Time for...

Seriously, this double password access thingy is getting on my nerves.
So this will be my last entry on this site..(which is pretty sad...cos I do love this blog page)

Anyway, ten days has passed in 2012.
Many changes have taken place.

I have started anew...and would like to move on.
So perhaps, the best thing to do is to pen my thoughts on the new site.

I'll keep you posted....

Adieu....

Hijacked...or something

I finally got into this account.
I seriously need to migrate my blog as the mail accounts are linked, and this darn cloud computing thingy is making my laptop confused as to which password it needs to respond to.

Hmm....
So maybe, I'll create a new one.
But darn, I love hanging on to this.

Maal Hijrah - The Move

Today marks the new day in the Muslim calendar. Many people think that Hari Raya is the new year celebration...but it is not.
For us, the 'celebration' is marked with a day of prayers and thanksgiving.

In the spirit of things, I completed my move from my spot downstairs.
It has been 9 long years...since I moved down to that position.
As I cleaned out my desk, I remember the times I've had...with friends and colleagues...and the students who sat beside me as I worked. I also recall my encounters with my 'friend' - the presence of another being in the room.

I have spent more than 23 years in the school already. That is a long time...
It's my second home.

So I leave the table with a sense of sadness, but also a stronger sense of calm.
We all need to move on...and at this point of time, I have come to cherish my health and my peace of mind.

Ya Allah,
It is Your Will. It's a time for new beginnings.
With your blessings, I will have more good times ahead.
Insyaallah. Amin.

When the memories leave...

The MRI scan has confirmed the prognosis.
Mum has both dementia and Alzheimers.

It's interesting that of late, there has been many news articles on the state on Singaporeans' mental health. At least 1 in 10 will suffer from a mental degradation...from the simples blues to depression, from plain forgetfulness to those who totally lose their identities.  There is a stronger call for the early screening to be made mandatory, so that those, especially in their golden years, would not be a time when they are struck down by this disability.

While I celebrate Zarifah small victories climbing out of the abyss in which depression had sucked her into two years ago, I am now facing this new challenge.  Even with medication, Mum's condition, 'may be slowed'....technically, within 6 years, we may...face the prospect of her...

But Alhamdulillah, mum is taking things within her stride...at least, I think she is more upbeat than I am...or is it because, her short-term memory has already been short-circuited.  It's becoming quite obvious that she sometimes cannot even remember topics of conversation that took place ten minutes earlier.

Her faith is keeping her strong.  Surprisingly, she retains the ability to memorise Quranic verses...much better than anyone of us in the family.  That gives her the focus she needs...the antidote to soothe her nerves when she gets frustrated at not being able to remember simple things like taking her medication, or even having her lunch.

Dear God,
Your humble servant, ...pasrah.
It's Your Will...and I pray, that you give me the strength...
In You, I place my trust...
Look after mum...
and let her keep...the most precious of her memories...
That is - to serve you.
Ameen

Dissecting Words

Excuse me...
I dis - sect   words!
That's part of my job...I also do it for fun.

That's part of my background...
I tear at words, and put them under a magnifying glass.
The 'literary grounding' is as strong as instinct.

So...if you use words...
either randomly or whimsically...
or for whatever reason you say...
I'll look at them and wonder...

Words...
have power....
to lift, to break,
to enlighten, to confuse
to praise, to condemn

Words...are used for a purpose
Literally....figuratively...
Your words...no matter how convoluted or straightforward
Reveal a lot more than what you want to hide.

So I know...
though I may not fully understand...
What you mean...

Walk the Talk, please

Today....was a disaster.
There was a workshop ....I can't put the title here...for fear that if someone googles this, and stumbles across what I have to say, well...lets say that the consequences would not be pleasant.

But come on...
The group is made up of professional educators.
Granted, it is the holidays, and the idea of having to attend 2 full days workshop is just as exciting as having a root canal dental work done on you....

But this course is about ____________....meaning, that, you, as the 'expert', is supposed to help us in our journey towards that goal.

Yet...
The trainer is the anti-thesis of what is being said.
Never had a whole room of professionals made to feel as if we are transported back into the classroom, and treated as if we are the naive, illiterate children.

