I remember my teacher in high school. He was a dean of the drama course I attended.

He was a notable playwright and a director in his mid-60s. He was always calm, yet he was very strict about theatre education. Sometimes his directions and interpretations of the drama seemed too pedantic or too metaphorical for a teenager.

But I looked up to him. He was a mysterious figure to me. He was like a walking dictionary of humanities. I learned a lot about theatre and literature from him, but the most significant lesson I learned from him came upon many years after graduation.

In 2004, I revisited my high school. I needed some references for my university thesis, which was about drama education in Japan. The dean was already retired by then, so I made an appointment with an admin staff.

When I entered the teacher’s room, the dean was there. I was surprised as I didn’t expect him. I greeted him and explained the reason of my visit. Turns out, he was coincidentally visiting the school on that day as there was a student performance.

“Oh, so you are writing about drama education,” he seemed to be amused. “That sounds like a bit audacious research, given the fact that you have graduated a high school drama course.” He said mischievously.

“Uh, it may sound so. But since I learned so much from this school, I want to write about it. Also, I want to research on other high school drama courses as well. And hopefully, I could spread the value that drama education is something worthwhile,” I tried to make my point, though it sounded more of an excuse.

“That’s good. When you published it, send it to me. I would like to see what you’ve learned.” He said.

I got nervous.

“Uh… I would be honoured,  but I don’t know how my thesis would turn out. It might not make a good quality paper.” I said feebly.

“But I want to read that. Can you show it to me?” He smiled.

“Sure, I will,” I promised.

But I ended up not keeping my word. I managed to finish writing and successfully obtained my degree, but I wasn’t too confident with the quality of my thesis. I was afraid of being criticized. I tried to convince myself that he didn’t really mean it thus I’d better not to disturb him.

That was the biggest mistake I have ever made.

A few months after the publication of my thesis, he passed away due to an illness.

I attended his funeral with my heavy heart filled with regret. Why didn’t I send my thesis to him? It was my petty ego hindered myself from the chance to get invaluable feedback from a precursor in that field. And that opportunity has been lost. Forever.

After 15 years since his death, I still regret that I didn’t send him my thesis. But I’m trying to think this way– he taught me the most important lesson about being a writer.

Don’t be afraid of criticism. Have the courage to show whatever you’ve got to someone who wants to read. Because there will never be perfection, and life is short.