(so-called) Holistic Development

That afternoon, in Allnie's room, I watched as Hyda played Beethoven's Fur Elise, frowning when she hit the wrong note. It reminded me of those days in secondary school when I tried my hands on the little black piano in the school hall with Chrissie. How I wished then that I was musically inclined.

Then I blurted out.

"When I finally have a child, I wanna send him to piano lessons."

Agnes and Hyda looked, and added.

"Yeah, and violin class..."

"and foreign language class..."

"Taekwondo class.."

"Silat maybe?"

"Silat's a must. And, oh, equestrian. Of course equestrian."

We discussed the topic with such enthusiasm because growing up, neither of us had any chances to go through those life. Partly because it was too costly (will it still be costly for a pair of teachers, Hyda and I thought) and another was because all our life, instead of those classes, we were busy attending, what else, tuitions!

Maybe not for me, because the only extra classes I took was Add Maths, simply because the teacher was my high-school infatuation for a year. 

Whatever. Heck, I know a lot of people out there who spent a hell lot of time studying, assignments, and nothing else. They dont go out for sports, they dont join clubs or organisation, they study and nothing else. What a boring life, eh? 

Don't blame them. It's the system, the way too exam-oriented system. You get good grades, you go to good university, you get mega-bucks job. Most people think it works that way.

Haha, funny is, you forget everything you learn minutes after exams. In my case, however, i forget everything i learn minutes before exams. Nevermind that, study here is merely for exams and exam result is the entrance passes for you to a brighter future, or so they say. 

It's the people, too. Well, I know that competition can be good, but being too kiasu is way too ridiculous. I'm tired of people asking me how many A's you get for blah blah blah examination as compared to their children and whatnot. Kamon la. There's gotta be more to life than the satisfaction that you do better than others.

Now in college I have people peeping at my assignment to know how many marks I get from copy-and-pasting from the internet and goreng-tengah-tengah-malam. I even have people asking my closest friend whether I have read or done my revision yet for the upcoming exam.

Believe me,they aint busybody.

They just want to be the best.

And that is supposed to be good innit? Striving to be the best, the one with the highest mark in the class and what have you.

No it aint, to me.

Because people, all these kiasuness stuffs have done us no good but hinders our holistic development. Life is not only about what's on books sweethearts. It's not about what you've read in this article or that article or whatever. It's not about you getting a 4-flat in exam or maybe the highest mark for whatever assignment.

Life's way more difficult than that. Its more difficult that writing a 3000-words critical analysis on some whatchamacallit literary theories or writing a 12 pages long essay for TITAS. Life's way more difficult than sitting for an exam in which you've read nothing for it. 

So dont act like studying is the only thing in the world, because it's not. There's gotta be more than that when it comes to learning. 

Man I pity them. I think they're stressful people. Miserable. Pathetic of course. 

Oh and btw, for the record, I have revised and memorised everything for our linguistic quiz next week. I mean, I stayed up all night reading them, and I've covered the entire chapter of phonology, morphemes, syntax and semantics. Man I hope I get the highest in class.

Now that sounds kiasu, no? I havent read a single thing on it actually, and heck, I dont even know where my lingo notes are. And I dont want to be the best in class. That's like, so not me. I'm supposed to be the diva-like, rebellious rock star, so not the nerdy, teachers' pet character. puh-leez!

The other woman

              

“To be intimate with a married man, when my own father cheated on my mother, is not something I could forgive.......I could not, could not look at myself in the morning if I did that".

That was one quote I read years ago, probably at the age of 14 or something. Guess who said that? Keep on reading, I’ll tell you at the end of it. You’ll be surprised.

Then there was another quote, one that I read in a raunchy, almost-Playboy magazine (I think it’s called Jane—with Anna Kournikova as the cover girl), it sounded something like,

“Girls who sleep with other girls’ boyfriend are unsistersly.”

