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
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