Happy-can't-remember-what

It’s an annual thing now.

Not only my birthday, but also the moping.

Another year older in three hours time.

Another day in three hours time, too.

I don’t feel excited, or miserable. In fact, it would feel like just any other night, save for the incessant inner nagging that I should be feeling excited, or miserable.

Nothing is happening. And I don’t expect anything to. Truly. Yeah, I said that too many times. “I don’t expect anything to happen” – and then went on to bawl my eyes out when nothing did. I remember last year - I was so emo because no one seemed to remember my birthday. Then, my friends went and do their magic and it became my best birthday ever. For that, I am still thankful (and bashful, thanks to The Amazing Roya).

But this year, I don’t feel a thing.

I just sit in my room, preparing my lesson plan for tomorrow, doing the obligatory birthday post, too drugged with paracetamol to write anything remotely funny, bopping my head to Jack Johnson’s Hope.

Your reflection is a blur
Out of focus
But in confusion
The frames the sun did burn
At the end of a roll of dellusions
A ghost waiting its turn
Now I see can right through it
It's a warning that nobody heard

It will teach you
To love what you’re afraid of
After it takes away
All that you learn to love

But you don’t
Always
Have to hold to your head
Higher than your heart

Lyrics so deep I’m still struggling to understand.

Even though I’m just paddling on the surface of the song, somehow it feels like it is speaking to me. I feel like I’m missing something.

Oh yeah, my birthday. That’s what.

My birthday wish is that I am not having H1N1 flu.

Try and top that for Ways to Keep People Away during Your Birthday.

SMSes still welcomed though. Virus doesn’t spread virtually, unless you are talking about computer bugs and stupidity.

By the way, thanks for the early wishes =)

And thanks to all of YOU for helping me reach where I am today. If there is one thing worth celebrating for, it is YOU.

*Blows a virtual, virus-free kiss*

Anak

At the rate my blog updates are going, you’d think nothing interesting has happened to me of late.

Bugrit. I hate it when you’re right.

But its okay, bloggers like me have survived our diminishing volume in the cyberspace by reporting on interesting things that we saw happened to other people. And boy, have I seen a lot since I start working.

The thing is, when I said that being a teacher means everyday is a new surprise, I had every intention to make it an exaggeration. Which explains why a large part of the surprises everyday consist of the surprise that I can still be surprised.

Working with kids put me on my toes in the same way as teetering on the brink of insanity and undue violence can. Children are capable of ideas, behavior, complaints and excuses that adults hadn’t even discovered yet (although that’s probably a logical fallacy). Whoever think that teachers are boring people clearly leads a misinformed, sheltered and quite possibly, hating-my-job kind of life. Teachers are happening, especially when things tend to happen all around them, sometimes accompanied by cries of “teacher teacher you see him no he beat me first no he laugh at me first no no NO I DON’T CARE!”

A handful they may be, but teaching them was worth it. I suspect that I learn from them even more than they learn from me (the glazed look they give me in class is a hint). They are amazing, exciting and very much adorable.

And what I witnessed yesterday tugged at my heart even more.

The kids had an indoor motivational camp that lasted for two days and one night. It was really fun, and the kids had enjoyed themselves thoroughly while bringing home some important life lessons. Attending this camp with the kids made me appreciate my job even more, because it was an invaluable opportunity to learn and understand children – actually, people in general.

At the end of the camp, the parents joined in for a session where the trainer explained what their children had learnt. The kids then produced a letter they had written for their parents, and loudly sang the song Anak, by Freddie Aguilar, in praise of parents’ sacrifice and love.

It was moving, and a few parents wept.

As I scanned the room, smiling at the children safe in their parents’ embrace, the song went on

Child, you don't know, you'll never know how far they'd go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it's true
They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here

And I saw him. One of our naughtiest boys, standing at the front of the room, unconsciously swinging one leg back and forth, his mouth slightly opened. He was not singing. He was staring at the children in their mummies and daddies’ hugs - a strained look in his wide eyes.

Clutched tightly in his hands were his letter to mummy and daddy, who were not there.

They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here

As the song rang around me, I stared at his yearning face and felt a stab in my heart.

I salute the parents who would slave for their children, even die for their children. I just hope that they remember to reserve some time for their children, too.

Because next time may be already too late.