PARANOID

She quickly halted her steps when she heard the thud, thud of footsteps right behind her. She was scared, scared to look back and scared to ignore the footsteps altogether. She clutched her handbag close to her chest in attempt to hide her beating heart. She was afraid she would die out of sheer fright.

She finally took a deep breath and dared to look behind. She turned around swiftly but there was nothing there. She exhaled a sigh. Of relief? Or suspense? She finally told herself to calm down before she fainted from being a nervous wreck.

She continued to walk. Her RM25 stiletto bought at Kedai Hari-Hari protested under her will to sprint to the KTM station. She got a job right after graduating. She had to dumb down her resume to get that job although she graduated the top of her class for Arts. Her desire to open up her own gallery was mudded by the fact that she could only survive on Maggie Cup and tap water to be a struggling artist.

She finally reached the station after much struggling with her shoes. Her calves were on fire from constant badgering to move her feet faster to get away from the uncertainty lurking in the dark. Once she was enveloped by the bright lights of the KTM station, she felt slightly safe although her heart was still beating furiously.

As she waited for her train to come, she smiled at the counter lady who looked like Jabba The Hut in a cage. The Jabba, or the lady kept a tight puckered face instead of returning the smile. Urbanites, smiles are indeed very precious commodity in this concrete jungle where only one things make people talk, money. Other things do not matter.

She sat down on one of the dilapidated seats there. Suddenly, she felt something furry bristled against her foot. She was about to shriek when she noticed a kitten, its white fur had turned gray from dirt and lack of care. She shooed the kitty away, thinking that she had to get a grip on herself before she lost her mind and made a fool out of herself.

The train screeched and finally stopped in front of her. Again, she was cautious of her surrounding when she entered the train, surveying other passengers on the train. There was an elderly lady with her plastic bags, a homeless man (or he dressed like he’s homeless or maybe that’s the ‘in’ thing nowadays) and a dirty-looking kid, probably 8 or 9 years old, a girl who looked like she should have been 10 to 20 pounds heavier. And then there was her. A petite, docile looking lady, wearing her uniform – a three piece suit bearing the jewellery shop logo stitched onto her coat. The pantyhose she was wearing did nothing to conceal her shivering body as the night was extra cold and even in the commuter, the temperature dropped a couple of degrees.

Once again, she held her handbag close to her chest in order to calm her nerves. She was thinking of her nice and cosy bed. She was also thinking of a bath since she felt like a lollipop being left under the sun. All sticky and uncomfortable. And at the same time, she was thinking of her boyfriend and her hands lingered with his while they were watching a movie last weekend at their favourite supermarket cum dating headquarters where couples, young pubescent couples, all the way to wrinkly and matured couples, took their time to spare to meet each other at the designated supermarket.

She brushed aside indecent thoughts of her and her boyfriend as she began to feel her cheeks turning red. The automated voice in the train announced that her stop was coming. She stood up, trying to balance herself and looked around once again. The lady had dozed off. The homeless (or not) man too. While the kid was looking knowingly out of the window. When she try to stable herself in the front of the entrance, she looked again at the kid and the kid gave an eerie smile for despite her dishevelled condition, her teeth was perfectly maintained like the ones in a toothbrush of toothpaste commercial, or she religiously went to a dentist to get a white, pearly and dazzling smile like that. Even though she was a friendly person (she had to be because of her work, customers are less likely to buy jewellery if the salesperson was a snob), she didn’t feel compelled to return the smile. She just stared at the kid and gripped her handbag even tighter, willing the door to the train to pop open. When it did, she quickly willed her feet to move out of the train. When it closed again, she bravely but timidly looked inside the train to find the girl again.

To her horror, there was nobody in the train.

THE CHRONICLES OF EID MUBARAK

So as Eid Mubarak came to a stop, or more accurately, the holiday for Eid Mubarak ended yesterday, so did all the joy and happiness that accompanied the festival.

What I learned during the holiday was, if you needed to get things done before Eid, especially if you are living in a city where most of its natives are working outside and would flock around during the holidays, please get it done before the throngs of people flooded the city during the holiday. I had a hard time getting to the nearest 7-Eleven to buy stuff due to the heavy jam surrounding the city.

