To pre-school and elementary teachers and also to HIGH SCHOOL TEACHERS WHO HAPPEN TO TEACH IN THE LOWER GRADES ON THEIR FIRST YEARS OF TEACHING. Mine is in BIG letters. =)
The steady, subtle grinding sound
of the old air-conditioning unit
was like that of the blaring of a horn
on my already overly sensitive ears.
The sound, on normal occasions
would be totally unnoticeable, but then
blame me, for it's like a repeating ancient
mantra----bringing my senses into overblown sensitivity.
It's below 20 degrees, and yet sweat, slowly glides on my brows,
trickling down to the sensitive spot in between the shoulder blades.
The discomfort only heightens, for beneath the well-manicured nails
are hands which become damper and clammier by the minute.
A smile is forced, pasted, for without that extra force, the painted lips
would be left to shiver, and the unsteady jaws would lead to
a set of chattering teeth, ready now, to impress
with the well rehearsed speech from last night's wake.
It's going to be our first day... together, so there's no room for mistakes,
ready now, let me break out the words first,
that would bare my soul to you,
one ( a second ticks), two (let there be two), and...
Puffed out that long held breath, that almost made
my nails turn blue, from lack of air (how can I even forget to breathe?)
This is the perfect time to utter those first words, and yet...
a paper plane on the loose, a cry, crayons on the floor,
The fact that it happened at that perfect moment, made me rethink about my luck.
It altogether broke my hard-earned focus,
A shout from the back, and the screech of the poor, battered armchair,
the perfect and pristine scene, now turned into shambles.
Was I suppose to keep mum? Or project that timeless stern look?
What was it again in the books? Hey, I already even forgot the principles!
Blood rush. Now, I already know what it feels.
And I wonder, I just truly wonder...
I'm boiling, my insides are stewing.
Can you even see the smoke puffing out from my nostrils and ears?
Can you even spell red? For that is the present color---scarlet red,
not only of my cheeks but of my nose as well.
I'm a living chimney, a volcano about to erupt
when out from nowhere, a toothless grin from you was like
that of a thrust of a pailful of water
on a gnawing flame.
And I wonder, was that a glimpse of a 7-year old innocence,
or a charm so cunning, that was perfected at such an early age?
If so, then I'll have to prepare for our days together ahead,
It's not going to be a smooth one, there's a battle to be waged.
For four years of burning my butts in studying the books,
Mastering the principles and rules, that's where I'm good.
I have learned several tricks, not just one or two.
I've perfected that tight upper-lip act, reserved only for sages like us.
But how am I suppose to maintain the composure?
When your world is a 180 degrees away from the way I live mine.
Your own version of a line, is not the straight one that I expect. For you say,
isn't a straight line way too boring, when a squiggly one could be more fun?
Remember, I kept on repeating, a frog is either brown or green,
but you colored yours pink!
____________ forbid, in all my anatomy and zoology courses,
no professor ever mentioned about a frog that is pink.
But how can I point at it as ignorance? When, with your
all-knowing eyes you said, that in your story books, there
are yellow, violet and even red frogs! And what fun would that be
for a princess to kiss a frog that is brown?
You know, sometimes I think it's just your astute humour,
'til I look at you and see that edgy seriousness.
I once clearly said that some plants cannot be eaten,
a very good example is a cotton plant.
But you raised, not the left nor the right, but both of those arms,
saying you know one edible cotton plant.
I squeezed my brows together, without words,
hoping mentally I can channel these words: “stop now, or forever be sorry”.
But I can't bring you to a halt, before I know it
you said: “But cotton candy. Yes, that can be eaten ma'am.”
I was about to give you a piece of my mind that would black those big brown eyes,
but I bit the words back the moment I saw the quiet determination in those very same eyes.
You always keep me on my toes, so I'm always ready in case you ask
“Why is the sky blue?” or “Is there really a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”
But I was nailed on the floor, when you asked from out of the blue :
“But how about the babies, how are they made ma'am?”
If you were in my Bio class, I could have easily given you a detailed answer
from the moment of fertilization to the mixing of genes, till you claim “I'm having a brain freeze!”
But how will I explain it to a 7-year old kid, yet you saved me when you said,
“Oh I know now, babies are made out of love ma'am.” How can I argue any less?
I taught you honesty, I even said to speak your mind.
And there were several moments when I realized
I did not only taught you to memorize the concepts of honesty,
but to live with it day by day.
Remember when I curled my hair, and you had a first-time glimpse.
I was walking along the corridor, when you shouted,
“Oh, are you wearing a wig ma'am? You're really wearing a wig!”---I wanted to duck in a nearby table
You just spoke what's in your mind, so how can I tell you to just shut up?
Or the moment I cut my hair so short, and amidst a mob
you said: “Oh you cut your hair! You look like a gay ma'am!”
Isn't that honesty in its pure innocence?
But what's amusing to accept is that, it's at the expense of my sanity.
A lot of times I would have cried my heart in front of you,
when you can't explain a topic we've discussed a million times,
Or the moments when I already know the feeling of wishing to be swallowed by the ground,
when my lungs would run out of gas, and still you would go about in the classroom to tap dance.
I also get jaded, you can't blame me, I'm human
though sometimes you would think I am superman.
At moments like this, I would look back...
you, who brings me so much pain, are also the one who can take it back.
The day when my hands were caked with chalk dust and ink,
why, you looked at it intently, saying what beautiful hands do I have!
Then you went about, got your colored pens
and marked your hands just so we're the same.
Or the day when I got mad at you, and gave
you a piece of my mind or two
You ran to me, near to tears, declaring you're sorry
telling me, you love me just the same.
From the blind idealism, the years spent thinking that the
world can be changed and be brought to perfection,
'till you realize the fact that it's actually not the case,
that the world can take care of itself.
But it only takes a toothless grin,
or a wandering paper plane
and it's your life that would be changed
while the world perfectly stays the same.
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