Okay, so this is my official last post on this blog. I just want to clarify a few things before I leave.
First off, I am leaving this blog so soon because of two reasons. One, summer--with all its delicious fruits and visiting relatives and social bonding--is almost at an end. Only a couple of weeks left before college starts again and I become a senior.
Two, I want to try a different way of blogging--not the way I've been using here. Over here, I describe incidents and stuff, and it constantly worries me as to what would happen if someone I knew found this page and recognized that it was me writing.
Recently, I read a friend's blog on Tumblr. She writes to her inner conscience, and she's always vague about her incidents, concentrating more on her feelings. I want to try something like that too. I mean, of course I'll have to describe a little, but I'll mostly be focusing on how the moments made me feel, since that is what I really want to capture. Besides, I don't have much time to write every little detail anymore. The only time I can write peacefully is at night, and excessive key-tapping at night by me usually results in parentoia--I hope you get what that means. No, my folks aren't strict. They're just too worried. But I love them. I love how much they care about me. They're the most beautiful people on the planet.
Second, I want to clarify my relationship with Zaire, in case I ever plan to show this blog to someone I know--or otherwise.
I'll admit, the first two weeks I met the guy I almost became obsessed with him. But that has, thankfully, worn off. God put some sense into my head. Literally. I prayed fervently the other night for His protection, so that I don't do something stupid, like I'd done so many times with Ego Boy. I mean, I've worked really hard to gain my parents' trust, and I didn't want to lose it.
And then, one day when Zaire and I were sitting together and talking, things just fell into place. And I couldn't be thankful enough.
I'll elaborate on that in my next blog. For now, though, suffice it to say that Zaire and I are, and will be, really good friends. And I'm glad. He's a wonderful boy. Any girl would be lucky to have a friend like him.
And I know I've been a bit blunt and mean in this blog--especially in the beginning. I'm not really a mean person. I only intended to vent my feelings somewhere, and I picked my blog, confusing it with a journal like I always do. -_-
But I sincerely do not mean to insult or cause any harm to anyone. I mean, I'm a person, after all. Not Barbie. I can't think good about other people 24/7. So I'm sorry. In advance. (Although I doubt said people will ever read this. But apologizing makes me feel better, so okay.)
Also, I'd like to apologize for the confusion in nicknames lol. Yes, BB, Zaire and Hat are all the same person. I'm crazy. I know.
Now to quote my favorite story ending,
"God's in His heaven, all's right with the world," whispered Anne softly.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Life is a strange, strange thing.
So much has happened in these past couple of weeks. I've done things I only ever dreamed of doing. And it's still my reflection in the mirror, but I don't even recognize myself anymore.
The last post was an impulsive vent. And I'm still sorry I lashed out like that. I'm not usually that reckless. I never swear--not because I can't, but because I don't want to. It's just, at the time, the sting of defeat was looming over me like a bloody, hanging sword, and that final scolding from my mother just did it. I can take everything, anything, now--but I can never bear to be criticized like that by people I love. It's one of the few weaknesses I have left now.
Anyway. Teaching summer school has been really fun. It's becoming slightly monotonous now--but of course, that was bound to happen. However, I will never forget my first week of teaching. It was like a dream. A beautiful dream, in which everyone loved me and looked up to me. It was then I realized that's all I really want from life. To be loved, and respected. Nothing more.
I was paired with two other people to teach English. There is a guy, and a girl--whom I shall call Zaire and Jay, respectively. They're both from the same group of friends--and although I'm pretty well acquainted with their other friends, I'd never really seen them around the college before. Or maybe I had, in passing.
The first day started off rather haphazardly; but we expected that, since after all, we were just a bunch of eighteen-year-olds (on an average--not including me) setting out to manage an entire school, with absolutely no experience in teaching little kids--and underprivileged kids with possible genetic low IQs at that.
We--Jay, Zaire and I--were given half of the first grade. Our class consisted mostly of bright, eager students and only a couple of mischievous troublemakers--a fact I was devoutly thankful for, especially when I heard a lot of the third graders had brought gutka into the classroom, and were only attending the program for the sole purpose of making our lives miserable.
There were some kids I got attached to right away. In fact, I grew attached to most of them in just a couple of days--even that one little imp who seemed so relaxed when class began, but almost started crying when Jay patiently took him to the board and asked him to read out the alphabet written on it.
