Memories that Will Always Follow Me

I was new at Concordia. It was my second semester and I was still getting used to a system completely different from what I was used to. I felt inferior for not being Spanish, English or French native, at least, and I didn't think my ideas would be good enough for this demanding university and its professors. "Critical reading" was a course that announced itself to be very competitive. The first class only reinforced that idea on us, and all of my 11 colleagues from the previous Spanish course dropped it. I was alone, again, but I couldn't give up that easily. Surprisingly enough, I managed to "float" through grades of A- and A until towards the end. I felt encouraged by how interesting the readings were and by how our professor would help us see things we would've never thought of otherwise. All this energetic serenity was disrupted when for our final assignment we had to pick between Isabel Allende's "De barro estamos hechos" and J. L. Borges' s "Emma Zunz". The first text was fairly easy and most of my colleagues wanted to write their essay on that. Meanwhile, I could not understand anything from the Argentinian writer's short novel, but didn't want to have a work similar to the others. Therefore, when our professor set up appointments with each one of us, I took advantage of my allotted time and shared my dilemma with him. He told me that I could turn this essay into an attempt to understand Borges's work. "Of course", I said, "but what about my G.P.A.?" (grade point average) "I wouldn't want to destroy it because of such audacity." I will never forget his answer: "Of course there's always this risk, but you will never know until you've tried... and I think you can do it."

It was exactly what I needed. I spent more than one week fighting with "Emma Zunz", I kept on looking for that interesting idea I needed... and I finally found it. I managed to get A+ for the essay and A+ for the whole course. But it was about so much more than just that. He let me express myself and taught me to explore my ideas, no matter how stupid or irrelevant I thought they were. He encouraged me to look beyond my fear of public speaking and consider a teaching career. He made me be passionate about Golden Age literature, considering that I'm not that fond of literature studies. He determined me to take risks and dig beyond the surface. He came have a drink with us after class, although it was his birthday and he could have spent the evening at home. He told me he'd come shake my hand at graduation, although he'll be on sabbatical. He's everything I could wish for in a professor and a human being. I'm so fortunate to have had him as a professor and I could never forget what he has done for me.