My emotions swirled all night as I searched my mind for memories of a student's parent who had suddenly passed away. At that exact moment, it hit me just how incredibly deep the bond between a preschool teacher and a child truly runs...

I am a preschool teacher. While it may seem like an inconspicuous role to some, my life is filled with countless unforgettable stories that I hold dear. They are the private treasures that fuel my passion for this lifelong calling—bringing smiles, sighs, or tears to my face even in my dreams.

Many years ago, while walking down a street near our campus, I spotted an elderly grandfather panting heavily, his face deathly pale. "Wait, isn’t that one of the grandfathers from our school?" I thought. Just like that, I was able to safely guide him back home, defusing a medical crisis.

Over a decade ago, early one morning, I received a phone call from a parent. They had been in a motorcycle accident, suffered a fracture, and were lying on the side of the road waiting for an ambulance. Their three-year-old son, who was right there beside them, was my student. The parent asked if I could look after his son for the time being. In that exact moment, I truly felt like a dependable member of their family. For a while after that, my home gained an extra son.

When children graduate from our preschool, parents tell their little ones—who are still wide-eyed and naive about starting elementary school—"If anything goes wrong when you get off the school bus, just head across the street to Yupu and find Auntie Pei-yi!" Yes, the children are always welcome to come back here anytime.

When those children reach high school, parents still send me pictures of their award-winning artwork. Indeed, she was a girl who loved drawing since she was tiny, and it fills me with pride to know that we supported and praised her talent from the very beginning.

Even after they graduate, they still reach out to greet me on Mother’s Day, drop by to visit during summer and winter breaks, write cards from time to time, or send voice notes and videos during holidays. Hearing them call out "Auntie Pei-yi, Auntie Pei-yi" is the sweetest, most natural sound in the world.

Long after the children leave our preschool, alumni parents are still eager to share the milestones of their children's lives with me. It feels as though my own children have branched out into the world; our hearts remain intertwined, and every single one of them is my treasure.

I cry easily and have never quite learned how to control my tears. Because of that, I never show up on graduation day to say goodbye. Instead, I choose to quietly cheer for them and bless them in my heart. But if I do happen to run into a child when it's time to part ways, I always have just one thing to say:

"Auntie Pei-yi is always right here. You are welcome to come back anytime!"

A little baby I cared for more than ten years ago showed developmental abnormalities during infancy, and the parents proactively took her home to dedicate themselves to her care. We recently reconnected, and I learned that she has a rare disease. I am so grateful to her mother for letting me know how her precious baby is doing. Memories of that brief period of caring for her instantly flooded my mind. There are so many things in this world I am powerless to change, and she is absolutely a baby that breaks my heart—yet her parents' sheer courage taught me a profound lesson.

Today, when I heard that a kind, gentle mother had passed away, I instantly broke down. The unpredictability of life is cruel and irreversible. But when I think of the pain that sweet child must feel losing her mother—how deep, deep that agony must be, how terrifying and confusing—I don't know what I can possibly do. I just want to hold that child tightly in my arms and let her weep her heart out...

I know that my job is far more than just being a teacher. It holds the potential for so many deeper emotional connections, because the days we spend together are the most innocent, authentic, and beautiful days of all.