I grew attached to Jay and Zaire too--pretty fast, I might add. I'll admit I was a bit disconcerted when I first found out they were going to be in my group, because they both seemed rather dumb--especially Jay. But later, I was surprised to discover the knack she had for kids, with her incredible patience and equally incredible sense of authority. Even Zaire was great with them--although he overdid it a bit in the beginning. He was a bit too strict at first. When I pointed the fact out to him, he occupied himself with the melancholy task of escorting the children to the bathroom and the water-cooler every forty five minutes or so--and when you have around fifty children, most of them small, it's a very cumbersome task. It ended with Jay and I calling him 'bathroom boy' for a couple of days, and him groaning, "I hate kids." He still does it, although now it's more of a joke. I never believed him from the start, though.
As for me, I didn't even realize what I was doing. It felt like a blissful dream, to be there in that fan-less classroom with its low-quality blackboard, graffiti on the walls and untidy children gazing intently at me. Now that I think about it, it sort of felt as though I was separated from my body--as though I was an entirely different person--completely sure of myself, my persona presenting itself in its true, raw form; probably for the first time in my life. I probably did some crazy things too, which I don't remember now. But regardless, at the end of the day, I received affectionate smiles from my pupils, and triumphant ones from my fellows. "You were on fire today," Zaire told me. I felt my face color and looked shyly away. For a split second, I wondered what it must be like to have a boy tell you the same thing more literally.
There were a few mishaps, though. One child toddled in holding for dear life onto his mother's clothes. The poor woman had to sit through at least an hour of basic English, for her son would start crying as soon as her clothes went out of his tiny grip. At first, Jay and Zaire were almost about to give up in despair. But I told the mother to be very quiet, and got Jay and Zaire to leave him alone while I resumed teaching class. Eventually, he got so interested that he didn't even notice for a while when his mother left. And by the time he did, he didn't really care.
Then there was another one. He seemed pretty innocent and sweet to me--but that was until lunch time. Apparently, the child--who, of course, was not used to preservative food (ie things like the packets of chips that were distributed)--was too hungry for his own good. He ended up puking right in the middle of the classroom, dirtying his clothes, as well as his desk. It was a mercy the children sitting in front of him had the good sense to bound out of their seats. It was almost miserable for me, however, because of that putrid smell. I have never gotten used to my own puke, much less that of others. But since Zaire and Jay ran out of the room--Jay in a rather childish fit, and Zaire towards the principal's office to get help (now that I think of it, I think he really enjoyed being the man)--I was the only one left to look after the flabbergasted children. Thankfully, I was able to control myself enough to stay in the class and maintain order.
The next day, I told the person who was distributing the food and drink not the give that particular child more than half a glass, and just one packet. He grinned jovially at me, and I grimaced good-humoredly.
A couple of days later, the first child (let's call him Sully) had almost gotten used to being in school without his mother, when the second child (I'll call him Jam) burst into plaintive sobs, crying desperately for his mother. Nothing, not even stickers, would pacify him, and in the end he had to be taken out of the class and sent home.
The problem, though, arose from the fact that he had been sitting with Sully. And Sully began to cry. Quick to learn from Jam, stickers wouldn't placate him for more than ten minutes. Jay took to ignoring him, and Zaire kept muttering, "I hate kids. I hate kids."
Eventually, I desperately tried a method that dawned on my head.
I watched Sully for two minutes. Then I started mock-crying with him. "Mommy, mommy," he cried, and I imitated him. "My mommy isn't here either, so I shall cry too!" I wailed. The rest of the class began to giggle.
Sully stopped for a second, then hesitantly began again. But he soon subsided into small giggles with the rest of the class.
Later, we were making the class practice writing the alphabet. Jay had made worksheets, and I was helping Sully with one. "I donno, I donno," was all he kept saying. Of course, I thought. The child was probably only about three or four years old. But I managed to teach him the first four letters--on the worksheet, at least; if not for life.
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I wrote this one day (I think it was last weekend) when I was just really, really happy. My life probably couldn't get any more perfect right now. I have students who look up to me, I'm working on an album of my own without ever planning it, I just met a wonderful, wonderful boy, my grandmother loves me, and my baby cousin calls me Mama. I couldn't be more blissful. Except if I lost weight and my house was clean. But then again, I never was thin (and when I was I didn't know it), so I don't really know what that would feel like. And as for my room, I'm barely in it these days.
The wonderful, wonderful boy, of course, is Zaire. It's too early to tell where we're going with this--I mean, I've only known him about three weeks. Maybe things could happen. But it's unlikely, because we're both decent people and don't believe in relationships. And also (more dominantly) because I'm fat.
Either way, though, I'd love to have a boy like him for a friend.
Anyway. I'm closing down this blog. I keep worrying people I know will see it, and they'll realize it's me writing. So I'm heading off to Tumblr. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. Or how I'm going to maintain a blog when I'm so busy or tired all the time. But it's worth a shot.
