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Monday, December 24, 2012

My Adopted Kid Brother



 I remember that. The precious moment…


Setting of Place: Mc Donald’s.
Town: Sibu.
State: Sarawak.
Country: Malaysia. (or where else could it be?)


We’re having breakfast. Probably, at lunchtime. Or maybe, dinnertime. Oh God, I quite have a bad memory. Sorry about that. The point is, after the last few months, that lovely moment is still freshly stuck in my head. Until today!


Me and Harlister Iwan, my beloved student a.k.a this year’s PMR candidate, went out together. Like a loving couple but of course not! When? The date? Erm…I feel quite unsure. It’s like, I’m suffering Alzheimer. Oh God.


We both were sitting opposite to each other. How sweet! Haha. On the ground floor of the fast food restaurant, serving popular American fast food. Trust me, I would rather not eat fast food. Still, I frequently drop by. Shit!


One question I used to inquire to this intelligent male student. The form of the question was a little bit different, fully changed. The meaning was still the same, though. The main idea was still there: 

Would you care to be my adopted little brother?


Cikgu Effie, a BM teacher a.k.a the Head Panel of BM in the school, used to recommend that I take his family to be my adopted family. You know that I’ve got nobody in the ‘Land of the Hornbill’. Which is a thousand miles away from the state I was born. Every weekend, there’s no countryside I can go home to.


The Sibu town has to be my ‘countryside’ at times. The place where I regularly cope with my workload pressure. No, I’m kidding. To escape from my boring life there in Batang Igan. Should there be as a stunning beach as Pantai Batu Burok in Kuala Terengganu, I might spend my evenings wandering at the beach.


In the past, if I was going nowhere during weekends, I’d come home with him. Going back to the student's home somewhere in Kampung Bungan Besar. Approximately 15 minutes away from the secondary school. About an hour away from the Kut River. The distance between the river and Dalat town is twenty minutes drive or so, if I’m not mistaken.


Only can we reach Kampung Bungan Besar by boat. The small boat is able to occupy no more than four chubby passengers. Can’t exceed than that or else it’s definitely going to sink! Hoho. Just like the Titanic. And, I don’t want that to happen, for sure. I want to be safe, of course! Don’t you?


Gotta say that Cikgu Effie’s suggestion sounded pretty good! It’s a very brilliant idea, indeed. And I love it. Yet, even so, something had ceased my good intention. Did I deserve it? Would they ever accept me as their new family member, anyway?


“Cikgu Effie cakap kat saya, kenapa saya tak ambik awak sebagai adik angkat.” I heard myself saying.


It’s not a question. More like a statement instead. I did it with courage. Without any feeling of humiliation. As if I was asking the Prime Minister a question. As a matter of fact, couldn’t deny I was really too abashed to ask such a question to him. At that moment. Fancied covering myself with a damn thick blanket. Like in the winter (There's no winter in Malaysia! Heehee...). Or wearing a mask like Spiderman so he would never recognise who I was. Ah, what a shame!


Guess what kind of answer coming out of his mouth afterwards? The answer neither sounded ‘he-would-take-it-as-a-yes’ nor the other way round. This was his very answer, “Nanti saya tanya apak saya.” Apak which is a Melanau Mukah language word means ‘daddy’ in English. But nevertheless, he never told me the answer till today. LOL.


He might’ve forgotten. Or, maybe, he doesn't even wanna be my adopted kid brother at all! A mere wishful thinking, perhaps? I’m starting to make such a nonsense speculation.


Me and Harlister during our holidays at Snow World, Genting Highlands, Pahang



This afternoon, at 3:39p.m., things have changed. After I dared inquire him this question myself. To my mind, if he disliked me, he couldn't be this close to me, right? Even though I was too fond of bullying him most of the times (How cruel!). The question probably sounds a piece of cake to us but on his behalf, things grew slightly awkward to give an answer. As complicated as an Additional Mathematic question!


Would you reckon that he took 16 minutes to reply to my sms. Axiomatically, it’s a really hard question. I told you! He was likely to be thinking of the finest, most precise answer, I thought. As if an ‘alive-or-dead’ question or something. Whoa! (He’s got a kind of good thinking, I must say.)


“Boleh…asal Cikgu bersabar…Cikgu tau perangai saya kan?” replied Harlister candidly.


I psyched himself, deliberately. Attempting to tell him my heartbreak toward the replied answer. Sulking, allegedly.


“Tak pe. Saya tak paksa. Tak kecik hati pun.” – my 4:01 p.m. message.
He shortly replied, “Okeylah tu.”

Then, I was being stupid. As though I wasn’t following him that well. Obstinate. So I replied after that, “Okay ape?”


However, he didn't reply since then. Staying dumb. There’s no following answer I received. I was a little too carried away, I supposed.


Till the clock said 6:53 p.m. Quite unexpectedly, my mobile phone received a couple of messages. One sent by Florencia Alma asking after me. And the other one from the student himself! Wow, whenever the student texts me, I can’t stay composed to read his sms. Like somebody’s in love with a pretty woman or something. Haha!


