They laughed so hard that everyone turned their heads to see us. I was sad that day and their laugh was the last thing I needed…

-So, you’re really doing it! You’re going to teach to those students! Cre-a-ti-vi-ty! To those people! You know what you’re getting yourself in, right? Right?

-Well…

-She doesn’t know! Oh my…so they tricked you! No one wants that class! And especially about creativity…I think they’re creative enough!

I look at my colleagues, they were still laughing while I was getting blusher and blusher…

-Look, Claudia…we hope you’re letting us assist you…it will be the funniest moment of the week. Remember: don’t speak with the blonde one. Yeah, the one that looks so angelic…

Another ten minutes and I found out about my future students. The ones that everyone avoided. My practice included teaching to various age categories. Now I was going to teach at 23-25 years old students. I was 21 back then. That group of students were exceptionally challenging for…someone like me. Two of them were autistic, one was a former convict, and the blonde one…

He, with his angelic look…he was schizophrenic. Paranoid schizophrenia. And sometimes, when he refused medication, it was difficult to relate with him. And this was an understatement, as I was going to find out on my own.

So, there I was, scared but surprisingly encouraged by their smiles. Yes, I did the old trick…I admitted to them, before starting the class, that I’m nervous…That I really want to create the best impression and that I need them to cope…

And they did! They responded to every creative technique I was presenting. Till one moment…

-So, the next one, is a question with open responses. There is no right or wrong, everything you can think of…just let it flow…then, please read it to us!

The blonde one was the first to raise his hand. He was absent so far, but now…everyone’s eyes were on me…I asked him to read his answers.

-You ask: what would you do if you would be God for one day? I answer: I would kill my parents, I would kill them (pointing at his colleagues), I would torture and kill them (pointing at my colleagues assisting the class and laughing) and then I would kill myself!

I stopped breathing for a second. Everyone froze. Then I looked in his light-blue eyes. And I used a calm, sweet voice, like talking to a scared child.

-Thank you. I think you were very honest and that’s a rare quality. Don’t you think the same, guys?

The class approved silently.

At the and, I asked them to write a little note with their feed back. Everyone wrote the nicest things I ever read about myself. I was in tears reading…

He came closer.

-I made this for you.

It was a drawing. A portrait. My portrait. I recognized the long blonde hair and the green eyes. But tears? I was smiling all the time during the class…

I tried to took the drawing and he grabbed my hand, holding it tight. His eyes were like two blue blades, looking deep in my eyes. He spoke the words with difficulty…like he was trying to fight them back.

You. I let you inside…tears…oceans of tears. A smile is a mask. People wont see it. I am who I am and I can’t change it. Your mask…is falling. Don’t cry. World doesn’t need us, heroes. Go away now…I can’t stop it anymore.

He almost pushed me. I left and tried to forget. Days, months, years…and here I am. Building a bridge over my ocean of tears. Taking off my masks and learning to be a hero. Not for the world…but for my own destiny.

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