The trainer felt that the momentum was not right...
Yet...again, blamed the participants.
And we...being too polite,
Did not want to tell the truth to your face.

Do you know why?
You once held one of the highest position possible in our line of work
...yet now, you are sadly out of touch.
The very things you tell us not to do with our students,
...are the very things that you are doing to us.

Sad...sad...sad...

Dear God,
Twenty years down the road...please do not let me become that....

The New Fine Line

One of the locally produced shows which I enjoy is "The Pupil'. Though it revolves around the lives of those in the legal service, the show portrays many cases based on actual cases; or work into its plot some thought-provoking scenario.

A case in point was last evening's episode.
It highlighted a case of how the head of a school was being sued by the parents of a girl who felt that his actions had led to her over-dosing herself.  The head teacher had started an on-line portal where he could be more accessible to his students. So in the evenings, (maybe to set an example to his teachers how to be caring???), he chats with them over any matters.

So with the girl, it started with her telling him of her academic woes.
But along the way, it did point out that this was a girl who rarely listened to advice. She clearly had a mind of her own. Anyway, she kept chatting with him, and confided that she was having problems with her boyfriend. It was revealed that his first advice to her was to ask her to turn to her parents. Of course, she would not listen.

So, as the relationship soured, she continued to tell the headmaster her woes....and one of his advice was "End it..."
I suppose it makes good drama with an open-ended, ambiguous statement like that. English teachers teaching inference skills must drill into the students to always look within the context of what took place. But what did the dear child do? For the first time, she decides to listen to him...and 'end it' by overdosing herself with sleeping pills. (never mind where she got them from....)

So...parents found her in the nick of time, and she is saved.
The parents saw the web page with the chat history and those damning words...and decided that this man must pay for his tresspasses. How dare he mislead a child...worse still, go against any Socractic oath (no...I'm making this up...since Socrates was one of the world's greatest teacher). This is a teacher who has definitely crossed the line!

I am of course, biased at this moment, for obvious reasons.
But I was very disturbed when the judgment came. The court found the P guilt of misappropriate behaviour. He has crossed the line.

That set me thinking....Crossing the line?
What is the role of an educator?

In between the courtroom drama, there was a heated exchange between the P and the public prosecutor. The prosecutor painted him as a potential phedophile, taking advantage of his position to exploit young minds. She called him names, and found herself crossing the line when she that that as a parent, she wouldn't want to put her child in his school. In his anger, the P then yelled that if only parents did their job...as parents...because all he did was doing his job.

Much have been said about the role of a teacher.
How do you know that you have crossed that fine thin line?

There are no answers...only deep thoughts and worries that follow.
If what the man did was wrong, then I have been guilty a thousand times over.
I do get personally involved in my students' lives.

So what is the lesson to be learnt?
There is no right or wrong way...no one answer that fits all.
But times are changing....

I rue the day when I become cool, detached, and 'professional' in the execution of my duty to impart knowledge....
It's the time to leave....

Wherein lies your intention?

It takes all kinds....
In this world, there are dreamers and the realists, lenders and borrowers, optimists and pessimists, and the givers and takers.

What is your intention?
What is your personal agenda?
We all do things for a reason...
and to reach a sincere and pure intention...
Is the hardest thing to do.

Lillahi Taallah...
Guide me...and make my niat,
the right way to your path

Another one bites the dust...really?

I think STOMP , twitter and even FB are trending about how a young local girl had boasted about slapping her mother. She is still a teenager, barely 15.

From what I have read (ya...I do have a bone to pick with 'citizen journalism', but that's another issue altogether), this child claimed to have done the deed, and posted about her actions on FB. She also decided to rant, and called her mother all kinds of derogatory terms. Someone who read her post then sent it to STOMP.  The floodgates opened up a whole slew of reactions - from those who felt so outraged and called insulted her in turn, to those who felt that her actions were really 'cool' and wanted to befriend her...only to be 'hurt' when she accepted one of the 300 people who made the request on FB.

Welcome to the end of civilisation.

I am not going to adopt a 'holier-than-thou' attitude.
I think in my postings, I have had enough grief over the issues that plague society...
Lets just put it such that I want the finger pointing to stop.

