You have voicemail

He always comes to class bleary-eyed. He would look tired. His hair would be tousled. He seemed quiet and he kept to himself. He hardly spoke to anyone in the class. But I know he’s not anti-social. He slept through many of my lessons.

Last week, he stayed back and we talked. He’s actually not so reserved nor beyond reach. He opened up a little and I was very happy. He rubbed his red eyes as we spoke. He was very tired.

He slept again today. After class, I asked him to stay back a little to finish up his work. “Do you work part-time?” I asked as he handed in the book. “No comments,” he said as he left the room. I checked his work and left a message for him in the book. “I believe there is a reason why you sleep in class. If you want to share, I’d be very interested to know,” I wrote.

I remained in the room to counsel another boy who had earlier flung a chair across the room because he was upset with something. Beneath that bad boy exterior was actually a soft-spoken, polite kid who called me “Ma’am” and just needed an avenue to release all his pent-up frustrations.

When I got back to the office, I saw that I had a few missed calls and a voicemail message on my phone. The boy who sleeps in class left me an SMS. The machine read his message in a lifeless tone.

“Teacher, I am WC. I will try not to sleep in class next time. End of message.”

Was it telepathy that we both left messages for each other? I was touched and ever more determined to reach out to the them, who all have their own stories to tell.

But with 300 students, will I have the energy and time to listen to them all?

Haji Lane in Colour

Haji Lane in B/W

  

Anger management

Honestly, I think nursing students are overrated.

While some teachers think they are a godsend because they are so polite, enthusiatic and punctual, I beg to differ. Teaching my bunch of nurses can be extremely tiring. They don’t stop yakking, they have different learning attitudes and I find some of them quite arrogant and rude.

They’ve never been on time for my lessons. Lateness is not tolerated by their academic school. Students would be locked out and severely punished should they turn up late for lessons. The fact that they can stroll into my class ever so casually simply shows they believe I am a pushover.

When they came in, they forgot their books. They needed to go to their lockers. They had to go to the toilet. By the time we got the whole class in, it was 20 minutes past. “Teacher, we had a 40-minute break before your class. But it was not enough. That’s why we were late,” one male student looked me in the eye defiantly and said.

After they had finally settled down, I told them they were dismissed. “Go and enjoy a 2-hour break. Go and eat or sleep or do whatever you like. You’d all be marked absent. Come to class when you are ready with your books and can be punctual for your lesson. Goodbye.”

They sat still. “Which part of ‘please leave’ do you not understand?” They began to get up slowly and inch toward the door. Some of them left. Half the class stood rooted. “Teacher, we are sorry. Can we stay here?” I kept quiet as I fumed. And then the others slowly crept back.

I asked them what made a good nurse. Responsibility, Self-discipline, Respect, Punctuality, Perserverance, Preparedness, Positive Attitude, Professionalism, were the answers I got. “Sadly you have none of these qualities.”

Because they were so good at talking non-stop, I sent them home to write a 1,000 word essay on “The Cross Section of a Ping Pong Ball.” Thanks R for this cruel fab idea.

I look forward to next lesson.

I feel like such a bitch but what the hell, they deserved it.  

Thursdays with Shah

As usual, He inspires and motivates me through unique ways. He sends me little messages when I’m confused, hesistant or down.

My boys are a cheeky bunch and seem ever so desperate to get laid girls to notice them. Even I can’t escape from their advances. They want to know my number, whether I’m married, if I have a boyfriend, and will try their best to impress me. “Eh stop flirting with the teacher lah, you idiot!” they will scold their classmate when he tries too hard with his lame tactics.

During the 5-minute lesson break on Thursday, a Malay boy walked quietly up to the desk and asked, “Hey cher, how old are you?” I told him my age. “Oh that’s only 10 years older than me. I still stand a chance!” I replied that we are of different religions. “You can always convert, cher.” I said I was too old for him.

And then the 17-year-old told me this with a straight face. “Cher, age is only a number.” And I looked at him, speechless. I never thought of it this way before.

Cher, thank you for teaching me.

Woo hoo!

No no, don’t be mistaken. There was nothing major that happened to make me really happy.

I am just thankful that it’s finally Friday. Whilst this has been a nerve-wrecking, emotional roller-coaster one week, it has also been a fruitful one in many ways. And since it’s always been my preference to focus on the positive aspects, I tried not to let things get me down.

Well, I wasn’t that successful initially. I spent the first few days of the week in a daze. I fell down outside the main entrance to the staff room on Monday. I probably was too deep in thought. But I continued trying and then things got lot better as the week progressed.

There have been some key changes and good developments on Project M. I’m surprised that my mother hasn’t disowned me and has actually bounced back really quickly after the initial shock. We are actually talking like normal as she slowly comes to terms with my decision.

Though the deadline of Project M has been extended, the research work hasn’t stopped. I spent an enjoyable evening with Miss M and the event co-ordinator at Sentosa Resort & Spa on Wednesday to suss things out. Miss M has been very helpful and giving me so many suggestions. I really appreciate her enthusiasm and dedication.

This week, I also tried my best to pace myself so I do not feel so burnt out after class. I tried not to lose my temper, be patient and explore other ways to engage and discipline the classes. Well, the results are encouraging so I feel more confident and motivated to push forth.

My worries are neverending. Somehow they seem to be about everything in my life. I can only try to take one step at a time, pray and make sure I forget my troubles over the weekend!

Changes and Delays

It’s been an eventful month of plans and changes. It was the plan to tie the knot by the end of this year but I’m afraid looking at how things are moving along, we have to wait for another few more months.

My family is not ready. And at the moment, it just seems like we are trying to accomplish too many things at once. Putting the house together, getting me over, going through the ceremony, finding a job. Big tasks for 12 months.

