I've been imparting wisdom for the last 3 days.
Well, technically I've been doing that since a long time ago, but these 3 days it just had been quite intense.
So what does it feel like having people looking at you attentively, devouring your inputs, nodding and making notes (and even inquire some) as you speak?
It's fun.
I used to think that the bravest 2 words ever said are "Any questions?". It's an invitation for (normally) a bunch of people who've been listening to your words to dig deeper, re-analyze, find out more, and simply asking any inquiries they might have. Whatever it may be, ask away. Really. Really. Anything that comes up from that complex human brain, I should be able to give some insights. You might have read a whole book about it, you might be just testing, you might be really stupid or you might want to see if I'm really stupid, I challenge you. Give me a question.
Everytime I watch other people end a speech by saying "Any questions?" I panicked for them. My God, who knows if a genius had been listening and is prepared to give, simply put, the ultimate question that you don't know the answer to? You've just given a complete speech that supposedly shows how great you are! But you've worked so hard! If you can't answer a question here, your image will be ruined and your speech shall be useless!
How can you just ask them to ask anything they want?
But, I got through it.
I started realizing that I've been exposed to that kind of humiliation during my 3 years of teaching. Apparently, I think, the phrase "Any questions?" is sort of a reflex - you simply say it after you're satisfied with your speech. And yes, there had been times when I can't answer people (and I pray everyday to leave those times behind me), and that look on their face were terrible. But I survived.
The last three days (and the last year) I've been blessed with the absence of those moments and those expressions. I learned to always, always really know what you're talking about (which might explain why I'm generally quiet on small chats but an extrovert otherwise), and I learned to show the confidence of always, always really knowing what you're talking about.
And I learned that the looks of people when they learned something from what you said is rewarding enough to went through all of the above. There's hardly a better satisfaction than receiving gratitudes for helping improve other people.
This was why I wanted to become a teacher.
Sadly (well I had to reach a sad point somewhere, did you not see the aura of this blog?), the satisfaction of imparting knowledge is barely a competition to the sorrow of realizing that all your friends are off busy doing their own things, and now you're left behind. Then you started thinking if the process of building intelligence for other people had ironically made you too stupid for keeping up with your peers.
And now the days of imparting wisdom are interfered with moments of stillness,
and followed with nights of silence.