I am appealing for those who still hold on to good universal values to look deep into ourselves, and think of what we ought to be doing. It starts with ourselves.

Coming from an educator's perspective...I can guess what needs to be done, and what we are likely to do.

"Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone".
As hard as it is, no matter how 'outraged' or 'appalled' I feel, there must be steps to 'save' this child.
No matter how much bravado she displays, I am sure she is reeling from the consequences of her actions. The vigilantes are up-in-arms against her...and no one can withstand a whole onslaught of abuses hurled back at her (see...karma already...and personally, those who use vulgarities back are no way better than her).

Yes...
She must 'pay'. She needs to know the err of her ways.
But I wonder how many Fbookers, or tweeters or whatsoever, has not publicly ranted, nor called another person names. How many have boosted about hitting or punching or whatsoever your boss or colleague or friend?

Lets ask...
What can we do now?...
Can we turn things around for her?

Or...is she another one of the 'sleeping child', who develops a whole new persona when she is awake?

A Little Thankfulness

Technically, yesterday was the last day of school for some students. With the advent of the O'levels, many secondary school ends earlier as compared to those in primary schools. But lessons will still carry on for another two weeks or so unofficially so that a lot more of in-depth teaching can take place.

There were two things that I want to reflect about as the academic year comes to a close.
Firstly...the exam results and moderation.
I do not want to go into the validity of papers set. That I trust...and most teachers I know would have prepared taught what is needed, and prepared the students for the exams.

Yet we spend many hours debating over 'poor academic performance'.
We become the judge and jury...debating on whether on not some of the students would really be ready to move on to the next level...when it is obvious that some of the reasons for the bad results stem from the child's own attitude and apparent lack of interest.

Enough said here...there is enough great debate out that about exams and its whole plethora of shortcomings when it comes to evaluating a person's worth....

But here is the crunch.
I know that there are teachers who care enough to want to help these students move on.
We evaluate each case carefully, and most of the time, the teachers will speak up for the child.
...and they do it with sincerity.

Which comes to my second point...
One of the last exercises I had to do yesterday with a class was to encourage them to write a nomination for a national 'award...which is to recognise the teacher for his/her contributions in the line of duty. All the students had to do was to simply write a few lines to thank any teacher whom the child think is caring.

While some dutifully filled up the form, there were many who stared blankly.
"I cannot think of anyone," was the common phrase word.
"Must I really do this?" another whined.

I know I had no right to be upset with the attitude. Perhaps gratitude is the last thing these children want to display. It may be presumptuous of me to say that this display of apathy is payback time for the amount of nagging and scolding they remembered...and of course, the ones...that we helped push up despite the poor results...had also skipped class.

But...the classic line was this.
"For what, cher? Isn't caring part of your job? ... Teachers are paid to do it, right?
After all, you are just a civil servant...we pay you already!"...came the 'joking' jibe.

Ouch...ouch...ouch...
I failed as an educator....

Locked Out...

The title has special significance for several reasons.

Firstly, I could not update the blog as I could not gain access to it.
You see, the email address I have been using all these while is 'owned' by the larger organisation I work for...and they have 'migrated' to a new 'cloud somehow...(dang if I can fully understand all this high-tech terminology)...In short, I got locked out cos the password is now sacredly associated with that user id.  Fortunately, donkey years ago, I had created a long-forgotten gmail account...and apparently, blogger said I could use that...but I had forgotten that user id and password as well...Anyway, it took me three days to figure out the steps I had to take to finally get back in here.

Locked out...physically.
This was what happened to the child I had mentioned in one of the earlier entries.
I do not want to elaborate...but his father's failure to settle debts found the family locked out and thrown out of their rental flat...
I pray that you will be able to find a place to stay...or else I know you will end up like the other stories of families living by the beach.

Which comes to my final point...
I truly understand why some parents get locked out...from their children' hearts.
While parents too, are humans, capable of mistakes,
their 'errors, faults, and flaws'
...can stem from arrogance, rigidity and insistence that 'I am always right'
...from their old-fashioned echoes of  "respect me cos I'm older, and as a parent, I ought to be obeyed'
...from unrealistic expectations
...or simply from, a failure to fully play the role of a parent...who should be loving, protective, forgiving and responsible.

