My favorite lecturer passed away yesterday morning of an heart attack. He taught me only one module which was the first module on translation. He seemed a fuddy-duddy at first, expousing his credibility in the first 10 mins. But his passion for his work ebbed and flowed and swirled around us as he cajoled and teased us into discussing the fundamental theories. The next five lessons were a joy to attend, almost none of us missed his classes.
He graded my work and praised the effort I made, which I thought I was neither on par with the elites of the class nor within a 10% breathing distance of his translation prowess. He bored his eyes at me when he asked if we minded having our work (if he thinks they are good) published for the class to see. I stared back blankly, a pretense to be ignorant of his intent, of which I think he was confused. I really had doubts about my nascent skill!
Looking back, I'm quite ashamed. Dismissing his appraisal is akin to demeaning him as a teacher.
How can someone so talented, so alive, so at the prime of his life, have his flame snuffed out in an instant? Our today is a tomorrow he can never reach. For that, I am ever more resolved, even more keen, to love my life; my today like it's the very last.
RIP. Mr. Yeo.
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