It just showed that there are many people, either natives of married to one from the city in which I’m living in and the evident is clear every time the holiday comes. The streets are jam packed with cars, all with foreign plate numbers.

One more thing that one can commonly observe during Eid Mubarak is the look on the faces of parents, awaiting their children to come back home. For those whose children did come home, their faces are a give-away of how relieved and proud they are of their children who still care and love them more than anything to endure gruelling traffic jams along the way just to sneak a few days off to meet their family and relatives during Eid Mubarak. And in contrast, the children who did not come back home, either intentionally (due to hard ass spouse who refused to turn the steering wheel back to their in-laws’ house) or unintentionally (due to work commitment and any other unforeseeable circumstances), the parents’ faces are a deep shadow of sadness and hopelessness.

I experienced this first hand in my own household. My foster grandma, who only had two children (my mom who is staying with her and another son) always awaits the return of the prodigal son who came back once a year, always less than 24 hours in the house since his wife thinks that she’s the only one with a family to visit during Eid Mubarak. This has become one the major deterrents in my decision to get married. These horror stories of intolerance and inability to put yourself in your significant other’s shoes. My neighbour’s daughter had the same problem with her husband. Although their families live like 5 minutes away, still the husband insisted that the first Eid Mubarak must be spent at his house, despite the fact that he has 10 other siblings that could keep his mom company while the wife’s mother is a widow and this year, her first Eid Mubarak was spent alone when her three children had to follow their spouse back to their family homes and her youngest who is still unmarried had to spent the first Eid Mubarak working.

I wished that when the time comes for me to get married (although my chances are slim), my significant other and I can come to an agreement on which house we should go to first during Eid Mubarak. Other people I know have this rotation which enables them to spend the first Eid Mubarak alternately. Or should I just find someone near my house whose mom is not as stringent as my neighbour’s daughter’s mother in law? Whatever it is, Eid Mubarak, a season of forgiving and forgetting could turn ugly when neither one in a partnership refuse to back down and reach to a compromise.

Another ugly thing about Eid Mubarak is that utter feeling of laziness to get back to work once the holiday ended. We are not yet contemplated basking in the feeling of merriness and joyfulness and then suddenly, we are jolted back to reality when we have to reset our alarm and get back to our daily routine before the holiday starts. What a suck ass thing it is realizing that you have to go back into being your usual grumpy self once the holiday is off and the work is on.

As for students who are studying far away from home, the moment when the realization hits you that the holiday is over and you have to lug your bag all the way back to where you are studying really sucks even greater asses. The comfort offered by your mommy cooking all your favourite dishes back home really hit home when you are back, alone and depressed in your hostel room or your rented house. I remembered when I studied in JB, when I had to board the bus/train and go back to that god forsaken place called hostel, my tears ran free, as free as Niagara Falls. Knowing I had to be alone and eat foods that are made for garbage, suffering in silence and had to console myself with cheap DVDs and study notes, those were the darkest moments of my life. I am not afraid to admit that sometimes I’d still get nightmares where I had to go back to the hostel. Reminiscing the times when I almost took my own life, out of sheer desperation and hopelessness when everybody around me seemed to have failed me.

And now I had to witness it all over again every time we had to send my brother back to his rented house. The heart ache, the tears streaming down our cheeks faster than mat rempits supermanning their motorcycles illegally on the road and the hope that the weekend will come soon so that our family can be whole and beautiful again when everybody is present at home.

The truth hurts and so does goodbye.

P/S: Nothing like Sunday morning blues (for those living outside of Kelantan, the politically correct term would be Monday morning blues) to keep the creative juice flowing.

BAIK TAK PAYAH BALIK.

So, the prodigal son has returned. My mom has an adopted brother, who happens to be my adopted grandmum's nephew. Ever since he got married, he only comes back once a year during Eid. And that's only for half a day. His balls are owned by his wife. Today, he comes back on the 3rd of Syawal, almost dusk, and you can bet your bottom dollar, he'll be gone when dawn comes.

He always comes back only with his children. His wife apparently has her ass glued to her parents' house back in Terengganu.

