31ST AUGUST 2009

We have our own Stomp right here in school. They're real good!

There are a couple of jam bands as well. I'm utterly amazed by their mastery of the musical instruments. The bass. The drums. And they're only, what, 14? Or 15?

The kids are really talented, definitely. In their own way.





I hadn't been expecting notes, really. After all, it has only been 2 months since we met for the very first lesson. Anyway, this message here ticks my funny bone.

Actually, don't see my face like that. But actually, I can be quite a lioness.

WHERE I AM...

Occasionally, I threw a couple of them unceremoniously out of the class. Once or twice, I feel like going off in the middle of a lesson. Sometimes, I feel like vomiting blood. Other times, I am on the verge of tearing my hair out. The rest of the times, I am so tempted to just grab a chair and sit down and just let them do the talking instead. Administration work? Remedials? Make-up tests? They make climbing the Great Wall of China a walk in the park.



Nevertheless, they are not as bad as I first imagined. They may not have the brains; they may not have a lot of discipline; they may not necessarily have the cooperativeness or motivation; they may not have the best environment; they may not speak the most eloquent of languages. But they're definitely a lot more simpler. Real. Unpretentious.

They may not be the best - or among the better ones, for all that matters - which educators so often hope (secretly) for; but they're good enough. I can't say for the future; but right now, I don't envision myself leaving for "greener pastures" of better "reputations" or "standards".

Meaningful, is where I am right now.

Heck, one of my boys even has a court case in pending. They may not be comparable to others most of the time, but, that's the whole point; the crux of it all.

Isn't it?



Writer's note: Hopefully, I won't be reading this blog entry 2 or 3 years down the road and feel silly.

RUNNING

On 16th the Sunday, I finally ran after 2 months. As the distance which we planned to cover this time round would be twice as long as the usual route, I paced myself slowly for this first attempt. In the end, we clocked in 40 minutes. The younger brother says I'm the slowest runner he has ever seen. PUI!

On 21st the Friday, stung by the remark - and now armed with a sound gauging of my finesse - I upped the jogging pace. We clocked in 25 minutes.

This evening - 28th the Friday - we clocked in around 20 minutes.



Think I hit my ceiling today. About 3/4 into the route, I was feeling as lethargic as I usually do at the end of each run. I still had 1/4 to go; and I was already panting like a cat mercilessly thrown into a washing machine.

I had half a mind to quit; but I didn't want to. It'll be hard to get back the momentum; but more than that, it is akin to giving up. Giving up - more often than not - is not a very nice option; especially when one knows that this is not really the stretching point - yet.

I remember reading in a blog that someone said to a friend, with respect to running a marathon, "Move those legs, swing those arms, and always keep a smile on. You'll never know when a photographer would snap a picture of you. You don't want to end up looking grumpy."

On personal and deeper thoughts, the friend later improvised, something to the effect of, "Move those legs, swing those arms, always keep a smile on, and keep going. You'll never know when God would come and give you the breakthrough. Won't want to end up with a grumpy life story."



Same principle. Shoot me , but I would rather be caught jogging - however slow - rather than walking.

Ok. I take that back. Don't shoot me.



Anyway, I'm not really in the best of state to blog. Sleepy already. The brain feel too lazy to restructure these sentences to make it into a nice and smooth short article. The structure of this entry is short and choppy, I know. Off to bed soon!

Anyway, I don't feel like giving tuition tomorrow morning. Saturdays are so packed from early morning all the way into the night. Grrr... I am sooo tempted to cancel the tuition session tomorrow. Arggghhh, 加 油 and be faithful and work harder, girl!

SUBBY-SUBBY-BOM-PI-PI

Nothing beats...








... Cold Cut Trio + Italian/Honey oat + lettuce + tomato + cucumber + sweet onion sauce!

I'M LOVING IT!

YNWA

What? True what...

PRICKED FOR NOTHING

For the heavens-know-how-many-times, my finger got pricked for nothing. I hate having low haemoglobin. After all the waiting, completing the questionnaire, meeting the doctor, passing the minimal weight requirement (the doc told me to eat more because if I'm lighter by just one more kg, I would have made an unsuitable donor!), and finally, just when it's the FINAL stage, when the finishing line is sooo close, then BAM!

My donor's card? It has so many donation dates crossed out that one of my cards only have 8 real entries (a normal card can write in about 18 donation dates). I can't seem to get past the 9th donation (pissed! Because 9 is my favourite number!); I've been rejected twice consecutively already! I ALWAYS GET PRICKED FOR NOTHING. Grrr!