In the very world, it’s just no more than a student-teacher friendship. Without further ado, I quickly pressed the VIEW button. So the mobile phone screen automatically showed me what his entire sms was about. Which went, “Selamat petang abang…haha.”


I know the addition ‘haha’ was intentionally typed in order to cover his awkward feeling to call me ‘abang’. Moreover, he’s been calling me ‘Cikgu’ all this while in that I am his school teacher. It must sound awkward for both of us.


I turned out to be so too flabbergasted since then. I froze like a non-living statue, really. Dumb. Speechless.


“Er…perlu balas tak?”
“Tapi…apa aku nak cakap?”


Indeed, Allah the All-knower. I couldn’t help feeling so freaking ashamed. At the meantime, so thrilled to bits. Couldn’t stop laughing. As if I was seeing such a hilarious comedy on telly. Such as ‘Pi Mai Pi Mai Tang Tu’. LOL.


After a pretty long wait, at last, by calling me ‘abang’, he obviously has accepted me as his ‘new’ big brother. Even so, the thing is, would this brotherhood certainly last forever? Whereas, in fact, with his very outstanding, excellent PMR exam result, he’ll surely be transferring to a new secondary school next year?


Things are getting worse as we both would be unable to spot one another as much often as ever. And the possibility for our meeting’s almost none! What an upsetting ending it’s gonna look like. It’s our destiny, apparently.


Ah, I ain’t in the mood of thinking about this yet. At least, not at this second! Seems it’s only making me a lot dizzier. Should pen off here. End of the story. Enough that I’ve just accepted this good news. Full-stop.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

PMR 2012: A Complete Nightmare



Upset. Upset. Upset. As if I just missed the KTM commuter from Port Klang station to KL Sentral station. Waiting for the next train is like waiting for a month, terribly severe, like hell! Is it like breaking up with my sweetheart? I guess not.


It’s too late already. No point of regretting any more. Even if I wept for hours. The result will never change, ever! The imperfection of the most hoped PMR candidate’s result has caused the Senior Assistant of Administration, Cikgu Nana to be fucking unhappy. 





It has destroyed, ruined the school’s ‘aspiration’ to see a straight-A student this year. Let alone the subject is English. The subject whose teacher is me! It’s me! Can you hear that?


Oh Allah the Almighty. Like the whole world’s looking at me right now. Telling me off. Blaming me. Cursing at me.


“What the fuck have you done, Cikgu? What on earth did you teach your students? Did you ask them to fool around in class? Oh boy, I’m asking you to help teach them to score English, idiot!”


It’s proven! I failed to make their dream come true. Even if I wasn’t even the PMR candidate.


The obvious feeling of disappointment could be seen on my cute face as soon as I woke up from bed, pressing the UNLOCK button on my cell phone after identifying that there was an sms sent to me that morning. Shortly after that, I inserted the phone security code and then pressed the OK button.


I was so freaking overwhelmed by the feeling of eagerness. So much. Eager to find out who the sender was and what the entire content of the sms was all about. I whereupon pressed the VIEW button.


What’s shown on the phone screen was an sms sent by Cikgu Effie, a BM teacher. Which went, “Congrats. Harlister awak dapat 6A 1C.”



Harlister Iwan (First row, second from left, wearing a red blazer)


I who previously seemed half drowsy, immediately, fully awake! My eyes which looked pretty hard to open just now were widely open at present. Completely focused. Getting more enthusiastic. As if I just came across a beautiful angel from the Paradise. Wow! My eyes didn’t blink for about 10 seconds, you know.


My feeling? Between psyched and dejected. Dunno which one, exactly. I myself feel uncertain about my feeling at the moment. Strangely, a bit thrilled and couldn’t wait to spread the good news to the best student on my own. But, all of a sudden, the intention was to be called off.


“Entah-entah, dia dah tau kot. Tapi, kenapa tak sms kat aku pun? I wondered, feeling slightly bewildered. “In your dreams. Apa? Penting sangat ke aku ni pada dia?” I condemned myself, sarcastically.


Yet…it sounds odd. The student practically texts me so often. Every single day! “Takkanlah berita baik macam tu tak nak maklum kat aku langsung kot?” I make some assumption, continuously. “Maybe, he wants me to inquire him myself,” I thought. Some people turn to be like that. Sometimes. I guess. Because one of these sort of people is me. Ahaks. Or maybe, he wants to make it a surprise. Eh?


The feeling of agog was yet undone, fancying finding it out in detail. I whereupon pressed the OPTION button, selected ‘Reply’, was typing “Apa C tu?” At the moment, that was such a simple question. Soalan cepumas. Just like ‘What’s our country’s name?’ Huhu. But even so, I got a little too obstinate, asking for the confirmation. A fact. Most importantly, I’ll get what I eagerly want! I behaved truly like a small kid. Ouch!


Before Cikgu Effie replied to the sms, I who felt damn impatient (though I know, patience is a part of faith), hastily pressed CALL button on the cell phone, making a call. Like making an emergency call or something. Hadn’t taken my bath yet… oops pecah rahsia! LOL.


