A classroom is not just a classroom.
Even though it is just
a box with four sides,
it molds you into a shape.
It hems you in, gives you
its likeness. Then molds you into
a sculpture, certainly worth something.
It can be a unique work of art,
with exquisite qualities
and alluring curves.
Conversely, it can be uniform,
mass-produced, like fast fashion.
Or that Funko Pop you buy from the store.
Every body, every soul, every heart
passes through a classroom
at least once in their lives.
No matter if it is the schools of Finland
Or the competitive halls of Singapore
Or that torel* somewhere in Mindanao
All pass through the shaping box that
is a classroom. Once you are done with it,
you become someone new. The world’s yours.
Alternatively, you can become old:
You will be now someone without
a dream, with wrinkles inside one’s soul.
A classroom is not just a classroom.
It lingers.
It can be a happy core memory,
or it can be a persistent stain –
Staying for the rest of our lives.
*torel – the Maranao word for a school for Islamic studies; better known as a madrasa.
