The biggest scare I got from a teacher happened in my Grade VIII year. I think it happened on a hot day, inside another small classroom that doubled as a large oven. We were having a reporting about this poem or something pertaining to an African child who invented something really amazing for his village.

I was sitting in my chair trying to wipe off the sweat that constantly ran down my face and neck, while also listening to the reporter that time. All of a sudden, our teacher, Cynthia Agner, stood from her chair and marched towards the front. She then yelled something along the lines of "This is what you call a report?" (I can't remember the exact thing she said anymore). We were all so startled that we sat in our seats like someone struck our spines so it would straighten.

Then she started telling us that we are Special Program for Journalism Students, and what we were doing was unacceptable in that standard. Apparently, our classmate was just "reading" and not "reporting." After that, she continued to ramble on some more about how much is expected of us since we were part of this program. She told us that our teachers saw the potential in each one us to become journalists when we were still freshmen, that's why we passed the first year. She had a frown of anger on her face as fire spew out of her mouth.

Next she started talking about the content of the report. Guess what? She also said it was not up to the standards of an SPJ student. Plus, there were a lot of members from that group so she expected that they would have a lot better ideas. Then, she ripped the visual aid.

SHE ACTUALLY RIPPED IT RIGHT OFF THE CHALKBOARD. I KID YOU NOT.

I remember clearly that there were still shreds of manila paper stuck on the board, while the rest was thrown to the floor. I could also still remember the heavy silence that had filled the room that day. The silence remained, even when our teacher walked out on us.

Just to clear things up, Teacher Cynthia is actually one of my role models now, and we have no ill feelings toward her. She has greatly affected our lives with her wise words and impeccable guidance. She even embraced us and cried with us when we finished our last year as SPJ students. We still chat with her like old friends when we visit our Alma Mater.

It was through her anger (and words) that I actually started to really be serious with being an SPJ and improving my writing. She said that our teachers saw our potential, when we ourselves couldn't. I used to think that I should quit because I wasn't improving in my writing at all. That all changed when she said that. We should always strive to hone our skills and ourselves in total.

When we look back on this moment, my old classmates and I get a little sentimental (and a little embarrassed). Why wouldn't we, when it was the event that pushed us towards surpassing the limits we had unconsciously set for ourselves. Thanks to that, we grew enough to have more than half of our class be given the opportunity to join press cons in the latter years.

I had started to love writing just a bit more because of this.