It began as a simple classroom activity, one that I didn’t realise would change the atmosphere of the room so deeply. I asked my students to write their own funeral story. The moment I said it, their faces froze. A few looked shocked, others confused. There was a nervous laughter visible on a few faces, unsure if I seriously meant what I said. “Yes, I said, go home, think, and write what you would want others to say about you if you were gone. Write from your heart, from someone else’s point of view maybe your parents’, your friends’, or even your own.” This set the tone for what turned out to be an activity which got them to think beyond their comfort zone.
What I noticed the next day was that the energy in the classroom was different. The usual chatter was missing. One by one, students began to come forward with their stories. I asked each of them to stand in front of their peers and read what they had written. The first story came from a boy who had written from his mother’s perspective. He described how she would feel walking past his empty room, how she might sit quietly thinking about the last words they exchanged. The emotions were so real that the entire class fell silent, and soon, tears began to roll down a few cheeks. Another student wrote about her best friend’s reaction, how her absence would create a void in daily routines, shared jokes, and in the little arguments they used to have. It was heartfelt and honest.
Some students confessed they couldn’t even attempt to write the story. They said it was too terrifying to imagine their own death. I understood, it wasn’t an easy task. After three students finished reading their funeral speeches, the classroom was filled with a heavy silence. It wasn’t sadness alone; it was realisation. Then, one girl quietly began to cry. I walked over and gently asked her what was wrong. Between sobs, she told me something I didn’t expect, she had once attempted suicide when she was in her intermediate college after a bitter argument with her mother. While writing her funeral story from her mother’s point of view, she said she could almost feel what her mother would have gone through: the fear, the helplessness, the unimaginable pain, if she had succumbed due to this act of hers.
That writing exercise had opened a door to something powerful – empathy. It allowed students to step into someone else’s emotions and understand life from the others’ side. It wasn’t just about death; it was about realising the value of life, love, and relationships. However, the experience didn’t end there. Some parents found out about the assignment and felt it was insensitive. They believed it was too dark, too emotional for young minds. I understood their concern, but I also saw something they didn’t. When I discussed this with a few parents, I clearly stated, “You cannot keep your children in a cradle forever.” Over-protectiveness, though born out of love, often damages a young person’s autonomy. It makes them afraid of risk or failure. Sometimes, it is only when we confront uncomfortable emotions that we truly understand the fragility and beauty of being alive.
That day, the class learned a life lesson through this writing activity. And I learned something too: sometimes the most powerful learning happens not from answers, but from the courage to ask difficult questions.