When Laughter Still Lingered in the Wind

Opening an old album sometimes brings us back to a single story—or to many stories at once. It feels like turning fragile pages of memory, each one holding a quiet piece of the past.

These photos were taken when I was still actively teaching journalism. At the end of the semester, just before a long break, my students invited me to spend some time with them at a beach not far from campus. I agreed. Not every lecturer is someone they feel comfortable asking for something like that, and perhaps that was what made the moment feel a little more special.

We sat on the sand, talking about many things—from journalism to their simple dreams about the future. Laughter came easily, without distance, as if the classroom had moved to the shoreline, softer and more open. In that moment, I didn’t just see them as students, but as young souls full of hope, questions, and quiet courage.

Now, as I look at these photos again, there is a gentle ache I can’t quite explain. Time has carried them forward—perhaps they are now journalists, writers, or walking entirely different paths. But that day by the sea remains, a small and tender reminder that teaching is not only about lessons in a classroom, but also about being present, listening, and sharing a brief, meaningful part of life together.