I hate it. No, it's not the fruitless waiting that's of concern. It's the fact that my finger got PRICKED for NOTHING. I don't know, but personally, I find the finger-pricking process MOST painful out of the whole donation procedure; followed by the injection of anesthetic. I HATE the lancet so much. Whoever said that it's just like an insects' bite? That's an outright lie.


Anyway, apparently, my iron level is always low. Iron is important because it forms an iron-rich protein (called haemoglobin), which main function is to transport oxygen. So, a person with low blood iron would have low haemoglobin in the red blood cells; which, in turn, would lead to a decreased amount of oxygen being transported by the blood to all parts of the body. The minimal cut-off for donation is 12.5g/dl.

Mine? I hit only 11.7g/dl on Sunday (my blood droplet doesn't sink to the bottom of the beaker of copper sulfate solution, and thus, a machine has to be used to give a digital reading of my haemoglobin level). Still, I feel a little glad though; because this reading is considered 'high' for me on any normal days. The lowest I've ever hit was 10.0g/dl. So, a reading of 11.7g/dl is like... Quite a sunny day already. A part of me is still quite disappointed, though, because I've been drinking Milo and taking evening jogs. I expected a pass, really.



Anyway, while I was at the doctor's yesterday afternoon to get an MC, I brought it up to his attention. I told him that my iron is always on the low side, and that at times, when I change from a sitting/squatting position to a standing position, I would experience giddiness/nausea/spinning room/dimmed or dark vision.

"The lowest reading I've had is 10.0g/dl. Is this normal? Is it just borderline low, or..." My voice trailed off. I deliberately left out the fact that I'm quite a heavy coffee drinker. I've a feeling that if he knows the number of cups per day, he would scream or something.

He paused for a moment. "It's not very low and neither is it borderline low. I would say, it's mild. Mildly anaemic. A normal person should have 12.0 - 12.5g/dl."

"So," I continued, "the on-and-off giddiness... It's not orthostatic hypotension?" I asked.

He blinked; surprised that I know the term. "Actually, it IS orthostatic hypotension." He wheeled his armchair and angled towards me face-to-face. "You see," he explained, "orthostatic hypotension can have different causes. Apparently, I would say that yours is because you're anaemic as a result of iron-deficiency".

"So, there's nothing wrong with my heart chambers? My heart is pumping fine?"

"I would say, yes. Once we rectify and bring up the haemoglobin level to normal, chances are the giddiness would cease too. Don't worry. And drink more water as well."

I heaved a sigh of relief inwardly. Fact is, a part of me worries whether is my heart pumping fine; which is why I contemplated whether to have a tilt-table test done. My mother has weak heart. One side (the left, I think) of her heart is not pumping efficiently; which is why she was warded earlier this or last year. This also explains why, of late, I've been rather proactive in exercising and evening jogs; because I want to be responsible for my own health and not regret not doing so years down the road.


Anyway, I now have 2 months' worth of Vitamin C (ascorbic acid) tablets, Vitamin B tablets, and ferrous gluconate tablets to finish. GOSH! I've never seen - or been prescribed with - such a big pack of medication before! And did I mention that I prefer organic things, and don't really support the use of Western medication? YUCKS!

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.

LAME IS GOOD

When asked for something descriptive, the word "lame" is among those that would pop up. Well, I don't deny; sometimes, I can be a little cold.



Anyway, this morning, I was relief-ing one of the sec 1NA classes. Apparently, this class is notorious for all the wrong reasons. I went in feeling apprehensive; and a part of me agonized at how unlucky it is to kena this class out of so many others.

I got the class to stand up and settle down - which took quite a while. Following which, I introduced myself. "Class, your subject teacher is not around today. I'm here to relieve this lesson. My name is Ms. P." I paused for a moment to gather their attention before continuing, "Good morning, class!"

They greeted back. I got them to settle down, and stated my rules and regulations. Since this is the last period before recess, I struck a deal with them. If they behave themselves, do their work, and not make too much noise, they would be dismissed for recess a couple of minutes earlier.

They cheered and roared. The deal went down quite well with them. Throughout the period, the noise level is considerably acceptable. Of course, excluding the repeated incidences when I had to get so-and-so to "go back to your seat!" or "come down from the table!" or "lower your volume over there!".

So, it was a pretty good relief period. All of a sudden, a boy who was seated among the front few rows asked a seemingly-innocuous question.

"Cher, do you have a high IQ?"

I looked at him, and the gears in my brain started churning. Is this some kind of a trick question? I eyed him suspiciously and weighed the odds. When you're unsure, saying "I don't know" is always the best way out.