Why all of us hate him? A year and no phone calls to ask how his mom (my adopted grandma) is doing. Comes back only once a year for less than a day and my adopted grandmum starts her 'drama swasta', making an elaborate show of affection by showering her son with money. That's right. my adopted grandma gives money to her grown up son who fathered 3 chidlren with a steady job in KL. For what? To buy his love? My adopted grandma needs to learn her beloved son won't change his way even if she sold herself to buy his love.

He only comes back once a year but us, my family and I are stuck with my adopted grandma's erratic behaviour similar to a five-year old throwing tantrums. Seriously, I admired those working at old folks' home who have the patience to face patients like my adopted grandma every day. Pissing all over the place even though my father built a toilet which she can go to (she can't walk but she can move around) effortlessly. Not wanting to bathe, causing the whole house to smell. Talking back when my mom who is not in her best shape since she has to take care of my adopted grandma for almost 2 years now. And demanding undivided attention, complaining about pains that aren't there and blabbering about wanting to die every 2 minutes.

And when people come to our house, she complains about this and that and these people who just met her for like 2 seconds have the audacity to tell us how to take care of her! Say, if you think that you can do a better job, please, take her to your house and try taking care of her, wear our shoes and walk around in it, see how you like it.

I often think about what would happen if my mum stayed with her biological family. Probably, I wouldn't be stuck here, my brother wouldn't have any qualms about coming back for the holiday and we would all live happily ever after.

But that is all some wishful thinking, like how I wish I could study in Oxford and enjoy theater at the park like some pompous literary enthusiasts would do. The only thing that I hate, is how he abandons his responsibility and left my adopted grandma is the hands of my mom and us. Like he is not responsible to look after his own flesh and blood just because he lives in KL and has a job as well as a family and an arrogant wife. What about my mom? She's not well and yet she has to take care of another human being while she should be resting. What if she fainted (my mom has low blood pressure) because she has to please another human being who couldn't be bothered about her feelings when the human being called her 'anak tong sampah'? And who get the love and attention, the prodigal son who shows up once a year, bringing along his little brats whose hands happen to break every single nice things they set their eyes on. Life is unfair? How about life is a bitch and then you die.

HERE'S TO NEVER GROWING UP

So, I heard this colleague of mine started spreading rumours about me who was supposedly does not see eye to eye with another junior teacher in my school. I don’t know what the deal with her low mental capacity that she has to constantly spreads vicious lies about others in order to feel good about her dang self. I am one second away from confronting her and asking her what’s up her ass but I do not want to make things awkward as I’ll be seeing her face every day as we are, duh, colleagues. But to think that her insensitive little being has to touch me who has never given any regard to her existence made my blood boiled. This is not the first time she pulled this kind of stunt. Before this, she is well-known to bad-mouthed other co-workers (me included) to the boss. She thinks that other people have no idea of her more than assoholic demeanour, well news flash bitch, we all know who you are.

Another colleague of mine, who as of now, hasn’t crossed me, also has the same kind of disease. It seems like she has this special radar that detected the boss is around and near so she has to be on her best behaviour. Well, that’s cool if you want to be arse-licker. But the troubling fact is, she tends to point out other people’s shortcomings in front of the boss. Like, “Hmmm, cikgu, hari tu saya rotan budak cikgu yg keluar kelas tu”, is the stuff that would come out of her mouth. Now imagine she said that in front of the boss. It not only shows that you’re a blubbering idiot who can’t control your own class and also, you suck as a teacher, that’s why your students won’t keep still in your class. She usually would make noise within the vicinity of the boss. So, when your boss heard the commotion, the boss would ask, “What’s wrong?” and no matter how well you can snake your way out of it, the blame would be on you and the loud mouth, shit sweeter than other people colleague would beam in pride for having corrected you in front of the boss.

