The Bell Rung again…

Been a minute….

Today, the bell rang again…my alarm went at exactly 5:30am and I called my good friend, F because we promised each other whoever woke up first would wake the other up, and I knew that girl would sleep if I didn’t wake her up…lol ….. we both made it! On time!🤣

After six weeks of summer that felt like a lifetime compressed into a few scattered days, I stood in front of school this morning, and for a moment, I did not know whether to smile or to cry. Colleagues moved around, hugging, saying their hellos cheerfully, eyes full of September. Then there were some of us whose eyes looked like we barely went on break. And I, I came in carrying everything summer left inside me.

This summer was supposed to be simple. I had plans. I was excited to go home. Home – Ghana. Just saying the word settles something in my chest. I wanted to breathe that air again, to walk into my beautiful , cute lingerie shop, to touch the fabrics, rearrange the stock, talk to customers who call me sister and Rosario. I wanted to sit with my friends and laugh until my cheeks hurt, to eat with my family, to be reminded that I am more than just Ms, more than just a teacher who conjugates verbs on a whiteboard in London. I wanted to be a daughter, a friend, a businesswoman, a woman who belongs.

And then my body said no.

One minute I was making lists — what to pack, what to put on clearance for the shop’s ongoing sale — the next I was in a hospital, going in and out of consulting rooms, fluorescent lights above me at some point, doctors speaking in calm, measured tones that never quite calm you. It is a strange thing to be sick when you have so much to do. Your body forces you to stop when your mind refuses to. For a couple of weeks, I lived between appointments and prescriptions, between praying and pretending to be okay on the phone despite the diagnosis and discussions around treatment. I felt fragile in a way I had not felt before. I realized how quickly excitement can turn into exhaustion, how quickly plans can become prayers that simply say, let me be well again.

Now I am back. Back home. Adopted home. Back at school.

My final years last academic year made me so proud. They worked. We worked. They helped me help them even when some of them wanted to give up. We laughed at my terrible jokes about French accents, and simply agreed that « we don’t give up here! » Results day came and they had done it. They had actually done it! I had set such high standards for them, and even higher ones for myself, and seeing them cross that line meant everything to me. It told me that what I do matters.

But now that high standard is sitting heavy on my shoulders. Can I do it again? Can I be that teacher again this year for my students — the patient one, the creative one, the one who does not let anyone slip behind? I am walking into this academic year with hope, yes, but also with a quiet fear. I want this to be a good year. I need it to be a good year. I want to walk into my classroom every morning and feel that I am giving my best, not just my leftover energy.

And then there is the part of my life I do not know how to teach my way out of.

That part of my life is in shambles. That is the honest word. Shambles. There was a time I believed in love the way I believe in sunrise — without question. I believed in finding a person and saying, I have got your back, and trusting that they would have mine too. I believed in partnership, in us against the world. Now, my life is often so loud with silence, and when there is indeed some speaking, it is sharp banter that leaves everyone involved wounded. We can barely stand to be in the same room without something stinging. And it hurts, because I am not a woman who loves lightly. I love deeply. I show up. And I have done that for 11 and a half years, diligently.

And so I keep asking myself, maybe I am not the kind of person who gets to have the kind of love that makes sense. Maybe some of us are meant to love beautifully but never quite be loved back in the language we understand.

That thought has been living with me all summer, alongside the plenty medication and the plane tickets and the lesson plans I know would be starting soon…

But today, as I wrote notes in my planner during training, something shifted, just slightly. I remembered who I am.

I am a woman who has been sick and still in the process of recovering and aiming at a full health. I am a woman who built a small business from nothing and flies across continents to keep it alive. I am a woman who wants to travel and see the world and experience amazing places and people. I am a woman who left home and by grace, found herself teaching a foreign language to children who will one day use it to see the world. I am a woman who has loved, even if love has not loved me the way I hoped.

So maybe this year does not have to be perfect. Maybe it just has to be honest. Maybe I will not have all the answers for my situation or for my health, or for my future. But I can have the classroom for now. I can have my passion. I can set my standards high and meet them day by day, verb by verb, child by child. One at a time.

Summer is over. The bell has rung. I am still here. And I am still hopeful, despite everything…

Do say a prayer for me when you pray…

Love Always,

Rosario.💜