A touching essay by a 6th-grade student for their teacher: "With you here, I'm no longer afraid!"

(NLĐO) - My achievements today are thanks to the passionate lectures of my teacher throughout the years I was fortunate enough to have her as my homeroom teacher.

Early in the morning of the first week of the new school year, 2025-2026, a light mist still hung like a thin veil, embracing the mountains, forests, and villages of Northwest Vietnam where I was born and raised. I heard my mother's voice calling: "My sixth-grade student, wake up and go to school!" Her affectionate call woke me up. That's right, I've moved on to a new class, a new level of education. I'm no longer the little elementary school student at the beloved primary school next to the Nậm Pàn stream, which babbled day and night. I will no longer see my teacher – Ms. Đinh Thị Hoa, my homeroom teacher for three years at Hát Lót Town Primary School (Mai Sơn commune, Sơn La province).

Second mother with special attention

I'm still not used to the new classroom and teachers. Every day, cycling to school, passing through the gate of the school where I spent five years in elementary school, filled with so many cherished memories, makes me miss my teacher so much. She's the teacher, my second mother, whom I love and respect deeply, and she will always be etched in my heart.

Autumn, the season of joy, of excitement and happiness, as we attended the opening ceremony at the district's prestigious specialized high school, a school every fifth-grade student dreamed of attending. I was one of the 140 students who passed the entrance exam. And to achieve this outstanding success, I will never forget the dedication, commitment, and passionate heart that Ms. Dinh Thi Hoa, my homeroom teacher, bestowed upon me, a quiet and shy little student. That student is me today – strong and enthusiastic about participating in school activities…

Because of my shyness and quiet nature, from the very first days when Ms. Hoa took over as our homeroom teacher after our previous teacher had an accident, I didn't have any impression of her at all. She continued to teach Vietnamese lessons every day, always making me marvel: "Our Vietnamese language is so rich and beautiful." Math lessons didn't seem to be my strong point. Like my classmates, I listened attentively to her lectures. For difficult exercises, she would often say, "If you don't understand anything, just ask me." But because I was afraid and shy around her, I never dared to ask her for help.

And so, by the end of the school day in the winter of my third grade year, it would be the most memorable lesson, and also the lesson that marked the strengthening of our teacher-student bond. The school bell signaled the end of class, and as the other students hurried out, only my teacher and I remained in the classroom. I helped her close the windows because of the cold winds of the Northwest winter that were sweeping in. The sky darkened quickly, and I felt a little anxious and scared. Seeing me still in the classroom, Ms. Hoa asked, "Aren't you going home yet? Is your mother late picking you up today?" As if she had been waiting for my question, all the pent-up sadness burst out, gushing out with tears, and I sobbed, "My mother couldn't come to pick me up. She has to go for a three-month training program at a remote school in the border commune. She said her school is very far away, so she can't come home in a day. I'm waiting for Grandma to pick me up. She said she'll be late today because she has to go to the city for a medical check-up…"

The author's beloved teacher, Ms. Dinh Thi Hoa.

She hugged me, comforting me until my sobs subsided, and smiled gently: "So, Aunt Hoa will wait for Grandma with Tue. I'm here, so you don't have to be afraid anymore." At that moment, through her smile and affectionate gaze, I felt my aunt was so close, friendly, and open. Then she gently smoothed my long, slightly tangled hair and braided it for me. On the way home, I told Grandma about what my aunt and I had talked about that late winter afternoon. And I had heeded her advice: "Don't cry when Mom gets in the car to go to work. It will make Mom sad and worried. She won't be able to focus on her work knowing you're so vulnerable at home."

A portrait of the author of this article, currently a 6th-grade student at a junior high school in Son La.

From that afternoon onwards, I no longer feared math class. I listened more attentively to her lectures. Her voice was clear, and she would slow down if she noticed any parts we were struggling with. During Vietnamese class, her voice became more expressive, especially when she recited poetry; her voice soared like a song, blending with the gentle murmur of the Nậm Pàn stream. For the first time, I boldly asked her about parts I didn't understand. I volunteered to go to the board to do the exercises, even though I still made some mistakes, but she still praised me: "Tuệ, you've made progress." Her words of encouragement made my heart flutter; I was happy and eager to get home quickly to tell my grandmother and call my mother about how my efforts had been recognized by her…

"Pressure creates diamonds."

I earned her trust and the confidence of my classmates. For the first time in three years of elementary school, I was elected class leader and then vice-leader. Looking up at my teacher, I felt her encouragement: "Keep trying, you can do it," through her smiling eyes that always gave me warmth. Then, in the middle of the second semester of that school year, she compiled a list of students participating in the school-level gifted student competition in Vietnamese and Math on paper. Seeing that I hadn't registered, she came over to me, gently placed her hand on my shoulder, and said, "Tuệ, you should also participate. Consider this a chance to test your abilities." And I participated, encouraged by her enthusiastic words.

As a result, my name wasn't on the list of winners. I felt sad, disappointed, and overwhelmed with self-doubt. She encouraged the other students who didn't win, her gaze lingering on me for a while: "Failure is the mother of success. Don't be discouraged, children. You can participate again next year; I believe you can do it." I will always remember her guidance and her diligent perseverance. For a long time now, I've considered her my second mother. In my heart, Ms. Hoa is the most wonderful and beloved homeroom teacher.

The recent Grade 5 gifted student competition coincided with the end of the school year. For almost four weeks, during afternoon classes and even after school hours, my teacher enthusiastically stayed behind to review with the 15 students in our class, including me. However, when the results came out, I was one of the five students who didn't win an award. She didn't announce the results in class, but rather at the end-of-year parent-teacher meeting. Besides the achievement of receiving the "Outstanding Student" award, I was also deeply saddened. Immediately after my mother's announcement, I burst into tears. I was disappointed and ashamed that we had let her down despite her dedication and enthusiasm.

The author's class, 5C, was guided and mentored by their homeroom teacher, Ms. Hoa.

My mother's phone rang; the screen displayed my aunt's name. My mother knew she was calling me, so she handed the call over. As soon as I heard my aunt's voice, I choked up. Her voice was warm and gentle: "I know my Tuệ is very sad, it's just that you haven't been lucky yet. You have three weeks left until your entrance exam for the specialized school, don't give up, my dear. Shine in your own way. I will be there to support you all. Pressure creates diamonds…"

I pulled myself together and embarked on a 20-day journey of free tutoring from her in the mornings right in the classroom. During every break, when she saw me sitting under the flame tree, she would sit down and chat with us, putting her arm around my shoulder and patting my head to encourage me. And finally, her faith in me came true. On the day the entrance exam results for the specialized high school were announced, she was the one who informed my mother and sent the list of successful candidates. My name was at position 128 out of 140. On the other end of the line, I could hear her voice trembling; it seemed she was crying. She cried with happiness, because her journey of motivating students like me had finally paid off. As for me, my heart raced, and I felt a surge of joy and happiness. I cried too because I had succeeded.

Although I can no longer return to my elementary school years and hear her insightful lessons, I know that Ms. Hoa will always be someone I respect and admire. She was a teacher with the compassionate heart of a mother, always teaching us lessons about solidarity, love, and how to "enrich ourselves"—by smiling, giving, and forgiving. My aunt dedicated all the best things to helping my dreams soar high and far.

Source: https://nld.com.vn/bai-viet-cam-dong-cua-hoc-sinh-lop-6-danh-cho-co-giao-co-o-day-khong-con-so-nua-196251029150944045.htm