It's that time of the year again, the moment where we clean up old slates and write new promises for ourselves to be either fulfilled or broken.

This year, I got lazy. I didn't make resolutions because I know me, and 'me' doesn't keep 'em. But with recurring dreams and being shipped off to an island, I got myself thinking. Hard.

I need to do something different. This new phase of my life requires something proactive, something unique.

Resolutions:

1. Every two months, I must try to travel to a part of the island.

2. I must try to complete two books a month. During term break, I'll have a separate book list.

3. I must draw, paint or sketch once a month.

4. I must blog once a week, to keep the journalistic juices running.

5. Exercise is a must.

6. Fast food, once a month.

7. Maggi mee once a week, only.

8. NO MORE PROCRASTINATION!

9. Make up with a specific person.

There, 9 suffices.

:)

Happy New Year peeps!

The Education Center: Episode 1, "Good morning class."

The first day I started work at the Education Centre was the day I passed my interview there. The interview was swell, I believe my boss-to-be was trying to intimidate me and raise the bar then plonk it on my head so as to make sure I knew what I was signing up for.

Truth is, and I am not being cocky, I knew what I was signing up for. And what I signed up for reared its ugly head at me when she called me up for Part 2 of the interview, the mock class.

The class consisted of three primary school kids, 2 12 year-olds and an eleven year old. A girl and two boys. I stood at the doorway, one of them looked up at me and said;

"An Indian? NO! I hate her."

Boy, the class hadn't even started!

And so I started, I played nice. I completely ignored the greeting and the other two students quickly condemned him for being racist. Though my boss did try to explain, I guess I understood why he reacted that way.

We did simple things, basic grammar. I thought we were going on fine until the boss walked in. The jittery, pesky butterflies attacked my tummy and I missed out the first person references for plural and singular verbs.

She reminded me, "What about I and you?"

I muddled it, having no idea how to simplify it. She then jumped to the situation and explained it, incorporating 'asses' into it. She then told me sometimes 'horny' explanations helped.

I didn't know whether I should be relaxed, surprised, disgusted or be in fits of laughter but you know what? It worked.

The bildungsroman.

I thought of opening a new blog. One with no name, no mark, no tag that bears my identity. I wanted to be anonymous so that I could blog and be rude about it, so much so no annoying relative's commentary or annual report will find it's way to my parents' ears. But then I realized, starting on a clean slate would be completely contradicting the very word.

Bildungsroman.

It refers to growth of a person or a character. Growth:- not only physical but mental, spiritual, in character and thought.

This blog is my bildungsroman. It is proof that I have (don't cough now) grown. Not just in size but in character and (laziness) and thought.

Hence, I shall begin again, with a new voice. One with aspiration and dream. To teach.

Muahahahaha.

This is my series of "The Education Centre".

Greetings and Salutations.

I miss blogging. My mind needs to work. Write good English. I feel somehow I have forgotten half the words I usually use, since I started to work.

I only seem to know phrases like these;

"Be quiet and do your work."

or

"Hey, can't you keep quiet for a second?"

or

"Where's your book? Why didn't you bring it?"

Somehow, working as a tuition teacher has made me realize several things:

1. I do not want to work in a city. City kids are rude and ungrateful.

2. A teacher's job can be mundane if you are forced to work according to the status quo.

3. Teaching acquires perseverance. If you can buy it in bulk, it's a done deal.

Boy, is this place dusty or what?

WAH!

I haven't written for so long, it has been ages!

From a day to day blogger, I have now been reduced to this. Man, where's my discipline?

So hello bloggy!

How are ya doing? Just messing around eh?

Right now, I am reconnecting with kids.

Ever since I started teaching (as a part time job) I feel like I should re-examine my plans. I should consider teaching young children.

They are so cute, and so adorable. God, is just so awesome, I sometimes wonder where He got the idea to make little cute human beings called children that run around with cheeky smiles and chubby cheeks.

I don't feel so awkward with them anymore.

Last Sunday, Ps Gurmit told us about his personal experience with motherhood. His wife heard their baby son cry, and Ps was so sure that he was not. Determined to prove his wife wrong, he went to check on the son only to find him crying. After calming the child and getting him to sleep, he asked his wife how she knew that their son was crying. She said for 9 months she carried his in her womb, and there was a relationship built, in silence between child and mother. Nothing could break that bond. Ps then asked God for this kind of relationship with the son, but God said he couldn't attain that which only a mother could.

It's amazing what we women can do, that privilege God has given us.

Aah, kids. They're cute.

That Ignorant Racism

I'm pissed, so I'm writing.

Okay, it's not racism, just ignorance.

Even if it is, and I called it that, I'd probably get locked up in ISA and be blamed for causing some verbal genocide.

Have you been in a situation, where you have to been in this area, where you're the only who doesn't speak a common language, and everybody else does, and they carry on doing it all day without any regard that you may feel left out?

Well, that's practically the dance everyday, as soon as I punch in to the time I punch out.

I don't really blame them, they were born with their mother tongue slathered all over their tongues. This gives them the liberty to have this long, interesting sounding conversation, laughs and giggles through out the day. Why should they even make adjustments or effort to make a new being feel welcomed, at home or cared?

At these times, I feel like the penniless kid, staring at the ice cream vendor, as all the other kids pull out their coins and and wave them about, then walk past the kid happily sucking on their popsicles.

Ooh... what's worse, people in the same shade of your skin speak that same language. Then, when you ask them a question, they look at you point blank, give you a curt answer and continue talking to the fairer one in front of them.

Tis as though you require a certain skin tone to be spoken to, jackass.

Or maybe all this is just me as I approach my menstruation period.

Me over thinking.

Me tired.

Me go sleep.