HAPPENING

Yesterday was quite an eventful day. In the middle of a lesson, loud shattering of glass could be heard. All the classrooms are air-conditioned (kudos to the nearby construction works! Yeahhh!!!), so you can imagine how loud the shattering of glass was. Following which, a commotion started to gradually build up along the corridors. My kids were shocked. "Got glass break! Someone broke a window!" They exclaimed excitedly.

I opened the classroom doors and peeked outside. The sound appeared to have come from the neighbouring class. Plenty of students from that class were out along the corridor. Amidst the activities, snippets of chatters floated around. "... Punched the window panel!", "... Was angry...", "... Smashed it...". Frowning, I shifted my position to get a better view. Blood. Glass shrapnel. A boy walked past; blood streaming steadily down his left fist.

By then, back within the confinements of the 4 walls of my own classroom, my own kids were getting all excited. Students sitting on the other side of the classroom had gathered in front of the window panels. They were all peeping out in curiosity. I can't help but to smile inside. Suddenly, I felt like a mother hen looking after a bunch of kaypoh chickens (they're only 13-year-olds).

"Ok, class. Not your business. Everybody, get back to your seat. Stop looking. Close the window panels; the air-conditioning is escaping." I ordered, "Everybody, back to your seat."

The lesson resumed with no further interruptions. When the period ended, I walked past the neighbouring class and saw the broken window. I caught hold of a boy from that class while they were transiting for the next lesson and asked what happened earlier. "Don't know. Think he was angry or something. Think someone disturbed him or something. Then he punched the window."



I adjourned to the next class while wondering what had pissed the boy off to react in such anger. Punching a glass window panel! Imagine that! That must have hurt! And I can't imagine the fury behind it. It's either he was really angry and lost his cool; or that he's immature or impulsive.

I arrived at the next class. While I was setting up my laptop and the projector, this little Malay boy came forward. "Cher", he grinned somewhat shyly, "this is for you." He said coyly and extended his hand forward. Held in between his fingers, is a lone little Styrofoam rose. So small; that it sits comfortably on my palm. Small. Cute. Pretty. And sweet. He smiled and looked away. "Cher, Cher! He says you're his girlfriend!" Some of the boys sitting in the front rows near the teachers' desk teased. I smiled. Not because of what the other boys were jeering about, but because... I don't know... A 14-year-old, well-behaved, cute little Malay boy giving me a small little red Styrofoam rose in all shyness. It's so simple. So simply beautiful and cute. What's there not to smile about?











I was telling DH the other day that I don't really like to receive flowers, even if they're roses. It's just too impractical. Not only are they expensive, but they also smell bad when they wilt and die (DH: "You're so unromantic!". Me: "Ok, let me rephrase. I'll only like it if a boyfriend gives me flowers. ONLY when it's given by the boyfriend then is it sweet and romantic. If not, I would prefer cash or vouchers any day!").

This small little lone rose, though, weighs heavily in my heart.



Today, after the last lesson, a fight nearly broke out between 2 boys along the corridor. A mutual classmate ran back to the classroom and told me "they're on the verge of fighting!". Luckily I had stayed behind in class today to pin up some articles on the noticeboard. I walked out into the corridors. By then, the 2 boys were getting belligerent; and both party can't seem to stop retaliating each other - which, of course, only exacerbated things. Seeing me approaching, Boy 1 took the opportunity to complain to me about this-and-that. Boy 2 cut in and defended himself. Boy 1 stopped his complaints and challenged Boy 2. Boy 2 retorted. Boy 1 retorted. Boy 2 puffed up his chest and threatened him to a fight. Boy 1 puffed up his chest too and lunged forward threateningly as well. I pulled Boy 2's back by his arms and order both of them (but more to Boy 1 - whom I recognize intuitively as the aggressor) to stop talking and keep quiet. Caught in emotions, both boys continued challenging each other. I stepped in physically between them to block them out of each others' view.



So happening. There is hardly a single day when it is boring or mundane.

We're educators. Entertainers. Disciplinarians. Counselors. Mentors. Advisers. Friends. Mediators. Spies. Photocopier-cum-printers troubleshooters. All rolled in one.