And so we decided to rethink our priorities. Building a warm and comfortable home together takes precedence. Getting the outlandishly expensive visa to live there is necessary.

And thus, the veil, will wait. Till we are fully prepared for come what may.

A difficult Sunday

There was no easier way to go about doing it so I took Aunt and Mum out for dinner and just blurted out my plans for the year.

As expected, I met with strong resistance. Our age difference, family situation, country of residence all made it very difficult for Mum or many people around me to understand why I choose to be with R.

“Isn’t there somebody more suitable?” “He’s a bit old, isn’t he?” “Do you have to look after his 90-year-old Mum?” “Why can’t he move to Singapore?” “Can he support you?”

I spent the whole evening being interrogated by Mum yet I know none of my answers can satisfy her or dismiss her disappointment. I know her concerns are valid and she only has my interests at heart.

Yet despite the obstacles, I have my heart set on wedding him. Am I naive? Maybe. Have I thought it through? Perhaps not thorough enough. And even after careful consideration, will I change my mind? I don’t want to and I won’t.

My Mum asked, “What’s so good about him?” It’s so difficult trying to answer why you are in love with someone or why you get along better with some friends. It comes as a package rather than individual items. I can only say we share similar values, beliefs, lifestyles, hobbies, goals, interests, humour, tastes.

“Well,” Mum said solemnly, “Think it over carefully. Just make sure this is what you want.” Then she withdrew and became really cold and serious. I can’t blame her. I know I must give her time to come to terms with what I was proposing.

I dropped onto my bed, completely mentally and physically exhausted. With whatever little energy I had left, I rang R. Wishing he was here so I didn’t have to go through this alone, I fought back tears as I recounted the events. Then I simply closed my eyes and drifted out of consciousness.

At 0630, I received an email which again brought tears to my blurry eyes:

You are my best friend, my lover, the one whose voice I delight in hearing at the other end of the telephone, the person I want to see and do things with, and the woman I am trying to avoid hurting. But I don’t think I can achieve that last ambition. You will be hurt. If not sooner, then almost inescapably later.

The emotional capital that you have sunk into our friendship, the time you have spent with me…I will NOT reject you. I will not shy from marrying you. I do love you. I will love you. I also want you to be completely unflinching in looking ahead though, and taking the decision to come here in the light of full awareness of what life may hold for you, for us, rather than on just the basis of things are they are now.

As I sat in the car silently with Mum on the way to school, I thought about the hurt I had caused her. I feel really guilty, but I really want to fight for what I think is my happiness.

Then I thought about the last sentence in R’s email. He’s right and Mum’s right. I really do need to think about the long and arduous road ahead and figure out how I am going to take the ride.

On caning

I was eating at the Parkway Parade food court one Saturday when a boy at the next table started to throw a tantrum. He sulked and refused to eat his food.

The father glared at him and without warning, delivered a loud slap across his face. The stunned boy cried loudly and searched for his mother’s bosom for comfort. Some minutes later, he stopped crying and started to eat his noodles quietly.

I am not an advocate of public shaming/beating. I felt uncomfortable watching the father slapping his child in such a busy food court. Yet I could understand why he did it. It was a quick way to get the child to shut up and do what you want him to do.

I was caned up till I was 12. When I was younger, my father would hold me when my mother caned me and he would end up being whacked too. Other times, my mother would lock me in a room and deliver the strokes. There was once she told me to get out of the flat and slammed the front door. I was no more than 11. I stood along the corridor for ages until she let me in again.

But my mother, before she punished me, would always tell me why I was being punished. She would tell me why she was upset with me or what I had done wrong. Some parents don’t believe in hitting their children. Some parents hit their children frequently and viciously when they are naughty.

But hitting them without explaining to them why they were being hit often leaves the kid confused. Very often, he may not know what he’d done wrong. He may think you are doing it for no reason. He may continue to make the mistake again. My auntie would beat her child, and after that because of guilt, she would go and buy my cousin a new toy. I don’t think he ever understood what the whole caning thing was about.

I support caning as I believe there’s no point in going through lengthy reasoning with a young kid. But I also believe it should be clearly and simply put across to them why you are mad before you launch an attack.

Kids need love, rules and routine. With that, they’d most definitely flourish.

On parenting

Earlier at Watson’s, I was almost knocked down by a 3-year-old girl who was running around the shop. “Girl! Girl ah.. Come here,” her mother shouted after her. Then as I was queueing up, I heard a loud crash. I turned to my right and saw that that girl had toppled over a shelf of facial masks.

Without saying a word to the girl, the mother instinctively stooped down to pick up the masks quickly. The little girl and her older brother stood quietly by her side to watch her do the job. And without saying anything, the mother dumped all the masks at the cashier counter and proceeded to pay for her things.

At that moment, I thought of what I would do if it was my child who overturned the stuff. Most certainly, I would not squat down immediately to clear the mess. I would talk to the child to make sure it knows it had done something wrong. Then I would make it pick up the fallen goods. If it’s struggling then I’d step in to help.

Many parents over-protect and under-punish the kids. Yes it may be faster for the parent to clear up the mess on the floor, but that’s not the point. The point is to let the kid know that if it makes a mistake, it has to be responsible for its actions. The parent has warned her not to run around. By not listening, she toppled over the masks. That is the consequence of disobedience.

And so as punishment, she should be made to clean up the mess. By helping her to pick up the masks while she watches is allowing her to get away with bad behaviour and encouraging her to continue being careless.

The kid may make the parents clean up a tiny mess when it’s young, and then continue to create havoc as it grows up, expecting their folks to put everything right for them.

In theory I am able to say this, and I certainly hope that when I do become a parent, I will do what I preach. Because every single day, I deal with the results of poor parenting.