Black is the new color of hope.

And I felt it the moment he walked inside the classroom with his usual down-trodden gesture. His eyes fixed to the dusty, unpolished floor, his shoulders heavy with an unseeming despair. But he wasn’t lonely. No, not at all. But he did seem puzzled as though he carry the weight of the whole world upon his fragile, vulnerable existence. I could trace the markings of both fear and frustration in his innocent face, the way his eyes tell of his doubts, the way his lips betray his questions, the look of both innocence and experience hurdled into a knot of skillful mastery. I have always admired him.

His presence hushed the deafening noise in the room and left me remembering, in the sudden stillness, the days when I was once his student and he, my professor. He greeted the class with what felt like an exasperated sigh and settled to begin the morning discussion while I waited for him to finally look my way and be recognized. 

 Black is the new color of hope. And I knew it the moment his cold sharp gaze met with mine and  paved the way for the words to be spoken without being said. He smiled, a quick stolen smile, in front of us and asked sheepishly if he was in the right room in the right class. I could not help but burst in a silent bubble as I watch my professor make the funniest most unapologetic expression in the world. He motioned for a seat, settled his sling bag on one side and began the lecture with unforeseen magic.

A crucial realization finally dawned upon me as I sat in my chair in the middle of a classroom packed with hopeful Philosophy majors and listened to his delicate soft-spoken words. I was caught in a spinning nostalgia as I remember the 2nd semester of last year: same class, same subject, same professor.  It struck me as somewhat strange how time can suddenly create another new dimension, another new reality, and leave the rest of the fragments to memory. I was terrified when I first went to PHIL 2013 class that day knowing that I had to face an old vicious enemy: the enemy of the past. But when I finally realized that the only way to conquer one’s fear is to face them, I began to understand how fortunate I was that such circumstances had granted me the privilege to experience life at its worst and be able to grow stronger.

Black is the new color of hope. 

And thank you, thank you so much for painting me darker.


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s