I have seen and heard enough to know this...
And as a parent too, I have made mistakes too.
But I learn...and god knows, I truly try.
For the day I get locked out from my children' hearts...
will be the day, I lose mine.

Ya Allah,
guide me...

Ameen.

Down that road again...

Tomorrow is the start of the O'level exams.
EL paper will kick off the exams.

Each year, besides the release of the results, the day will see me on tenterhooks.
Of course, I will be filled with self-doubts....
Have I done enough?
Did I teach them the right thing?
Could I have done more?
What have I not done?

It's hard to shake off this feeling.
It's not the stake of just obtaining good results...or whether I achieved the set msg.
It is about...
feeling responsible for the children...
because the results...in a way, will affect whether or not they can move on to the next stage, and where they will move to...

And this year, it's especially hard,
cos this is the group of children I have seen through for three years...
I have grown fond of them...
The stakes are higher...

Dear God,
Please watch over them...clear their minds...
Help them to think...and remember.
Ameen

The world goes on...deal with it.

These few days, I have learnt a lot just by observing people - especially the children in school. I also have been re-reading Florence Littauer's "Personality Plus" to have a better understanding of why people behave the way they do (hahaha...yes...in a way it's true when someone says "I cannot help it.I'm born this way!")

But one of the best opportunties to study positivity and resilience presented itself yesterday evening when I met up with one of my ex-students. I have always thought of him as a calm and steady person.  His quiet demeanour belies the inner turbulence he experiences daily.  He is not academically strong, and I remember his struggles facing the O'levels.  But he kept going on....and ...on...and on...pushing himself.

I think when one has a 'bigger purpose' in life, somehow, that provides the motivation to keep on peservering. I knew he had issues, most of them, not of his doing. He knew that his results would be key to getting out of his predicament, and no matter how hard things got, he just had to never lose sight of that.  But I can image, even at 17 then, having to balance between studies and work.  There was no other choice. He had to support his mother.

Currently, he is in a polytechnic, in his final year.
He gave up a chance for a work attachment abroad, because it was just not financially viable, and of course, it meant that his mother, who was not working, would not be able to fend for herself. (let's not talk about dad - cos he is the root cause of all the problems)

So he managed to compact his study schedule to 4 days in a week - Monday to Thursday - from 8am to 8pm.  It is something called the 'competition route'.  On Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, he works from 9am to 9pm (for $7 per hour...and "every single cent counts, Cher"). When probed, he survives on a 'decent breakfast' at home, and eats again only when he reaches home for dinner. Weekdays are 'luxuries' because his work at the F&B outlet has lunch thrown in...and when probed what he does doing lunch breaks in school - he smiles and says that "I catch up with sleep'.

I was tearing.
Through the years I have known him, never have I understood the extent of his struggles.  But yesterday was the first time he opened up to me - and told in a matter-of-fact way. There are no regrets, no sighs, no hoots, no complaints...and no whining.  Yesterday, he shared, simply because he was just tired...not tired of what he was going through, but just tired physically.

But the face remained serene and smiling.
I supposed that we all need to 'unload' and share sometimes...so it all came tumbling out.
The house rents are three months overdue, so are the utility bills. So the family is on the verge of eviction...

His lowest point was when the 'creditors' came aknocking in the middle of the night threatening their lives...he was so badly rattled that he failed all his subjects in the middle of last year. But by sheer grit, he clawed his way back...His regret was letting that episode pull down his GPA.

I spent a considerable time, just allowing him to speak. I really felt so humbled in his presence.  It was as if my own problems were so negligable compared to what he is going through.

I offered some help.
He gently brushed me aside. "No charity, cher," he chided. I know that this 'pride' is something he so strongly holds on to...it was a matter of principles...his sense of honour.

My son, Akmal, was with me throughout the dinner.  He has long come to regard this person as his 'godbrother'.  And when we left, Akmal asked me this:
"Ma...how does one go through so much and remain so strong and cheerful? I want to learn this from Kor-Kor"."

I am glad Akmal saw that.
And I am grateful that Allah send me these 'children' as reminders of my own purpose in life.

Alhamdulillah.

