He wondered, sometimes, why he forced himself to wake up early on weekends to give tuition. He couldn't afford to mindlessly peruse random websites the night before or laze about on the bed after waking. It was tiring; he could feel his will waning with each passing week.
It was also tiring, the depth of commitment and focus required.
Love and energy were needed to guide. Tutoring wasn't just about scoring a straight chain of 'A's. He didn't want to just force feed knowledge - anyone could do it. He didn't want to reduce the time spent into an aloof transaction of energy for money.
To nurture, to inspire, to share. This was what he wanted.
In a way, giving tuition lent his life meaning. When all he has to look forward to was days of lectures, practicals and assignments, when reams of facts awaited him, tutoring reminded him of why he was putting himself through the academic treadmill. It reminded him of his raison d'être.
There were signs that his students were revealing more of themselves, faring better academically and maturing. Subtle hints, perhaps, but no less significant.
The boy used to end the session on time, perhaps even slightly earlier. Just yesterday, he was so caught up with the practical applications of chemistry that he forgot the time.
He received a message from an ex-student, a surprise request for him to counsel the student's wayward sister.
Little stories, not so lofty, easily forgotten. Lost in the murmurs of the infinite galaxy.
In these stories, he found the reason to continue despite his lethargy. Little stories but not so little after all.