By @Editor

The other day was World Teachers’ Day. But today, I say what I see: the first teachers we ever meet are not found in classrooms. They are found in kitchens, in living rooms, in the quiet moments before sleep. They are called Mom and Dad.

Before we ever hear the word “teacher”, we are taught. Before we ever meet a mentor, we are mentored. And so, in this essay, I will not name any teacher or men­tor – except the two who taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to listen, and how to love. The rest, respectfully, remain unnamed.

Let us begin with the words themselves.

Global Definitions: From Ox­ford

Teach (verb): to give lessons to somebody; to show somebody how to do something. Teaching (noun): the activity of educating people; the profession of a teacher. Mentor (noun): an experienced person who advises and helps somebody with less experience. Mentoring (noun): the activity of giving advice and help over a pe­riod of time.

Interestingly, mentorship is a recognized noun in the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. It refers to both the process and the period of guidance provided by a mentor. As for teachership, it’s not officially listed in Oxford. Yet, in some academic and region­al contexts, it has emerged as a coined term to describe the role, identity, or philosophy of being a teacher. It’s not standard, but it’s not meaningless either. Language evolves – and sometimes, we must coin what we cannot find.

Local Definitions: From Eng­lish-Myanmar Dictionaries

In Myanmar, the word “teach­er” often translates to (ကျောင်း) ဆရာ (Sayā) or (ကျောင်း) ဆရာမ (Sayāma), depending on gender. But the cultural weight of these words goes far beyond instruction. A teacher is a moral guide, a life model, a bearer of wisdom. Simi­larly, “mentor” may be translated as အကြံပေးသူ၊ ကောင်းရာ ညွှန်ပြသူ၊ ဆရာ၊ ဂုရု – one who gives advice – but the role is often informal, fa­milial, or spiritual. In our context, teaching is not just a profession. It is a duty. Mentoring is not just a programme. It is a relationship.

The Juniorship That Taught Me Everything

In 1985, I stepped into the newsroom of The Guardian Eng­lish newspaper as a junior proof­reader. I was young, green, and unsure of my place. But I was surrounded by giants – not in stat­ure, but in spirit. My seniors, my workmates, my coworkers – they were my teachers. They were my mentors.

They never called themselves that. They never stood at a podium or held a chalk. But they taught me how to read between the lines, how to respect the rhythm of language, how to spot a misplaced comma with the precision of a surgeon. They mentored me not with lec­tures, but with glances, gestures, and the occasional raised eyebrow when I missed a typo.

In the Oxford dictionary, a mentor is “an experienced per­son who advises and helps some­body with less experience”. In my dictionary, a mentor is someone who sits beside you, not above you. Someone who shows you the ropes without tying you up in them.

In Myanmar, we often say အလုပ်သင် – literally, “work learn­er”. But the phrase carries more than just apprenticeship. It im­plies humility, patience, and the willingness to be shaped. I was an အလုပ်သင်, and my seniors were the sculptors. They taught me the ethics of editing, the poli­tics of punctuation, and the quiet power of clarity. They taught me that every word matters, and that silence between words matters even more.

I say what I see: mentorship is not a title. It is a practice. And teachership is not a position. It is a presence.

Teachership & Mentorship: The Quiet Legacy

I say what I see: the lessons that shaped me were not delivered in lec­tures. They were handed down in mar­gins, murmured in hallways, and embed­ded in the red ink of a corrected page.

My seniors at The Guardian English Daily never claimed the title of “men­tor”. They simply did their work – with precision, with pride, and with a quiet expectation that I would learn by watch­ing. And I did. Their teachership was not loud. Their mentorship was not formal. But both were profound.

Today, I carry their legacy – not in a certificate, but in every sentence I edit, every word I weigh, and every young writer I guide. I do not teach in a classroom, but I teach through example. I do not mentor through programmes, but through presence.

In Myanmar, we often say ဆရာတော် – a revered teacher. But reverence is not reserved for monks or masters. It belongs to anyone who shapes another with care. My parents, my seniors, my coworkers – they are all my ဆရာတော် (တကယ်တော်တဲ့ဆရာ) တွေပါ. So on World Teachers’ Day – and every day – I honour them. Not with applause, but with appli­cation. Not with tribute, but with truth.

I say what I see: teachership and mentorship begin at home, grow in the workplace, and live on in the way we treat others.

Special Admittance – Fond Re­membrance of My Senior Colleagues: U Myat Kyaw Khaung, U Win Swe, U Win Maung, U Khin Maung Aye, U Ba Khet, Ko Khin Maung Zaw, Ko Win Htay, and especially Mr Jonathan (Ko Joe).