I met my kindergarten teacher today. It was a night like all other nights. I was with my mother, brother, and sister, waiting in line to pay the items we’ve bought. We were at a supermarket. It was a Saturday. Nonchalant. A night like every other night.
I didn’t to notice, but my mother and sister had began drifting away for some apparent reason. With eyes bored as candlelight, I looked at them. And without much enthusiasm, I extinguished the flame and, again, floated amidst my gray nothingness.
It was the voice of my mother that brought me back from the drunken indifference I was intoxicated with. A voice, shrill as an alarm clock at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning called on my name. I looked, and the whole world seem to move in slow motion.
Sitting on a chair, in front of a counter three strides away, was my kindergarten teacher. Probably around her late 60’s or early 70’s, she was sporting a neck-length haircut with hues of black and white, with an occasional tinge of brown and gray. She wore some kind of special glasses which covers both eyes, but was perfectly transparent. But my heart could not help but drop at some of her characteristic; both her eyes had a distinct tinge of yellow instead of whites and her pupils a solid shade of pearl white instead of jet black. On her left hand was a cane, it was made of wood, not metal, which subtly whispered that she’s been using it for a long time now.
I didn’t need my mother have me counted until three. I looked at my brother in the eye and he looked at me as well. He nodded and I knew what had to be done.

Meeting my kindergarten teacher at the most unexpected place and time is like looking at the heavens at 3 a.m. and finding an infinitesimal number of diamonds strewn across the bottomless sky.
In retrospect, regardless how brief our paths crossed that day, a part of me believes that perfection found home in her sightless eyes for the briefest moment; regardless of how brief, it was still a moment, nonetheless.

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