Another worst kind of colleague to come across to  is the one that loves to speak in a meeting. Like his opinion matters than most people because he’s like the golden child of the school. So, he has the right to drag the meeting towards its breaking point. Like people have time to listen to him muttering away. Things like this never happen in English Panel meeting because we, English teachers are so concise and straight to the point instead of beating around the bush over and over again until there is no bush to beat around anymore. And I know all of you are affected about the news of the child who was accidentally left for dead when her mother forgot she was in the backseat of the car as the mother, a teacher was rushing for a school meeting. Some people hurl all kinds of insults at her for being a bad mother, but I’d like to empathize with her. Meetings at school lasts more than 5, 6 hours. And schools (that I know of) do not come with day care for mothers who chose to be teachers, awesome teachers at that too. And what about the teaching assistants who were promised for us, teachers? Who supposedly would lessen our administrative burden? Nada. Zip. Nothing. Now that a child is dead hopefully they open their eyes wide. This kind of tragic incident can be avoided if only we realized teachers are humans, not super robots. Even super robots need to be oiled and serviced from time to time.

The bottom line is, there are all kinds of people in the world. A loner like me who has never given a hoot about other people is also not safe from vultures who like to spread lies and rumours which eventually would engulf the whole school. I pity the children of these vultures. How can you emulate moral values if your role model is having a hard time growing up?

GREEN RIVER

I have no problem teaching both PMR and SPM students. Though sometimes, being a mortal, my brain sometimes does this trick when it switches PMR stuff with SPM stuff. Teaching according to the syllabus and marking exam papers with different schematic answer, though challenging but manageable at times.

What I don’t like is the meetings that I have to endure for both PMR and SPM levels. These meetings lasted longer than Spielberg’s movie. And usually I am the first one to arrive to these meetings but the last one to reach home as it took an hour drive from work to home.

If you are a teacher, you are familiar with post-mortem meetings to analyze why these kids got A but these kids failed. If you are an English teacher, you are very familiar with those reproachful stares and tsk tsking of the mouths when the whole meeting room analyze the results for your particular subject. If you are an English teacher, teaching in a rural area where no amount of creative TESL teaching skills that were imbedded in you cannot help you to magically create an A students (PMR and SPM levels) who manage to fail every single English exam that they ever took for their entire life.

Sometimes you wonder, what’s inside their brain? Shit? What made these kids unable to fathom any single word in English despite the fact that they have been learning the nook and crook of English since they were in kindergarten (singing nursery rhymes and learning ABC).

These meetings although should be useful however are very dragging especially if the chairman is not an English person or TESLians. Us TESLians, speak very directly, thus all English Panel meetings are done within 45 minutes, tops, regardless of how many agendas in the call letter (I know since I have been the secretary for the English Panel ever since I got posted; apparently typing the minute of the meeting using my laptop as the meeting is going on is a big deal). TESLians (who are blue-eyed and blondes, NOT) are usually talented in giving the short version of complicated matters, hence making our meetings not only enjoyable but a soul-sharing session (if you are surrounded with awesome English teachers as your colleagues as I do in school).

Not the case with meetings with the general population. Some people enjoy basking in the limelight and tend to talk gibberish and longer than necessary when being asked about the results of their subject. Mr/Mrs/Ms Know-It-All always linger before giving much needed important points of their report of their students’ achievement. I bet they failed at summary writing back in their school days.

There are also those who seemed to put others at the pointy end of blame when their subjects did not reach the target. The kids are brats, the classrooms are not conducive, the fans and lights in the classrooms are not working, yadayadayada...on and on it goes. 

As for me, I usually have my tab handy or my laptop, enjoying the Internet connection at the school since TM is shit and the Streamyx at my home is not working for like weeks. And when I complained to TM Point, this arse thought that I had no business doing here and purposely went there for fun. And there I go getting of topic again.

