It was an edifice of burning hearts, of passion for language, art and literature. Consumed by its own fire inside, every thing tangible was lost, but not the souls and minds of what this building stood for. With their voices and fists raised above their shoulders, they stepped outside, then forward, to show the rest that none of their ashen masterpieces can ever stop the beautiful language of arts and letters.

4:43 am, and the fire is already controlled. While many were still dreaming, the few great minds had already woken up to mourn for their loss. Walls have crashed, but among its hallways one could still hear exchanges on democracy, as if Plato and Socrates themselves stood in those hallways.

The hallways that heard the plea and glee of the young, upon seeing their name on a piece of paper tacked outside the door. It is the furnace of fresh and old ideas burned together in the spirit of renewal. It is where age is both respected and forgotten in the spirit of unity.

The building has burned down, but not the hearts of many that has built and rebuilt this nation.

It is 7:00 am and the first class has just started.


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