The sleeping child (II)

Back in the days when I was teaching literature in lower secondary, I introduced the students to a poem by John Walsh entitled "The Bully Asleep." Basically, it is about a group of students who were plotting 'revenge' on a bully who made their lives miserable. The best opportunity came when he fell asleep in class.

The idea from the poem befits the image of J, who had his head on the table. He was snoring away softly, oblivious to the laughter that was building up around him.  J. may not be the terrible bully as portrayed in the Walsh's poem, but there are are striking similarities.

This afternoon, when grassy Scents through the classroom crept, 

Bill Craddock laid his head Down on his desk, and slept.

The children came round him: Jimmy, Roger, and Jane; 

They lifted his head timidly And let it sink again.

‘Look, he’s gone sound asleep Miss’, Said Jimmy Adair; 

‘He stays up all the night, you see; His mother doesn’t care.’

J's story? 

Well. he does fall asleep when the humidity levels in the classroom reached almost an unbearable level. It was a usual sight to have him slumped over. I did not know which was better honestly. For you see, when J is awake, he talks endlessly. He must always have the last word. He is a bright child; and has a sharp wit. He has a good range of vocabulary; so some of the 'barbs' I throw at him are easily deflected. Even when told to keep quiet, he will attract attention with needless gestures; with a kick to the table, or by scraping his chair.

Yes...he does stay up all night. At least that was what his form teacher told me. And the fact that he lives a considerable distance from the school often finds him falling asleep in buses...and he is inevitably late for school on numerous occasions.

‘Stand away from him children.’ Miss Andrews stopped to see. 

‘Yes, he’s asleep; go on With your writing, and let him be.’

‘Now’s a good chance!’ whispered Jimmy, And he snatched Bill’s pen and hid it.

 ‘Kick him under the desk, hard; He won’t know who did it’

‘Fill all his pockets with rubbish – Paper, apple-cores, chalk.’ 

So they plotted, while Jane Sat wide-eyed at their talk.

I do not need to really tell you that J does not endear himself to his peers.  Negative attention is still produce some form of response from others - so in his loud, brash ways, J attracts all the wrong kind of attention. He is boorish, crude, and rubs people the wrong way.  He is not a bully in the conventional sense - it's his ways that puts people off.

Not caring, not hearing,Bill Craddock he slept on;
Lips parted, eyes closed –Their cruelty gone.

‘Stick him with pins!’ muttered Roger.
‘Ink down his neck!’ said Jim.
But Jane, tearful and foolish,
Wanted to comfort him.
In short, J is not a person that you would warm up to easily.  There were days when I feel exasperated by his endless distractions.  He hardly has books in his bag, has no papers nor books, and comes to class with the dirtiest-looking rag of a T-shirt ever.  When asked for his shirt, he would pull out a crumpled, yellowed school uniform  and grumbled that the weather was too hot to be wearing one.

But as I watch him sleep; with the exam paper left undone, a few things struck me...

This was a child...
whose fighting parents have declared that neither one wanted him
where the roof over his head was taken away because of the adults defaulting payment
who came to school sometimes without the money to fill his stomach

This is a child...
....this is a sad....sad....sad...sad...child.

Sleep J...if it calms your troubled soul....

The sleeping child (I)

This is a reflection of something that happened recently. I wrote about it, but never got to the point of publishing this entry...As I invigilate the exams, I am bound to find some of my students falling asleep, with the heads on the table.  This was what went through my mind as I looked at this particular child.

She is beautiful...so I had made the assumptions that the genes must have come from either parents.  Tall & willowy, with dark eyes which framed her heart-shaped features perfectly.  The only problem with her was that she was frequently absent from school.  There is no real explanation as to why medically, even though her absence was always covered by a legitimate medical certificate.

She appeared with her mother in school recently.  They were seated along the stone seats along the corridor while waiting to speak to the form teacher who was in the classroom. I made my way to the woman whom I assumed was my student's mother.  It was then obvious where she got her exotic good looks from - the only difference between mother and daughter was just the colour of their skintones - but otherwise, t.hey were almost the spitting image of each other.

I should have read the body language more carefully. The girl was sitting away from the mum, fiddling endlessly with her handphone, while the mother was sullen; obviously unhappy at being made to come to school to discuss about her child.