Sure, I looked like a disrespectful person as I buried myself in other things while other people are yapping away in the meeting, analyzing why the kids don’t just get all A’s. For me, in the words of my colleague who quoted from his brother and sister in law who happens to be a counsellor, if all kids get straight A’s, who would clean the toilets, fix the roads, pick up the garbage and other important jobs that others would not do. These kids, though not academically inclined, can be helpful members of the society if they were given opportunities to do something that they are good at. Not everybody is the apple of their parents’ eyes. Not everybody understands the purpose of them being in school. When I was in school and in the upper form, was in the Science Stream, I didn’t understand the science subjects that I was learning and it was such a frustration. God loves me and He gave me a good SPM result that was both a relieve for both my parents and I. And He loves me when He got me enrolled in TESL programme, learning English, a subject that I considered my saviour during my confusion era back in school. I excelled during my first and second degree because finally I found a purpose in studying and when my friends complained about the burden of reading notes or the tedious chore of reading literary texts, I shrugged it off and was mistaken for a stuck up bitch who tried to get on the lecturers’ good side for handing in my assignments extra early and doing extra reading on English subjects back in uni. And when my friends went out to reward and enjoy themselves after all the hard work studying and completing assignments by going out for lunch or watching movies or shopping, I was tucked away in my hostel room as I was saving up to buy a laptop and later, a scooter (during my first degree). And for that I was branded an anti-social (one of my course mates christened me as an anti-social in his blog) and everybody dispersed like ants being showered with water. During my second degree (part time programme since I hold a full time job) which I have just finished last April (keeping my fingers crossed for graduation in October), some of my course mates went on a holiday after a semester has ended, but my life just went back to normal, woke up at 6 in the morning to go to work and came back at ungodly hours depending on what happened at school. Why? Because for me, studying is a reward in itself. Sure, it is stressful at times, what’s with the depressed situation I was in. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular and life was hard, I thought about suicides a lot during my first degree, what’s with being alone with no friends that I have driven away because I was too preoccupied with my relationshit with a psychopath (I came to this conclusion after watching a documentary on serial killers, saying that 1 in every 100 people is a psychopath and some of the characteristics of these psychopath is charming, manipulative and lack conscience, thus effortlessly lie their way through life and this sounds a lot like my ex). During my second degree, the same thing happened, there was this one person who hated my guts, probably because I was as straight as an arrow (never cheated in exams) and this person who did the opposite in almost every exam clashed where our morale is concerned. Nobody likes me, for sure. And it they were given a chance, being with me at a close range would be the last thing that they opt for. Maybe it is because I drive people away because I am a disagreeable person most of the times and I said it more than once, that I don’t need anybody in my life but according to psychology 101, those who said they never needed something are usually the ones who really need it.

Wow, how a ranting session about long meetings can turn out to be a reflection on my less than pristine life. Watching documentary on serial killers can really make you think out of the box. Sometimes beyond that imaginary box. No wonder they say serial killers are wired differently.

IF I HAD A DIME...

So I haven’t been blogging in quite some time. Work was just so overwhelming. A word of kind reminder, if your school ever got selected to any kind of state/national level competition, be prepared to endure complete craziness for as long as the waiting moment before the competition is finally over.

In this post, I don’t want to talk about colleagues and how they evade workload but manage to show up at the right time and at the right place, usually when the principal or other bosses are around.

I want to talk about how hard it is to find love these days. A lot of people (mostly nosy bastards) who always have a favourite question as they see me putting more and more candles on my birthday cake, “Bila nak kahwin?”

If getting married was like choosing shoes on Zalora.com, it’ll be as simple as clicking a checklist of your dream man and out popped your search results. But in reality, things are not as always as rosy like the fairy tale we grow so accustomed to believing during our naive and gullible years as children.

If I had a dime for everytime the question popped up, I’ll be a millionaire by now. As lonely and dejected as I am, there are still people questioning shit about me and interested to know every wound and every scar that prevent me from getting married.

And God knows how depressing it is to open Facebook as see notifications after notifications of coursemates and juniors as well as schoolmates who invited me to their wedding. Or what about all those cute baby photos of couples who are blessed to take care another living and breathing human beings. Yes, I admit it cuts deep. Deeper when my mom went to weddings and came back home and showed me ‘bunga telur’ and asked me what colour would be the theme of my wedding. Deepest when my mom keep stopping at shopping malls looking at baby strollers or baby apparels, saying that if I had children, this (baby things or clothings) would look so good on those little souls.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t mind not being married at all. Who would want to bring a child into this cruel little world? But again, that’s a defeatist talking. A normal human being would gush at the prospect of a wedding. Married to someone whom they are confident to live and die with. When they imagine rosy little feet and cooing crying little babies as their life is completed at last.

Me? I still think I don’t deserve someone or even little someone as I myself, is someone who are not quite right.