The Chalk Dust of My Struggle

The Chalk Dust of My Struggle

I don’t just teach students—I teach from scars, hunger, and the silence of rooms I once studied in.

By: Hamza Yaqoob

The chalk dust never really leaves you. It settles quietly, like memories in the corners of an old classroom, or like the weight of unspoken stories resting on your shoulders. It clings to the air, to your clothes, and somehow to your soul.

I am not just a tutor. I am a boy who once sat behind a cracked desk, whose fingers trembled over worn-out notebooks, whose dreams were muffled by hunger and the sounds of a house struggling to hold itself together.

Today, I teach. Not just lessons or facts—but hope, resilience, and the stubborn belief that where you start does not have to be where you end. Every session I run online, every word I say to my students, carries a piece of my past — the silent battles that shaped me into who I am.

From Dusty Corners to Digital Classrooms

My classroom wasn’t always the neat space you imagine. It was often a corner in a small, dimly lit room where the ceiling leaked when it rained. My chair was broken, my desk scarred by years of restless hands. I remember how the light bulb flickered, threatening to go out just when I was about to understand something new.

I didn’t have a tutor or fancy books. I had scraps of paper, borrowed textbooks, and the internet on a slow, unreliable phone. That was my bridge to the outside world — a world that seemed so far away, yet felt so close whenever I studied.

Fast forward to today, and I’m sitting in front of a screen, teaching MDCAT, IGCSE Biology, and more to students scattered across cities and countries. The irony isn’t lost on me: I am the same boy who once couldn’t afford a notebook, now guiding others toward their dreams.

Teaching Beyond Textbooks

Every student who logs in to my online class has a story. Some are confident, some are shy, some come from privileged backgrounds, and some from places that echo my own past. When they struggle with a concept or lose faith in themselves, I don’t just explain the biology of enzymes or the rules of grammar. I share a deeper lesson — the power of persistence, the dignity of struggle, and the truth that failure is just a stepping stone.

It’s not always easy to carry this dual role — a student myself, navigating medical school, and a tutor responsible for inspiring others. But I see myself in them — the anxiety before exams, the sleepless nights, the feeling of being small in a vast world. That empathy bridges the gap between teacher and student.

Scars Behind Every Success

They see the calm voice, the patient explanations, the encouraging smile. But they don’t see the scars beneath — the nights when I went to bed hungry, the moments when self-doubt crept in like a shadow, the endless struggle to keep books and tuition fees paid.

When I take a break between teaching sessions, I sometimes close my eyes and remember the past: the dim classrooms, the flickering lights, the endless struggle for a simple pen or paper. I remind myself how far I’ve come — not just in education, but in spirit.

My struggle isn’t a story of tragedy. It’s a story of survival and quiet strength — a testament to every student who fights battles you can’t see.

The Weight of Responsibility

Being a tutor from a struggling background is both a blessing and a burden. It gives me purpose, but it also reminds me of the stakes. I am not just teaching for money or experience — I am teaching because I want to give my students what I once craved: knowledge, confidence, and a chance to rise.

Every success they achieve feels like a victory against the odds — not just theirs, but mine too. When a student sends me a message about passing an exam or getting accepted into college, I feel their triumph as if it were my own.

Lessons I Never Learned in School

My greatest lessons haven’t come from textbooks or lectures. They have come from the silence of my struggles, the resilience of my family, and the hope that refused to die.

I learned that failure is temporary. That poverty is not a prophecy. That education can be a weapon against despair — but only if you have someone to show you how to wield it.

As a tutor, I am not just a conveyor of facts. I am a guide, a cheerleader, a mirror reflecting my students’ potential even when they can’t see it themselves.

Dreams That Refuse to Die

There are days when exhaustion feels unbearable. When the weight of being a student, a tutor, and a son pressing on me feels too heavy. When the room feels smaller than my dreams.

But I keep going. Because I have to. Because I promised myself once, sitting on a dusty floor with nothing but hope in my hands, that I would make it. That I would be proof that dreams don’t need privilege — only persistence.

I teach not just to survive, but to inspire. Not just to earn, but to empower. And every day I log in to my online classroom, I am reminded that my struggle is not in vain.

To the Students Who Feel Lost

If you are reading this, struggling with your own mountains, know that you are not alone. I have walked dusty roads too. I have fought battles with silence and scarcity. But I am here — a living testament that your dreams can grow in the dust.

Education is more than exams and grades. It’s the light you carry when everything else goes dark. It’s the quiet fire inside that refuses to be snuffed out.

If I can teach from my scars, from hunger, and from silence, then so can you.

The Chalk Dust That Still Clings

The chalk dust will never leave me. It is part of my story, my struggle, and my strength. It is the reminder of where I started and how far I’ve come.

Every lesson I teach is dusted with that struggle. Every word carries the weight of silent battles fought long before the classroom door opened.

But that dust is not a stain. It is a mark of resilience — the chalk dust of my struggle.

Author’s Note:

Writing this, I think of every student who looks at their own challenges and wonders if they’re too much. I want you to know, from my heart to yours, that struggle is part of the journey, not the end. Keep pushing. Keep dreaming. The chalk dust will settle, and you will rise.