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dear mr & mrs bloggie…
Ever since I was young, I wanted to be a teacher. I thought I have what it takes; the passion for teaching that’s, if not more. No doubt, the love for children was far from it. So tonight my skill was put to the test.
“Kak Caca, can you teach me malay spelling later?” Fiqri asked me meekly.
On the bed sister, Fiqri and I sat. Minutes later, my prettyboy was seen crying. His long lashes were wet with tears. Tears that were caused by me. Me for crying out loud! Me who was always giving in to his every wimp and fancy. Me who sayang sayang him!
And to think my sister was known to be the fiercest teacher in her school, I assumed I was the contrary. It was not to be evidently. Gahh… I’m always the nice one god love a duck!
Ok, so I raised my voice a bit, just a tad aye. I was patient, mind you. I asserted a bit of sternness to make him remember better. I did it for the best of reasons. And it was malay spelling. You cannot do better than your own mother tongue. Distinction doesn’t drop from the sky. Doesn’t mean it’s remotely impossible now. Piece of shortcake.
I dreaded homework because Mother used to beat me when I was younger. Bloody “Wahid and Ahmad” I couldn’t read out and what have you, a spanking like no other from the angel herself.
I know what pressure is. I grow up with pressure. Pressure has its boons. You just have to suffer some. With a single mother then, you just cannot afford (literally too sometimes) to do badly in school. But if not for the beatings and scolding, I wouldn’t get as far as a diploma. And before you go on by saying “Only?” let’s not forget that I have to fully support myself to even get that piece of cert from SP. SHeesh.
Fiqri’s lucky violence will not be inculcated as far as his learning go. So he has it good. But that didn’t stop him from merajok-ing with me lah. The nerve of that boy! Father pacified him and asked him to apologize to teacher here.
He didn’t budge one bit. He sulked somemore, with that cute pout of his, and a forlorn look that begged to be comforted and eyes… those eyes… like a docile kitten pleading to be loved…. ANYWAY... In the end, finally he wanna meow meow to me again. Tau takot.
Bleurgh.
I realize that maybe I’m not born to be a teacher after all. And sadly, the feeling hurts. Pray, what EXACTLY am I born to do then?
*and she wonders*
cinta
fasyalba
Labels: i feel sad.
