karugtong

we'll i tried copying ang pasting the article and im so loving version 3.0 dahil may copy and paste feature but im so hating the multiply for not letting me edit my previous post to paste the article.

here it is:

Dear ma'am�
By Biagko�

March 1, 2001�

SHE is 16 years my senior. She is a Biology teacher at a private school in the north. She is smart, charming and attractive in her simplicity. No wonder she easily captured my 14-year-old heart.

It was a first in my life, a feeling so strange yet special. I spent sleepless nights thinking about her, replaying in my mind her intelligent discussion of the day's lesson, her confidently delivered lecture, her warm smile and her eyes that showed authority. There was a certain mystery about her, an aura that drew me closer and closer to her.�

My young heart violently throbbed at the sight of her. The mention of her name sent my spirits soaring. I was cautious, conscious and clumsy in her presence. She inspired me to study well so that I could impress her with smart answers in recitations and exams.�

Initially, I thought it was purely admiration, hero worship or perhaps a teenage crush. I thought the feeling would go away after some time.�

I was wrong. No amount of rationalization could convince me it was not love. Each day that passed made the feeling more intense, more sincere, more honest. I had to tell her how I felt, because I could no longer bear to suffer in silence.�

And so, with an unsigned note, I told her she was special-and that I was falling for her. It was liberating and at the same time agonizing, for I didn't know how she would react if she found out it was me. I kept my distance and avoided any chance of eye contact which would give me away.�

That note was followed by another. And another.�

I didn't notice any significant change in her, so I felt my secret was safe. I didn't tell anybody about it either for fear that it might spoil the love I undoubtedly felt for her.�

That summer, I frequently saw her in school. We worked on our school paper while they were required to render summer service. Surprise of surprises, she gave me a present on my birthday and with it a note that said I was special, too.�

I felt my knees shaking, my heart rapidly pulsating, my blood draining. So, she knew all along. But what did that present mean? It thrilled and yet it puzzled me no end.�

That incident paved the way for friendship to develop between her and me. We exchanged notes constantly but we had to be discreet about the whole thing. It was no ordinary friendship and surely, no one would understand at first. She was my teacher and I felt it was my responsibility to protect her interest over mine.�

Every weekend, I visited her at home in the disguise of submitting a project or asking questions about an assigned report. She welcomed me warmly.�

One time, I came to her wet from the rain. She instantly dried me with a towel and offered a dry shirt.�

The days that followed saw us exchanging glances every so often. We understood each other's unspoken words. She never failed to start my day right by flashing her sweet smile. I would pass by her classroom more often than I had to. There was so much affection that needed to be expressed, but her status prevented me from doing so. She was so respectable and dignified, and I did not want to mar that with any talk that might spread about us.�

Finally, she told me she loved me too. That was on June 25, 1987. My world stood still. I could not believe what I was hearing. She loves me!�

I wanted to shout, perhaps, even scream that I loved her too. It was one jubilant moment I'd constantly play back on my mind.�

I remember very well the first time I reached out for her hand. She did not resist. With our fingers entwined, I knew I never wanted to let go of her. She was my life. My world revolved around her.�

Soon I had to go for college. I left with a heavy heart. Part of me wanted to stay and another part of me wanted to find my place in the sun-for her. She said I was bringing along with me her heart and her prayers.�

The first days of my freshman year tore me to pieces. I wrote her letters every day, sent her chocolates and flowers, filled an entire manila paper with "I love you's," and went home every time I had the chance.�

She wrote back and every letter that I received took away my loneliness and gave me the needed push to persevere. Our letters sustained us in our absence and distance from each other. I read each of her letters over and over again, memorizing the lines that spoke of her love.�

One semestral break, I asked her out. We went on our first date ever to watch a movie about extinct dinosaurs coming back to life. In the dark, I held her close, her cheek against mine. Soon we were kissing. Too long had I waited for that moment. I was ecstatic. the electricity was all over. I loved her so much.�

Fate, however, would not allow our relationship to go on like that forever. It was my fault. I proved to be weak and unable to hold on to the beauty of our relationship. I opened the door to people and welcomed them to my world.�

My letters became scarce and eventually silence followed. I was too engrossed in my own world, struck by the variety and novelty of each new experience. I forgot about her. But I did not hear anything that suggested she was accusing me of abandoning her.�

I found myself in a relationship which lasted for just six months. It couldn't compare with the relationship I had with her.�

Hurting and bruised, I ran to her. She accepted me back without questions or conditions. "A pail of dirty water does not make the ocean dark," she said. Prodigal lover that I was, I knew my heart had found its way home in her.�

The second chance she gave me made us make up for lost time. We proved to be more affectionate and expressive of our love.�

The ways were countless. She always brought something for me each time she went out of town. I gave her my first salary. We showered each other with small presents that proved we were never far from each other's heart and mind. Of course, we had our dreams, too, which included growing old together.�

I was so at home with her. We shared the same passion for literary works, movies, food, music and laughter. She accepted me for what I was-fat, warts, scars, moods and all. There were no pretenses.�

Every time I looked at her, my heart never failed to beat a bit faster. There was magic, intensity, love in its purest and sincerest form.�

I am now 28. She is in her 40s. I have loved her for 14 years-half of my life. I am finishing my degree in law. She is now a department head in the school where our story started.�

Most people go through their lives searching but never finding the purpose of their existence. Several times in the past, I lost my way too. My life went in circles, trapped in patterns that led to a maze. But I found my direction in her. Now, I have a clear sense of purpose: to be with her until I breathe my last.�

This is not an ordinary story but like most love stories, it is not without the usual trials and problems: petty quarrels, misunderstandings and arguments. There was never a major quarrel, though. We never raised our voices or uttered words that would cause the other pain. I could never do anything to hurt her. And never, never will I make her cry.�

With her, I have peace of mind. And that matters a lot. I have known her loyalty and fidelity. I am truly happy with her and I will continue to be so because I know I made the right choice. Never mind if this relationship goes against conventions. Never mind if this is continuously being questioned as regards its rightness or wrongness. Never mind if society frowns on such relationships. Never mind if she and I are of the same sex.