I introduced myself, and then immediately spoke about the daughter's progress in class.  She listened without interrupting whatever I had to say. Then suddenly, she asked me this question:
"I know about her studies...But I want to know. Don't school's teach values anymore?"

I was taken aback. That was a question that I did not quite expect. Then she went on.
"It seems that all the school cares now is about results.  But what are you teaching the children?"

That put me in a spot. I did not know how to answer her.  But before I could answer, the daughter interjected.
"Why do you ask my teacher stupid questions?"..It was more of a bark.

"See...no point I send her to school...to be educated. Look how rude she is."

"I'm rude? What about you? All you care is for yourself...You are nothing but a cold-hearted b**ch!"

Whoa! Where did that come from?
The bitter exchange was so fast and unexpected that I was stunned...The daughter stamped her foot and walked away.  Strangely, the mother, sat up , ramrod stiff, and refused to utter a single word. Her face was one of total self-control. She was so red that she looked as though as if she was going to burst at any moment. At that point, the form teacher came out of the room, and invited her in.

I went after the child.  I found in, sobbing in the toilet.  When she saw me, she wiped away her tears.
"Please don't say anything, please. Don't make me apologise. I am just telling the truth.  That woman may have given birth to me, but she has not done a single thing to deserve the title of mother. I hate her."

A lot more transpired after that.   But I cannot elaborate it here.  But eventually, I managed to get the girl back to the classroom, seat her next to the mother, where they spent the next twenty minutes in stoic silence.  And when the session was over, the mother left the classroom in a hurry.  The girl followed behind. But they went their separate ways. It left me with many unanswered questions.

How did things reach to such a state?  How could a 16-year-old habour such animosity towards her mother?  And how....how did the mother 'lose' her child?

Today, the child fell asleep.  As she had her head on the table, I reflected...such innocence in her moments of repose...But, when she wakes up later...what will happen with this child?

Knee-jerk Reactions

I know that I made the choice to step down. Now, someone has taken over.
While I understand that changes are inevitable, I hate it when I find myself cornered, and having to justify the actions I have taken in the past.

I acknowledge there are loopholes. I know that there are flaws.
I must know learn to bite the bullet when the feedback given are less than favourable.
That I know.

But my grouse is this...why is it none of this was ever raised to me personally?
Now it seems as if the arrows are shooting at me from every direction.

I will shoulder the responsibility of my actions.
It hurts, but I understand the need for improvement.

I only wished it was not a personal attack.

Hunger

This is what I wrote which trying to motivate the kids to do their essays.  It is not 'original' in the sense that it is based on the poem that I used to teach years ago.

"You better come down.Dinner's getting cold." Mother yelled for the umpteenth time. So far, none of the children responded. They were probably lost in their virtual world, and lost track of the time again.

She sighed. She wondered if she ought to go upstairs and bring them down.  She had taken the trouble to cook a delicious meal that evening - chicken rice, vegetables and steamed fish.  After all, the doctor had advised her to watch Boy-Boy's diet. He has been deemed as obese. She had been upset. To her, he has yet to lose his baby fat.

Her eyes caught sight of what was going on on that little TV in the kitchen.  The documentary on Channel 12 was featuring the situation in Somalia.  The famine-plagued country was torn apart by civil war.  There were images of tiny babies - with sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks and bloated stomachs - victims of malnutrion.

"The Red Cross is appealing for donations" the commentator's coice droned. Numbers kept flashing across the screen.  But Mother did not quite notice .  She was busy pouring a large cup of Cola for Boy-boy. It was going to be a treat. He has been pouting eversince the she had to cut back his food.

The boy in question came into the room, and immediately sulked when he saw the food on the table. "I want MacDonald's!" he demanded, his chubby cheeks puffed in anger.

"But darling, You had that yesterday. Today it's your favourite chicken rice." she coaxed.  But he glared at her, grabbed the glass of fizzy drink she had unconsciously offered, and walked off.  She wondered about the battles she will now have with him.

Then something on the screen caught her attention again. The scenes were graphic.  Skinny, bony women carried half-dead infants in their arms.  But she could not understand why the TV was showing pictures of naked women. How can the board of censors allow this? It was a good thing that Boy-boy has left the room.

