moment I will never forget. One day after class, a young girl approached me shyly and said, “Miss, I like English now because of you.” I could only smile at that moment, holding back tears that were ready to fall. I don’t know if I taught them many things, but one thing is certain—they taught me so much about sincerity, enthusiasm, and the meaning of togetherness.
They always called me “Miss,” a simple word that showed they respected me as their teacher. Yet, what made me happiest was when they treated me as a friend, too. They would tell me stories about their day, share their little complaints, ask for my opinion about small things that mattered to them, or simply joke around with me between lessons. Those moments were precious. To me, being a teacher does not always mean there has to be a distance between us. It doesn’t mean standing so high above them that they feel small. Instead, we can choose to become a friend they feel safe with, someone they can trust with their laughter and their worries, someone they know will listen without judgment. When they trusted me with their stories, like telling me about the subjects they struggled with, the fights they had with friends, or even about the dreams they were too shy to share with others, I felt honored. I knew then that I wasn’t just standing in front of the class to teach English; I was there to walk beside them, even if just for a while, as they navigated the uncertainties of growing up. That is one of the most beautiful parts of being a teacher: witnessing not just their academic progress but also the small, quiet growth within them, the way they learn to express themselves, and the courage it takes for them to share their world with me. In the end, teaching is not only about giving knowledge. It is also about building trust, sharing smiles, and letting them know that they are seen, valued, and never alone.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a school without a few mischievous students. Not every student liked me, and I understand that. After all, I am not a perfect person who is always right. There were times when I thought my teaching methods were already appropriate, but for them, it may have felt different. And that’s okay. For me, it became a reminder that teaching is a two-way process. It gave me the chance to evaluate myself and find ways to improve, to learn how to become a better teacher and a better person for them. I was not afraid to ask them for feedback, to ask if there was something they wanted to change in our lessons so learning could stay fun for them. I wanted to know what worked for them and what didn’t, because sometimes, it was my own hectic schedule that made me less focused and less prepared for the next day’s lessons.
There were days when I arrived at school feeling tired, with lesson plans that were not as engaging as I hoped, and I could see the boredom in their eyes. It was in those moments I learned to humble myself, to ask them directly, “What would you like to learn next time?” or “How can we make this more fun for you?” Their responses, often simple and honest, helped me see teaching from their perspective. For me, it wasn’t about maintaining the image of a teacher who always knows everything. It was about creating a learning environment where they felt seen and heard, where they felt they had a say in their learning, and where they knew their voices mattered. It taught me that even if I am the one teaching them English, I am also constantly learning from them—about patience, about creativity, and about how important it is to keep growing. And I realized that it’s okay not to be liked by everyone, and it’s okay to make mistakes as long as I am willing to learn from them. Because for me, being a teacher is not about perfection; it is about sincerity, effort, and the willingness to grow together with the students we are guiding.
And at the 4th months, as my internship has ended, I have to leave them. There will be no more voices calling out to me in the morning, no more curious faces as I explain a lesson, no more laughter as we play quiz games in class. Every time I imagine that I won’t see them again, it feels like there is an empty space in my chest. The longing comes unexpectedly when I open my teaching notes, when I look at their photos, or when I pass by the school, unable to enter their classroom anymore. I once thought loss only came from the big moments in life. But it turns out, loss can come from the small, daily moments we live with our hearts. And this loss, in particular, has taught me to be grateful for every simple moment I once had with them.
This internship may have lasted only four months, but the memories I shared with them will always stay with me. I may no longer be able to stand in that classroom with them, but I hope they know that in every step they take toward their dreams, there is a teacher who once believed in them, who once found joy in spending time with them, and who will always pray for them
silently And for me, this loss is not the end. It is a reminder that every goodbye leaves a mark, and that mark will forever be a part of who I am now.
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