Goodbye world! :P
The last post was an impulsive vent. And I'm still sorry I lashed out like that. I'm not usually that reckless. I never swear--not because I can't, but because I don't want to. It's just, at the time, the sting of defeat was looming over me like a bloody, hanging sword, and that final scolding from my mother just did it. I can take everything, anything, now--but I can never bear to be criticized like that by people I love. It's one of the few weaknesses I have left now.
Anyway. Teaching summer school has been really fun. It's becoming slightly monotonous now--but of course, that was bound to happen. However, I will never forget my first week of teaching. It was like a dream. A beautiful dream, in which everyone loved me and looked up to me. It was then I realized that's all I really want from life. To be loved, and respected. Nothing more.
I was paired with two other people to teach English. There is a guy, and a girl--whom I shall call Zaire and Jay, respectively. They're both from the same group of friends--and although I'm pretty well acquainted with their other friends, I'd never really seen them around the college before. Or maybe I had, in passing.
The first day started off rather haphazardly; but we expected that, since after all, we were just a bunch of eighteen-year-olds (on an average--not including me) setting out to manage an entire school, with absolutely no experience in teaching little kids--and underprivileged kids with possible genetic low IQs at that.
We--Jay, Zaire and I--were given half of the first grade. Our class consisted mostly of bright, eager students and only a couple of mischievous troublemakers--a fact I was devoutly thankful for, especially when I heard a lot of the third graders had brought gutka into the classroom, and were only attending the program for the sole purpose of making our lives miserable.
There were some kids I got attached to right away. In fact, I grew attached to most of them in just a couple of days--even that one little imp who seemed so relaxed when class began, but almost started crying when Jay patiently took him to the board and asked him to read out the alphabet written on it.
I grew attached to Jay and Zaire too--pretty fast, I might add. I'll admit I was a bit disconcerted when I first found out they were going to be in my group, because they both seemed rather dumb--especially Jay. But later, I was surprised to discover the knack she had for kids, with her incredible patience and equally incredible sense of authority. Even Zaire was great with them--although he overdid it a bit in the beginning. He was a bit too strict at first. When I pointed the fact out to him, he occupied himself with the melancholy task of escorting the children to the bathroom and the water-cooler every forty five minutes or so--and when you have around fifty children, most of them small, it's a very cumbersome task. It ended with Jay and I calling him 'bathroom boy' for a couple of days, and him groaning, "I hate kids." He still does it, although now it's more of a joke. I never believed him from the start, though.
As for me, I didn't even realize what I was doing. It felt like a blissful dream, to be there in that fan-less classroom with its low-quality blackboard, graffiti on the walls and untidy children gazing intently at me. Now that I think about it, it sort of felt as though I was separated from my body--as though I was an entirely different person--completely sure of myself, my persona presenting itself in its true, raw form; probably for the first time in my life. I probably did some crazy things too, which I don't remember now. But regardless, at the end of the day, I received affectionate smiles from my pupils, and triumphant ones from my fellows. "You were on fire today," Zaire told me. I felt my face color and looked shyly away. For a split second, I wondered what it must be like to have a boy tell you the same thing more literally.
There were a few mishaps, though. One child toddled in holding for dear life onto his mother's clothes. The poor woman had to sit through at least an hour of basic English, for her son would start crying as soon as her clothes went out of his tiny grip. At first, Jay and Zaire were almost about to give up in despair. But I told the mother to be very quiet, and got Jay and Zaire to leave him alone while I resumed teaching class. Eventually, he got so interested that he didn't even notice for a while when his mother left. And by the time he did, he didn't really care.
Then there was another one. He seemed pretty innocent and sweet to me--but that was until lunch time. Apparently, the child--who, of course, was not used to preservative food (ie things like the packets of chips that were distributed)--was too hungry for his own good. He ended up puking right in the middle of the classroom, dirtying his clothes, as well as his desk. It was a mercy the children sitting in front of him had the good sense to bound out of their seats. It was almost miserable for me, however, because of that putrid smell. I have never gotten used to my own puke, much less that of others. But since Zaire and Jay ran out of the room--Jay in a rather childish fit, and Zaire towards the principal's office to get help (now that I think of it, I think he really enjoyed being the man)--I was the only one left to look after the flabbergasted children. Thankfully, I was able to control myself enough to stay in the class and maintain order.
The next day, I told the person who was distributing the food and drink not the give that particular child more than half a glass, and just one packet. He grinned jovially at me, and I grimaced good-humoredly.
