POV: HELENA IVYRA.
The first classes have been repetitive and tiresome, honestly.
I remembered the feeling well: always the same scripts, the same sequence of teachers explaining how the evaluations would work, describing the class dynamics, and reviewing those standard topics we were all tired of hearing.
With each repetition, it felt like time was dragging on.
But, finally, we had reached the end. The last first class of the year. Geography.
It was Professor Andressa's class, the youngest among all the teachers at the school. It made me smile, because it was almost comical to think that, among so many older teachers with decades of career behind them, we had her, a woman who hadn't even turned thirty.
Of course, she wasn't there by chance.
Andressa had a reputation for being strict, sometimes even annoying, but no one could deny that she knew how to convey the material clearly and precisely.
She was respected, and even instilled a certain fear in many of my classmates.
I remembered her appearance: light-blonde hair, always tied back simply; medium height; and the most striking detail, that pair of square glasses that gave her a serious air.
Her brown eyes reflected a firmness that sometimes made us uncomfortable, but they also held a certain hidden sweetness, typical of someone who had never forgotten her roots.
Indeed, she carried that simplicity of the countryside, albeit disguised under a professional demeanor.
Many were afraid of her, and with good reason.
Her scoldings could be harsh, her tests were tough, and her demands, almost suffocating.
But, at the same time, there was a protective aspect to her.
I myself had witnessed moments when she didn't hesitate to confront even the principal to defend a wronged student.
She was that kind of teacher: tough when necessary, but capable of acting as a shield.
And so, the last class began.
"Today, we're going to talk about something that, at first glance, doesn't seem very connected to geography, but if you look closely, you'll see the direct link"
Andressa said, adjusting her glasses as she opened the presentation on the projector.
She began to speak about the different styles of literature around the world.
The way each genre, each format, and each literary tradition ended up taking root in a specific region, becoming almost a reflection of the local culture itself.
"If you want high-quality poetry and sentimentalism, go to France or Spain," she explained, with the naturalness of someone who had repeated that lesson many times.
"If you're looking for philosophy with depth and numerous teachings, the Alamans, or Germany, is your destination"
I took mental notes, fascinated by the clarity with which she traced the cultural map.
"Science fiction, comics, pop culture? We head to the land of the free, the USA" the teacher said, making air quotes with her hands.
"Manga? We go to the land of the rising sun; Japan is the destination"
She took strategic pauses, allowing us time to absorb and note each example.
Gradually, her discourse expanded, connecting what seemed to be just literature to the broader aspect of the subject.
"Each genre has its own marks. Culture modifies literature, but literature also shapes culture. The epic fantasies of England didn't arise from nowhere; they drew from medieval tradition. Meanwhile, the wars and political conflicts of France and Spain forged their melancholic poets from the foundation of their conflicts"
I listened to her attentively, and it was as if each word opened a window beyond the classroom.
It was like a simple journey to countries and their cultures, through their texts and stories.
They say reading allows you to live a thousand lives in just one, but it wasn't just that….
'Reading allows you to experience a thousand cultures, just through the text!'
Quickly circling the countries she had already mentioned and their respective strengths, I returned my attention to her explanation.
"Russia," she continued, in a firmer tone, "with its turbulent politics, was the perfect ground for the realistic works that defined an era"
There was a moment of silence, as if everyone was reflecting on the intensity of those words.
"And we can't forget South African literature, often overlooked. Burdened by the traits of colonialism and racial tensions, it became profound, painful, but also of a unique beauty"
I sighed softly, unintentionally. There was something magnetic about that class.
"In summary: literature is shaped by the cultural perspective of a region, just as it influences how customs and traditions are represented," she concluded.
But the class didn't stop there. Andressa then made an unexpected connection.
"Similarly, the powers we study also find more fertile ground in certain cultures. It's no coincidence," she said, changing the slide.
She explained that the Alamans, with their philosophical heritage, had developed excellent schools of mental magic.
The English, masters of drama, had renowned schools of mastery in that area, which resulted in many successful actors in Hollywood, for example.
And as the icing on the cake, they had a tradition of excellence in economics.
Everything seemed to fit together, like pieces of a large puzzle.
As she quickly organized the next slides, I noticed that when she opened her browser to check something, I inadvertently saw a featured news story.
A headline ran across the screen: Medical Crisis in the Land of the Originating Sun.
The official name sounded pompous, but I quickly recognized it: Japan. On the other side of the world.
"What's that, teach?" asked one of the boys from the back, the typical chatterbox Gabriel.
My eyes turned to the teacher, and I wasn't the only one.
"It's a news story about the latest events in Japan; they've been suffering from some kind of medical crisis or flu outbreak in recent weeks"
Andressa replied, as she opened the article.
The news described a serious situation: several people were suffering from fits of rage and, strangely, there were reports of excess energy firing in their nervous systems, creating numerous cases of outbreaks scattered across Tokyo and Kyoto.
Japanese authorities had already declared a state of emergency. Reading that, I felt a chill down my spine.
It was as if, suddenly, reality had invaded the classroom, shattering the almost academic atmosphere we were immersed in.
The news showed some images of those people suffering, victims of something that seemed uncontrollable.
The attacks appeared to be random but occurred mainly among teenagers.
Japan had always seemed like a distant, almost untouched place.
But at that moment, I felt the brutal proximity of what had until then been just a newspaper clipping.
'It's just news, and on top of that, from the other side of the world. There's nothing to worry about… I hope…'