I was 14, too, I remember, though I can recall keeping the magazine till I was in Form 4 and showed it to Naomi one night in her room, giggling wickedly at a picture of a white guy, naked.

(now that's lexical ambiguity, but heck the white guy was naked, not me or Naomi!)

Ah that’s it will ya?

Well, at the age of 14, maybe younger, I had the idea that it is entirely wrong for someone to have a relationship with someone who is married or dating someone else.

My own grandfather left my grandmother and married with another woman, and I’ve heard stories about my Dad and his siblings grew up without their father’s love and attention, and so concluded that being the other woman is wrong and unacceptable, something I would never, ever do. 

6 years later, now, I became the kind of woman I hate, the woman I avoid. This is a confession of the other woman. 


At times I feel like a bitch, like a sin or something. 

It must’ve hurt a lot, no? for a woman to know that her boyfriend is cheating on her?  A lot of time I imagined myself in that position. 


Ah, my own ex cheated me for another girl. I ought to know better. 


My story was way more painful, with him not telling me the truth. I don’t blame him, who would? It was very despicable of him, to have badmouthed me in order to get attention from this other girl. Funny is, girls tend to have a soft spot to this kind of jerks, loser, motherfuckers. And what’s worse than knowing about a loved one’s affair from a best friend?

The hurt may be gone, but the scar will never go away. No matter how much dermatology lotion of whatchamacallit placebo brand you applied. No matter how many times  you’ve gone for laser treatment or plastic surgery. Cut the crap it aint funny Schue.

I’m tired of being the cheated one. Let me be the cheating 

this time. Why not, eh? That way, I won't be cheated. Ever. That way, maybe my heart won't break as hard again. 

Life is, after all, about being happy right?

oh, and stop Googling for that quote. It's Angelina Jolie baby. That was way before Brangelina, I supposed?

children.

This is not a post about me reporting to you what happened to me during my school-based experience, because reading bout me bragging to all you out there about "oh i was asked to be the athletics coach" and "oh my students said I look like Yuna" and "oh the fucking Headmaster said I was blah..blah...smart..blah..handsome.." would be really annoying. 


There's one thing that I learnt about children that week. I discovered that they are all magical creatures. There's something about them that touches my heart and makes me smile whenever I think of them, when they cross my mind. Like how they yearn for and adore  your attentions.


I went to this school where class streaming is heavily implemented. Man they even have class streaming for standard one. Imagine how kiasu it is to have standard ones to strive for the so-called best class. I hate class streaming. They put the good ones in one class and the ones they deemed as the not-so-good-ones in another. 


And then they gave attention only to the better one, simply because those kids are smarter. Because those kids behave. Because those kids perform better in exams as they don't only depend on the teacher at school only. Because those kids have an engineer or a doctor or a bank managers or a Datuk for a parent. They do.


Then they ignore the kids in the weaker class, because at 10 years old they can't read. Because they make noise in class. Because they don't do their homework, or hand in the PTA form, or come late to school. 


Because what the teacher doesn't know is that those children hardly get any attention at all. They have parents who work night and day for food on the table. They go to school with a hungry stomach. They come from poor families. Their parents are divorced. Their parents sent them away to live with their grandparents who couldn't be more annoyed of their silly antiques, grandparents who yell, "I'll Kill You" when they do something wrong. Because they are ignored, neglected, unloved.


I have this one boy who is in my class. Now here comes the bragging, old grandmother stories part which you all love to hate. His name is Rashid. Oh, that aint his real name anyways. I get it changed due to protection and privacy. Why Rashid? EH HELLO its my blog, sukati I la Rashid ke Arshad ke Irshad ke.


So apparently Rashid lives near my house and my parents know his and whatnot. In fact, I've known Rashid before I went to his class the other day. Rashid lives with his grandparents and is known to be a rascal, all naughty and what not. 


Now I was just the teacher on training. I know nothing about Rashid. At least that's what I thought when I went to his class that day.