A couple of days later, the first child (let's call him Sully) had almost gotten used to being in school without his mother, when the second child (I'll call him Jam) burst into plaintive sobs, crying desperately for his mother. Nothing, not even stickers, would pacify him, and in the end he had to be taken out of the class and sent home.
The problem, though, arose from the fact that he had been sitting with Sully. And Sully began to cry. Quick to learn from Jam, stickers wouldn't placate him for more than ten minutes. Jay took to ignoring him, and Zaire kept muttering, "I hate kids. I hate kids."
Eventually, I desperately tried a method that dawned on my head.
I watched Sully for two minutes. Then I started mock-crying with him. "Mommy, mommy," he cried, and I imitated him. "My mommy isn't here either, so I shall cry too!" I wailed. The rest of the class began to giggle.
Sully stopped for a second, then hesitantly began again. But he soon subsided into small giggles with the rest of the class.
Later, we were making the class practice writing the alphabet. Jay had made worksheets, and I was helping Sully with one. "I donno, I donno," was all he kept saying. Of course, I thought. The child was probably only about three or four years old. But I managed to teach him the first four letters--on the worksheet, at least; if not for life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wrote this one day (I think it was last weekend) when I was just really, really happy. My life probably couldn't get any more perfect right now. I have students who look up to me, I'm working on an album of my own without ever planning it, I just met a wonderful, wonderful boy, my grandmother loves me, and my baby cousin calls me Mama. I couldn't be more blissful. Except if I lost weight and my house was clean. But then again, I never was thin (and when I was I didn't know it), so I don't really know what that would feel like. And as for my room, I'm barely in it these days.
The wonderful, wonderful boy, of course, is Zaire. It's too early to tell where we're going with this--I mean, I've only known him about three weeks. Maybe things could happen. But it's unlikely, because we're both decent people and don't believe in relationships. And also (more dominantly) because I'm fat.
Either way, though, I'd love to have a boy like him for a friend.
Anyway. I'm closing down this blog. I keep worrying people I know will see it, and they'll realize it's me writing. So I'm heading off to Tumblr. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. Or how I'm going to maintain a blog when I'm so busy or tired all the time. But it's worth a shot.
Goodbye world! :P
First Day Of Summer School!
Before I start with that, previous highlights:
-Marmee got back, and I managed to clean my room just enough to satisfy her. :D
-My cousins (from my dad's side) came over on Sunday. They watched these videos my brother and I made, in which we'd made fun of all of us. Ended up with Curry (this fat younger cousin of mine) leaving in a huff. Although he tried his best to keep a good mood. Oh well.
Also, they came into my room after a very long time. In fact, I don't think the guys have ever been in my room. And Chicky (other younger cousin--female) called Piggul (older cousin--who just shaved his head btw) 'potato dude'. It doesn't sound funny in English, but in my native language, it's hilarious enough to still get me laughing after almost two days.
Also, the guys stank. So I sprayed them with my worst cotton candy perfume. I'm eeeeevil. :D
-Texted Ego Boy yet again. Not much, really. I just wanted to tell him why I couldn't come. At first I thought of making up an excuse, but then--Oh wait. I did make an excuse, eventually. I told him I got called to the studio.
I am such a chicken.
Anyway. To that, he replied something like he knew how the music and show business went now that he was part of a band. And I said yes, but there's a difference. You chose to become part of a band.
I thought of writing a couple more sentences, but then I figured less is more. He didn't reply. Not that I was expecting him to. I'm wayy past being in 'damsel-in-distress' mode.
Now all I have to do is hope he understands that.
Now, on with my first day of summer school!
I had to reach the college at 7:45 am, and from there we'd be taken to the government school where we (as in me and my classmates) would teach for charity. As it turned out, I was ten minutes late, trademark-style; yet earlier than most of those lazy fools.
Then we had a briefing given us by our *principal*, Egg. (I SUCK at giving nicknames! Okay, okay, don't get me wrong. The guy I'm referring to has absolutely nothing to do with eggs. In fact he's basically a nice guy. I think. Anyway.)
So our mission for today: Each group of teachers (there are two/three teachers managing one class) takes one class. There are a total of 6 classes (I think). First, second and third grade. Level one, two and three. And each grade has two sections. Mine was Level 1, Section B.
After the assembly, we were allotted our kids and we took them to the classroom. This guy Zaire, and this girl Jay were with me. (I really, really need to think up some good nicknames.)
The problem with Hat was, he was too strict. Although he was keen on working really hard, and of course, it's good to have a guy around to maintain order.
kid who threw up
girl who cried bc she didnt know english
ismail kid
kid who wouldn't leave mom
too-bright kids
hand sanitizer
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