"Not sure. Why?" I replied warily.

"Cher, I ask you ah. This is a bean," He pinched his thumb and index finger together to signify a bean, "and I place it on my palm. Then, I squash it between my palms. What is it called?" He asked.

Without skipping a beat, I replied (coolly, I hope!), "Soya bean (手压bean)."

Thank goodness I've an internal repository of lame jokes; you'll never know what will come in useful.

He looked impressed.

"Then, Cher, why does Superman fly with only one arm outstretched?"

"Cos he needs to change gear."

"Then, Cher, all the trees and plants in a forest have a cake, except for one. What is it?"

I couldn't guess.

"The answer is grass! 'Cos strawberry cake (草没蛋糕)!" He reply joyfully.

"Then, Cher, if a cake is sad, who encourages him?" He persisted.

"Pig," I replied, "because 猪鼓励蛋糕".

"Then, Cher, we have 3 animals: a lion, a tiger, and a pig. Which is the most fearsome among all?"

I couldn't answer this too.

"Pig!" He giggled, "You know why? The lion says, 'When I roar, everyone is scared." The tiger says, "When I roar, everyone is scared." But the pig says, "When I sneeze, everyone kena H1N1!"

I suddenly felt an impulsive urge to throw a chair at him.

"Then, Cher, ask you ah. What is 1 + 1?"

This feels dangerous. I pondered it over carefully.

"I don't know. What?"

"Aiyo... Cher, you like this also dunno? 1 + 1 is 2 lah!" He laughed, "Cher, then what is 2 + 2?"

"No idea."

"4 lor. Then what is 4 + 4?"

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

"8! Cher, so easy you also don't know! Stupid, eh!" He teased, and added as an afterthought, "Oh ya, what's my first question ah, Cher?"

"You asked whether my IQ is high a not." I replied with a poker face (to be fair, I nearly fell for it. I almost said, 'You asked me what is 1 + 1').









FOR ONCE, I'M PROUD TO BE LAME.

Lame-ness is a skill, I tell you!

TOWERED

Lately, my ego has been getting knocks.



Growing up around 2 brothers are not easy. Not only do they smell bad, speak their own language, talk loud, eat alot, and are crazy over football / DOTA / WOW / IT gadgets etc, the most hateful thing is: they tower over me. Yes, even the younger brother, who is 7 years my junior.

Whenever they feel like, they would simply stand right in front of me, puff up their chest, and look down at me. Literally. Look down at me. It feels intimidating. I feel all so puny. I feel as mighty as an ant. Disgusting feeling. I'm secretly lavishing over the idea of using the index finger to p!o!k!e! them in the offensive-looking chest. Puff lah, puff lah, puff your chest somemore? That has gotta hurt! Hohoho!



During lessons, too. It antagonizes terrors me how, more often than not, students are - if not taller than me - at least of the same height as me. There are, like, 3 TALL people in one of the classes; all of whom are males. Of course, as any typical schoolboys, they like to jump and coil up the string cord that is attached to the projector screen. They are simply AWESOME in jumping. The string cord would ALWAYS end up coiling around the projector screen at least 3 rounds. This is a mockery to me because (ahem!) teachers don't - and never will - stand on a chair just to uncoil the string cord so as to pull down a projector screen. No, no, I insist, not that I'm short. Teachers just don't do these kind of things; these kind of specialized jobs are always specially reserved for the tallest in class.

Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?



Anyway, just the other day, the 3 boys were teasing each other. Talk about opportune timing! As I walked into the class, the tallest of them all so happened to tuck the victim's pencil box neatly behind the PA system speaker. It was TOTALLY AMAZING! In my heart, I was like, "GOSH! WOW!!! Oh my goodness!!! HOW ON EARTH...!!! BRILLIANT!". It was picture-perfect! His jump was graceful and light. My eyes nearly popped out, and I nearly requested for an encore. That aside, I was utterly amused by their playful antics. What darlings. Those boys!



I've always thought that the only one kind thing with respect to this job is that my feet can be spared from being subjected to the often-understated tortures of wearing heels. Heels not only promote bad posture, and are also really bad for knees and ankles by creating extra pressure on them. I've always been thankful for the fact that I prance around in heels on only one day per week at most, which is, Saturday.

Well, as the saying goes, "There are two sides to every coin". Today, during one of the lessons, one girl (from the same class as the 3 TALLies) walked pass me. For reasons unknown, she suddenly announced happily (but a tad too gleeful for my liking), "老师，我跟你一样高！"

She's 15.







That sound just now?

Oh, it's just the sound of my ego shattering.