The electric drills had grown quiet.
The workshop, once bursting with the sharp energy of beginners and breakers, now hummed only with the soft sound of brooms sweeping up sawdust and wires being carefully coiled for storage.
It was the last month of the school year at Jose Rizal High School, and for Grade 10-EIM, the end was in sight.
But the learning hadn't slowed down.
If anything, each moment carried more weight—every laugh, every task, every sentence Mr. Emman shared. There was something sacred in knowing things wouldn't be the same after this.
Wiring the Final Module
On Monday, Emman introduced their last hands-on activity: building a mini mock-up of a home electrical system, complete with lighting, outlets, circuit breakers, and grounding.
"Think of it as your legacy project," he told the class. "Something you'll leave behind—not just for grades, but for the next batch of students to learn from."
The room fell quiet—not from disinterest, but from understanding.
This wasn't just another requirement.
It was a goodbye in disguise.
A Surprise Visit
Midweek, as the students soldered terminals and bent conduits, Mrs. De Jesus entered the room.
She observed in silence for a few minutes, arms folded, lips gently smiling.
"I remember when some of you didn't even know how to strip a wire properly," she said with a grin.
The students laughed.
She turned to Emman. "Sir Emman, you've created something special here."
Emman simply nodded. He felt it too—but didn't have the words.
After she left, Marco muttered, "We'll probably cry on the last day."
"No probably," Bryan said. "I already cried during the regional showcase. I just pretended it was sweat."
They all laughed, including Emman.
Review and Reflection
During their final classroom session, Emman skipped the usual PowerPoint slides.
Instead, he placed a mirror on the teacher's table.
"I want each of you to come up here," he said, "look into this mirror, and say who you've become."
One by one, the students approached.
"I'm not just a student—I'm a builder now," said Carina.
"I used to be scared of circuits. Now I fix my uncle's outlets," said Bryan.
"I learned I'm not slow—I just think differently," said Marco.
When it was done, Emman stood last.
He looked into the mirror, and after a pause, simply said:
"I'm still learning.
But thanks to you, I know I'm on the right wire."
The Letters
On Friday, Emman entered the EIM room to find an envelope taped to the panel board. Written in block letters: "To Sir Emman – Don't Read Until After We're Gone."
Inside were handwritten notes:
Thank you for teaching us how to wire homes—and hearts.
You were more than a teacher. You were the ground that kept us safe.
See you in the industry someday, Sir. We'll make you proud.
P.S. We left you our favorite screwdrivers. Please don't lose them.
Emman chuckled softly… and wiped a tear.
The Final Bell
The last bell rang.
Lockers slammed shut. Backpacks swung over shoulders. Goodbyes echoed across hallways.
But inside the EIM room, Emman lingered. He touched the worn whiteboard, the cracked multimeter, the familiar hum of the fluorescent lights.
He wasn't saying goodbye to tools or schedules.
He was saying goodbye to a season—and to the students who made it unforgettable.
And like any good electrician, he knew:
The current doesn't end when the circuit closes.
It just finds a new path.