He was in the last class.


He behaved. Of all the things in the world that he can do, he behaved. He volunteered to read, to act out in the little sketch I had for them,and he behaved. I was touched, because then he wasn't the naughty boy I heard. Not at all.


Maybe because I give my attention to him, because then, he wasn't any rascal, any naughty kid, he was my student.


Because then, he wasn't the student from the last class. He was my student.


They're all children after all. Give 'em a tad bit of love and attention and they'll be alright. I promise.

Rase macam budak SBP/MRSM

good start of a day


semalam gua tidur lewat. pulun assignment BMK sikit.

pastu bangun awal.

mandi-manda. siap cuci muka ngan double cleanser lagi

tuntutan Allah jangan lupa pastu.

baju kurung kaler turqoise dah siap ironed.

tudung dah ready.

ingat nak pakai sneakers je.

beg pun dah siap. jadual pun dah buat semalam

ada lingo, BMK, gerko management

buku dah carik..baik punya.

belek-belek sikit satgi lecturer nak ajar ape..bleh bajet tahu sket dalam kelas

sambil minum oat...ummi cakap perut kosong takbleh belajar nanti.

ready ready nak g class sambil berjalan-jalan itik
dalam kelas nanti kalau cikgu tanya gua nak rebut2 jawab
pastu gua nak volunteer padam papan itam
pastu gua angkat buku cikgu ke bilik guru


pas kelas nak g library

gua rasa cam budak SBP ataupun MRSM

p.s.

earphone gua plug in..avenged..supaya tak tidor dan boleh mencapai impian jd pelajar cemerlang gua ni

handphone battery kena cukup. wifi kencang. bleh fesbuk dalam kelas.

gua target nak dapat 4flat sem ni..ummi nak bawak gua gi London katenye

Give me something to write. Give me someone.

p.s. pekataan yg kaler kaler tu ada link. 




I used to write a lot. I used to update my blog daily; I've always had stories to tell. Feelings to be poured out. Thoughts to be shared.


I used to use the normal font instead of the large one that I'm using now and the blog post would still look long enough. Not anymore though.


I used to write a lot about love, crushes, IMY, longing for someone, heart break, teenage dream, bliss..relationships..and what not.


Not anymore though.


Maybe I'm feelingless already. I used to write about him, but he's gone, and he took with him all the feelings too. I used to feel so strong about him. He was then to me a delicious, beautiful torment. The feelings was then so beautiful, so beautiful I just had to write it out. Sometimes I'd dig in in the archive and read it. And re-read it. I'd laugh at myself, at how stupid I was, how silly, how romantic. I'd cry at how he blissfully tormented me with all that we used to have.


I used to write about him, and all the thoughts, the dream. The IMYs. But I no longer have those thoughts. It's gone. I don't think of him anymore. Occasionally, maybe, when I come across something that reminds me of him. Like his favourite song, or his favourite pastimes. Or the jokes that we used to laugh at. Heck I still think of him sometimes, but not enough to put it into words, not enough to blog about.


I miss all that. The feelings, the thoughts. Writing about someone you love, someone that lingers in your mind 25 hours a day, 8 days per week. 


Now no one makes me feel that way anymore. 


Give me somebody, somebody to love, somebody to think of when I wake up, when I go to sleep. Somebody to make plans on weekends, somebody to look forward going out dating, and butterflies in the stomach before that. Somebody to text during a super-boring Child Development class, and he texting, IMY,INY,IWY,ILY makes you wide awake. Somebody who makes me create secret journal because of the unrequited love. Somebody whom I ask, do I look alright, and he say, you look wonderful tonight. As always. Somebody that makes me ask my Ummi and Walid, can I get married?Somebody whom, when I look at one old couple, I'd say, I want to grow old with you, like them. Somebody that i love, and he me. Somebody that makes me feel, or wish, that life is a fairy tale.


somebody like THIS.