Impolite as I am

It was a quite heartbreaking scenario.

People inside the four-cornered room were waiting for others to come. I thought I was almost late in the commotion. But when I had found out few mates in the venue, I just realized that I arrived earlier. Some were bored. We didn’t have any idea of what would be happening in the future. But I was one-hundred-one-percent sure that the scenario would look as if we were in the trial court. All of us were suspects.

Almost an hour was gone; the students were just about complete while the guest speakers were not yet around. Then in just a couple of minutes the commotion began. This was all we’re waiting for. This was it.

Silence seemingly covered up the entire class. It was quite serious. Neither chats nor any unnecessary gesture were tolerable anymore. At that moment, the class adviser swiftly broke the set-up’s stillness. She then interrogated us. The entire statement from both parties at first went on smoothly. As it reached farther, it became more scorching yet interesting to talk about. It was my turn to then break my silence. I couldn’t defend the rest of the class nor even myself. I was a little bit of nervous, so I had to be mindful of my words and deeds. The must-be manner to speak out everything which I knew would be right. All eyes were on me as I was little by little narrating the past. As I expected, my conviction was considered by them unreasonable. Nevertheless, I admitted that fact --- they’re my teachers and we’re their students. I guessed then that the feud was over. Our fight after all was apparently wasted.

The hearing still went on. Now, it was the turn of another speaker. As she talked I seriously listened to her. I had my first hint if what would be the content of her speech. My guess was exactly right. She then once again opened up our never-forgotten conflict. The way she tackled the issue seemed so degrading in my part. I could never defend myself again. I quite felt so numb. Yes, I myself really knew that I was the one she was pointing out. Definitely it was I. She claimed, not even in the class but to other instructors, that I was impolite. And for being as such, I, as a journalist, no matter how good in academic, in the long run would no longer be successful. She strongly quoted it. How I wished to be invulnerable in that moment just not to be hurt after eating those despairing words. Which for me it was never a foul of mine. I thought I would not cry after all. But swear I did. I couldn’t stop myself from doing that so. I could never pretend anymore. Acting in front of my confused classmates, that I was not that person the teacher referring to, was really hard. So I let my emotions burst out. I tried to defend myself once more. This time around everyone was ready to hear my side. Then I started to narrate what was really happened before:

We had our newsletter in a certain subject. I was assigned to be a writer in our group. I was about to inscribe my article but the facts given me were so confusing and incomplete. So I tried to appoint my news gatherers to then confirm that information. Since the teacher whom they interviewed and gathered the facts from was close to our class, I thought that it would be easier to ask more questions. It just happened that one of my news gatherers was somewhat afraid of this teacher. So she never wanted to go back just to ask the interviewee for several times. I understood if that was she felt like. So I decided to look for the interviewee. Then when I found her I grabbed the opportunity to have this ambush interview with her. Afterwards, my confusion was quite answered. Minutes were gone I went to the faculty to look for the same person. Unfortunately, she wasn’t there. I saw my two other instructors. They told me that the person I was looking for got mad at me during my interview with her. She said that I was rude and very impolite when I approached her. I was suddenly shocked and shamed if I really did it to her. I then reflected what was happened minutes ago. Then I realized that maybe the way I approached her was never a journalistic manner. So I heartily accepted it if that was how she really saw it. What I did was to apologize.

“You didn’t apologize; you just said impolite nga po ako ---”.

Going back to the classroom scenario, this was the remarkable line of the teacher who first urged me to be an unethical journalist. My apology, which I insisted I had already asked from, was another claim of hers saying that she never achieved it from me. I really felt so bad. I was almost speechless afterwards. The rest of the class witnessed how this instructor described me as worst impolite. I didn’t get her point of opening up that matter in the class. Was it for me to be embarrassed? Or to let people realize how stupid was me, so they sooner avoid me?

She could have talked to me about it personally, instead of imparted it with others. Was that manner also ethical? Very unprofessional I guess.

I really didn’t deserve that adjective. I thought I was on the right track after all. I was taught to be polite and to treat others with utmost respect. But so sorry, it wasn’t.

How dumb I am.

Well, the activity we had taught me something that is ethical. I believe, though I was judged to be bad-mannered, somehow I could prove to everyone that in this profession I still have this so-called humility and esteem.

I will never forget this thing in my life.

One thing that I should do now is to move on. Stand up and fight again!