Of Stars and Tricycles

I remembered how much I envied her name that carried “Estella,” a name that means “star.” It was one of those days when I went to the Journalism Department to inquire about shifting, and then I saw her name on the door. Chit Estella-Simbulan, it said.

All this as I sat crying in the car, as I heard the unfortunate news from the radio — Ma’am Chit is dead.

I remembered how I would often describe her as a warm aunt or a cool mom, nevermind that I lost sleep for almost a week because of a final requirement for her class. That requirement had me typing away in a tricycle and editing articles in a jeepney, using my then handicapped laptop — its wires showing through a cracked hinge — while my classmates and I shared a laugh over how stressed and desperate we all looked. I remembered how she asked me about the CW subjects I had enlisted in before she signed my Form5, how I feared that she might not sign because some journalism professors think that journ majors are better off not taking CW subjects, only to hear her say “it’s good you’re taking CW subjects.”

To a professor whom I consider as a supportive mentor and surrogate mother, my sincerest prayers.

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Ma’am Chit Simbulan died last 13 may 2011. This is my modest attempt at remembering her through writing my fondest memories of her.