Her teenaged daughter came bouncing into the room.  She too looked at the food in disdain.  "You know I can't eat this, Mummy! I'm on a diet. All this food will make me fat!"

Mother looked at the spread left untouched on the table. She sighed.  She would have to eat dinner alone - again.  But then, something on TV pulled her eyes back to the screen.  This time, it was the images of scrawny children, picking up leftover scraps from the filthy ground - mixed with dung and waste.


"Eeewwww...How disgusting!" she commented. The sight had turned her stomach. She now has lost her appetite.  She was no longer hungry.

But she, was not going to waste food. She had always disliked keeping food overnight.  So she carefully packed up the food and fed it to the stray dogs in the neighbourhood.  Then she picked up the familiar number of MacDonald's delivery, so that Boy-boy would not go hungry that night.

(written - 6 October 2011)

You are what you write...

I have a hobby which allows me to decipher a person's character...that is, if I want to.
The ability to 'read personality traits'  through one's handwriting is NOT fortune telling...yet each time, when on a whim, I reveal to some of the students their character, they are taken aback, and then have the misconception that I can foretell what's going to happen to them.

Graphology is the art and science of analyzing handwriting.
It started off as a hobby to while my time away back in the days when I was in varsity. Someone was offering to teach the craft, and I signed on for workshop. It was fun.

Of course, I am not an expert in it.  But I would say I know enough...to keep the students'  during the moments when things get a little dull in class. Some people get freaked out if I reveal certain aspects of their behaviour...though this craft is combined with some degree of perception and close observation.

There are many things that can give you away...
the degree of one's slant, the size, the pressure, the font, the loops and curls, the sharpness, and so on.
I do know that some companies which believe in graphology ask their potential job holders to send handwritten resumes, so that they can 'verify' the true character of a person.

I have one disclaimer.
Though I have this knowledge, I do not use it to 'probe' into the characters of my students.
It does not work like that...

My only wish is that those with minute writing, and messy scrawls would really use large neat script...that's the kind of writing that I want to be able to read!

Want me to read yours?

I am an Imploder

Kaboom!
That's why I suddenly jolted me up. It's around 3.45am now. I had been awake for more than an hour already.

I had not wanted to be reliant on medication.  No anti-depressants, no sleep-inducingvalium. I had thought that the tiring events of the day would allow my weary body to rest.
I guess I was wrong.

Kaboom!
One may not usually remember much of dreams.
But it had felt that a time bomb just went off in my mind.
Sleep was not restful at all.

The fragments of the day's events became a jumbled mess in my mind.
The scoldings, the fretting, ...the whole litany of unspoken words that remained imprinted were looking for an outlet.
Twice today, I had to walk out of the classroom.
Not because of anger, but because of tears.

It's that time of the year.
Wondering if I had done enough...if I had done my part
If I had been keeping to my 'amanah'

I cannot help but be emotionally involved...though it is their future; their lives.
I cannot switch off, and not wonder about the 'if onlys'

Dear God,
Guide me...and give me the wisdom to know my place, and my limitations.
Help me find the inner strength.
and...bless me with much needed sleep.
Ameen.

When sleep becomes elusive

I need to sleep...
Somehow, due to some hormonal changes, and the worries I carry in my mind, I have been finding it hard to get my rest. Oh, I do fall asleep around ten - that is more out of habit rather than anything else. But, lately, from one to four, the body clock re-sets itself. I am awakened by some thing that keeps on playing in my mind.

At the same time, that's when I find myself feeling very warm. Mind you, I sleep in an airconditioned room, but I will be drenched in sweat. Once, I got up and took a bath, but this would not be good for the joints in the long run...now that arthritis has set in.

I have tried praying...
But I found myself more alert than ever. I wanted to mark, but the eyesight is not very good at that time of the night.  So I have spend fruitless hours surfing the net mindlessly, hoping to look for a cure for the insomnia.

The doctor prescribed amitriptyline...
I know,...it's more on an anti-depressant which is supposed to help  me relax...If it was the other GP, he would have given me valium...so far, it only worked once this week..cos in total, I had less than 4 hours of sleep.

Panda eyes, sallow skin...
and extremely poor concentration during the day....this is bad.
Sleep is truly a balm for the body and mind...
I need to sleep.