It’s a kind of magic

Why do I choose this object?  Today,let me tell you three stories…

          First story has to do with me as a child and as a student.Since I can remember I was a “good student” just because I had excellent qualifications ( the only thing I did was to study and wrote my knowledge in a piece of paper) I remember a lot of silence in the class and kids “listening” to the teachers. When I grew up I spent most of my time in my room “eating” books.And when I had to choose a degree at the age of 18— I didn’t really know— I started Chemistry but nine days after I dropped it—.If I didn’t drop from the Chemistry college and changed the degree– I studied English–nothing would be the same.I followed my heart, it made the difference.

        By the way,not so much MAGIC in my school time.I was looking for something I didn’t know…I was a searcher.

         Second story is about beginnings are always hard, one teacher at the class front door in her first day of school,everything was a chaos.She thought to give up and she was still looking for something she didn’t know…She was still a searcher.

       Same teacher 20 years later, now at the class front door everything looks different from her.She learnt that we don´t waste time starting the class telling a story and discussing about it, listening to a song and singing, asking about how do you feel today or making  someone a “Special day of…” diploma or telling jokes.Investing time in our students, creating personal links is the key to have the power to create MAGIC.

        The third story is not mine it is by Jorge Bucay.

       This is the story of a man I would define as a searcher. A searcher is someone who looks for something, but not necessarily someone who finds it. Nor it is someone who necessarily knows what he is looking for, it  is simply someone who takes life itself as a quest.

       One day, the searcher felt he had to go to the city of Kammir. He had learned to listen to these feelings coming from an unknown part of himself, so he left everything and took off.

      After two days of walking by the dusty roads, he spotted in the distance the city of  Kammir. Just before reaching the town, a hill that was at the right of the path caught his eye. It was covered with a wonderful green lawn and a lot of trees, birds and lovely flowers, completely surrounded by a kind of small polished wooden fence.He saw a small gate and decided to enter.

      Suddenly, he forgot about the city and wanted to rest there for a while. He crossed the doorway and began walking slowly through the white stones as they were distributed randomly among the trees. His eyes were those of a seacher, and perhaps that is why he found on one of the stones, this inscription:

          Abdul Tareg, lived 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days.

        He was terribly shocked. This beautiful place was a graveyard and every rock, a tomb.

       One by one, he began to read the headstones. All had similar inscriptions, a name and the exact lifetime of the deceased. But he was terrified when he found out the one who had lived the longest, had been just over 11 years old . Overcome with a terrible pain, he sat and began to cry.

     The guardian of the cemetery passed by and came over. He looked the man crying in silence for a while and then he asked him if he was crying for a family member. «No, no a relative» – replied the searcher. «What is wrong with this town? What is the curse on the children of this town?»  The old man smiled and replied:

– “Calm down. There’s no curse. We have an old ritual here.Let me tell you: when a young person is 15, his parents give him a notebook, like this one around my neck. It’s our tradition  from that point forward, every time we truly enjoy something, we open the notebook and write down what we enjoyed on the left, and how long it lasted on the right.Did you meet your girlfriend and fall in love with her? How long did that enormous passion and the pleasure of knowing her last? And the excitement of your first kiss, how long did it last? The birth of your first child? And your most awaited trip? How long did the enjoyment of these situations last? Hours? Days?»

      And so…we just write down in the little notebook each moment we enjoy…every single moment.When someone dies, it is our tradition to open the notebook,and add up the enjoyed time and we write it on the gravestone.For us,this is the length of time they truly lived.

And finally, in the quest of my life I’ve found what I was looking for…MAGIC.

Magic is when :   

—You feel this pupil is really himself/herself and you are helping to do it.

—You look at your students eyes and you understand each other without any word.   

—You are encouraging them to believe in themselves, and they can do everything happens.

—You care about them and they care about you

—Your students consider yourself as part of their families.

Now I’m not a searcher …Stop looking for magic….JUST YOU ARE…AND BELIEVE IN MAGIC…

 «THOSE WHO DON’T BELIEVE IN MAGIC WILL NEVER FIND IT»   

                                                                                                                 Roald Dahl