I will go partying, play tennis, and, on the weekend, turn into a soccer maniac like I always do. My attention will soon switch over to a hundred other "bigger" things - Thaksin Shinawatra, the coup and its consequences, the stock market, the Foreign Business Act and the 100 people assigned to write Thailand's new charter.

So, let me say something here before those "priorities" get the better of me again. I want you to know that I admire your courage, that I envy you for your genuine self-sacrificing nature, and that I'm humbled by your conviction and your dedication. And I want to let you know that if I had been in your place, I would have left the village long before that tragic day.

I would have made a lot of noise and issued all kinds of demands. I would have raised hell when Thaksin uttered that unbelievable statement concerning your panicking peers in the southernmost region, "They have been paid a risk allowance, which means they have to take risks ..."

The thing is, if the events of that day hadn't happened, you would still be sticking around today. Everyone who knew you remembered the same free-spirited and optimistic young lady who had fallen in love with a region some 2,000 kilometres away from her home. They spoke of a woman who had spent her younger years drawing and painting temples and schools in the deep South, and who later came to Narathiwat with a simple agenda - to teach children there and possibly settle herself permanently in the province.

I consider that true patriotism. Forgive me if I'm wrong, because what you did surely was not motivated by a desire to make Thailand great or more prosperous and your actions weren't limited to borders or religions. You didn't want to change the world, and I doubt you even aspired to make Narathiwat "more competitive". I guess you just wanted to teach kids, whether they were Buddhist or Muslim.

I'm jealous of you because of the fact that you obviously weren't doing it for money, honour or fame. I'm jealous of you for the fact that you were able to keep your faith in and hope for your beloved community, even as a menace was rising around you. I'm jealous of you for the huge sacrifices you made based on a simple, selfless ideology. And I want to tell you that what you told your visiting mother - "It's safe here, mom" - is one of the bravest remarks I have ever heard.

They say that you were working on a major project, a painting of the school you loved, before you were taken hostage and brutally beaten. Terrified as you must have been, I pray that thoughts of the unfinished painting occupied your final moments. I wish that you didn't feel sorry, or betrayed. Hopefully, during your months-long coma your subconsciousness was filled with the smiles and laughter of the children you loved and who loved you.

Most of all, I pray that your ultimate sacrifice leads to something beautiful like your paintings, your work, and your heart. If that cannot happen, I pray that it is not abused for political or ideological gain. I pray that it is not used as a motivation, excuse or pretext for vengeance, more killings or more violence. You were above those kinds of things when you lived, and they must not associate your name with them after your death.

No one must ever use your death to betray the unsung yet pure purpose of your life. Your simple dream about your beloved deep South must never be linked with its complicated realities. Your love and the results of it, tragic as they are, must not cause hatred. Your compassion shall only be repaid in kind.

Rest in peace Khru Juling Pangamoon. While what's happening in the region is not as beautiful as your paintings, your work and the contributions you made, these were a real reflection of your soul. I pray that you now live in that reflection. May you forever live in that parallel world of your deep South, a world where temples, forests and mosques co-exist in harmony, where schools are the way you drew them, and where there are no heroes but only people like you.

*** At least 60 teachers have been killed and scores injured in the deep South since 2003. Currently, more than 20,000 teachers and education-related personnel work in the volatile region.

Tulsathit Taptim