The hour of goodbyesAnother school year ends. One more year in which we teachers have worked in full classrooms, but also in the streets, demanding quality education.
However, when the last bell rings and the corridors become empty, nostalgia sets in. It is true that we look forward to the break, because it is well deserved, but we also find it hard to say goodbye. During the course we have been involved in the students' education, but also in their lives. We have celebrated their successes and shared their difficulties.
And one day, they simply spread their wings and fly. Then we remember that educating also means learning to say goodbye.
Because yes, when they leave, a small void remains, a "wow" in the heart. And, even as the years go by, the same thing will always happen to us: they leave... and we continue to remember them and talk about them, because teachers are recidivist nostalgics.
Sara Galiana SteinbrüggenBarcelonaThe daily ordeal of X30Every morning to go to work I have to take the X30 bus, and every day it becomes a lottery. We are talking about a line that runs every half hour (if it's not late, which happens often) and that during peak hours uses a single vehicle, instead of a double articulated one. The result? An agonizing space where we travel shoulder to shoulder, literally standing, to the point that more than once I have arrived at my destination feeling sick from the crowds and the heat.
The situation is so unsustainable that the driver often has to skip stops because there isn't room for a single soul. The look of helplessness on the faces of people left behind, knowing they will be late for work or university, is outrageous.
They put every possible obstacle in our way to using a car, they raise our fares, and they sell us public transport as the ideal alternative. It's a shame that, with all we pay, we have to travel like cattle. If they want us to leave our private vehicles, they should start by offering a decent service. We cannot ask for sustainable mobility at the expense of the health and dignity of workers.
Ariadna VergésEsplugues de LlobregatThe 90-year-old gentleman's small balconyEvery morning, at exactly nine o'clock, I observe the same scene from the small living room of my fourth-floor apartment, which overlooks a typical Barcelona apartment building's inner courtyard. A man about 90 years old, with white hair, suit trousers from another era, and a striped shirt, raises the shutter of his bedroom. It's one of those old shutters, which you have to pull up with force and make a noise that could wake up half the neighborhood. He pulls it up without hurry, taking a few breaks, even to gather strength, and then, when the shutter is almost at the ceiling, he stops, to avoid the final dull thud. It is then that he takes a short but decisive step to go out onto the small balcony of his bedroom. Once outside, even if the sky is blue with no risk, he looks at it with mystery, as if trying to guess the weather for an entire week and be a weather forecaster. He stands still, mutters something; I would say something nice, because he always smiles looking at the sky. After a few minutes and confirming that it is sunny, he nervously enters his bedroom and I lose sight of him. After a few minutes he returns with a small cup of coffee, sits in a wooden chair, facing the sun, and I feel as if he is gifting his body to life. His face relaxes, he closes his eyes and his wrinkles smile; his little face warms up, and his small cup of coffee always hangs from his right hand.
Although he doesn't know it, this daily ritual gifts me peace and reflection; pleasure and happiness are in the small things, I tell myself every morning. What would become of us if we appreciated them more? And if we observed what surrounds us more?
Carlota Balasch VaquésBarcelona