I asked the girls to write stories about the age of eighteen last summer. I'd been keeping the essays, thinking about using them as the inspiration for their graduation gift. I believe unrevised writing has its value as well, so I simply illustrate each story on a postcard.
I use the colored pencils of Fabriano given by Jun and Irma. The color tones are rather unique.
As for the other class, I use the three-color pencil from Czech given by Christine. After reading the stories, it dawns on me that I have very limited understanding of the girls and their lives.
There is a ritual for opening the gift. Everyone looks for the envelope with their name on it. She'll find her story and postcard.
The girls also give me fantastic gifts. Thinking of me as the Little Prince, everyone creates a postcard based on the figure.
My locker becomes an eye-catching gallery.
The girls also prepare a pot of blooming roses to go with the postcards.
Another three years have gone by. In the process, the girls have taught me much, and then comes the time to say goodbye. Strangely, I do not feel particularly sentimental. The commencement feels like another ordinary day. I am very sure that one day we'll run across each other or grab a cup of coffee somewhere. I guess for me, life is an ongoing journey, and the three years are part of it, instead of an independent segment.
What kind of teacher will I become next month? I am looking forward to my change!