Doing a sum, we both were on the phone for more than 5 minutes long. In sum, I’m so freaking ‘delighted like hell’ since, after all, I didn’t even eventually learn what grade C was. An enormous waste of credit, I sighed. L


But, at least, there’s another info I’ve known about. Even it sounded less significant to me. Actually, I’ve to say I’m really proud of the satisfactory achievement of BM paper. According to Cikgu Effie, BM evidently increased this year and all passed. That’s good. After all her hard work teaching extra classes at nights over the last week prior to the PMR, her effort was finally paid. Worth! Cikgu Effie, congratulations! You deserved it. What about a promotion? Heehee… J


Had I held so many extra classes as she did, you think, would my students also pass English with flying colours? I made a silly speculation. For sure, I’m not silly, anyway.


HOT news! HOT news! As hot news as Siti Nurhaliza tying the knot. I couldn’t yet calm myself down, though. The mysterious C. Is it true that the C is English? Since my heart strongly convinced me that I was right. “Mampus!” The unexpected word suddenly came out of my mouth. L

The name of the Senior Assistant 1 crossed my mind by coincidence. Without further ado, I searched her number, tried to drop her a line. The intention of saving my phone credit was to be forgotten for the time being. Don’t be so mean, people.


Meantime, I must keep myself noted. Although it’s merely for my student’s PMR exam result. Not even mine! I sat the PMR in the last 10 years. No way. I’m getting old now.


You’d the smartest one to predict what I procured after making her a call and guess what? Um….very unexpectedly, she herself had no idea what the bloody C was. Sigh. My phone credit. L

Things sounded even worse when she too suspected that the C had to be English. And, once again, “Mampus! I’m dead!” I couldn’t help blaming myself. By listening to her expression, she was freaking dejected. With me?


Erm…she felt dissatisfied, visibly. Just because her ‘aspiration’ to see a straight A student, at least one, has met a failure. She must be freaking upset. I can tell.


What about me? The result let me down too, you know. I failed. I failed. How depressing!


“Could be I’d been taking my teaching for granted. And THIS is the price I gotta pay back! The quality of my next year’s teaching is to be improved. Learn from the past mistake. Promise that I shan’t let it happen again. Once bitten, twice shy,” I’m reflecting myself. Earnestly. Obviously, I regretted.


Hmm…let bygones be bygones. I’ll put much effort in order to ensure such things won’t ever happen any more. I’ll help the smart student out even though he’ll be transferring to another school. I’ll consistently keep him motivated so he’ll never give up in studies. He surely can. Besides, he’s not a loser. Like who I am. I know.


I wish him ‘break a leg’ on the SPM. But then…um, never mind.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

HE Is My Student



11/6/2012 has bid farewell to me for the longest time, leaving me alone, like, forever and ever. Even if it isn’t my sweetheart having gotta leave me somehow! It’s left me just like a useless old piece of New Straits Time newspaper tossed by the street, just waiting for the rain to fall and get wet. C’mon!

The date means a lot to me, to be honest. It won’t ever come back even for another zillion years to come, for sure. I know. Nor even in the next year’s calendar. Once in a lifetime, in fact. But, what makes it so special to me, anyway?


Is it my twenty-fourth birthday? Of course not!


It’s not just a date. Like other ordinary dates in many years. It’s like a-date-to-remember in my 100 year life, I guess. But I’ve just lived on earth for no more than 24 years, anyway. Uh-oh. Honest mistake.

 Although the date’s gone for ages and will be vanishing in the world before long, I feel as though it was just yesterday. Somewhat complicated for  a too young guy like me to convince myself very proudly that today, I’ve been a school teacher for the last seven months! Seven months! I repeat.


OMG…what a success! I fancy screaming like hell at this second! As if I wanna let the world know about this good news. Only if were I nuts.


The date’s still freshly in my mind like fresh fruits – no question! As if it was just yesterday. As if I just got working at this rural secondary school. I think you ought to congratulate me on my success. The success which is all on the account of the longest working period in the history of my life. LOL. Again, what makes the date June 11 so special, anyway?  

Once upon a time back in June – 11/6/2012. The huge clock on the staff room wall near Cikgu Ling Kok Jing’s table said seven o’clock prompt, in the morning. West Malaysia’s time. I need to mention so just because Sarawak ‘receives’ the sunrise an hour earlier than Peninsular Malaysia. My geographic knowledge. Where the hell was I up to? Daydreaming of a Princess Charming? Heehee…

I was so impatiently looking forward to walking into my very first class. Allegedly. Which meant another two hours and forty minutes away. Just like me back at Uni when I couldn’t wait for my boring Sociology of Education lecture ended.


It was just because my lecturer spoke Indian English (He comes from an island country named Sri Lanka) which I found it really hard to figure his lecture out. His English sounded a little annoying most of the time. The lecture took 2 hours which I was sure the admin had made a mistake. They should shorten it to only half an hour. Heehee…


After a couple of hours waiting, now it’s time to begin my first step, heading to Class Form 3 Bestari. The class is said to be the smartest of all. Its location is on the third floor of the academic building. It’s the last one of the third-floor corridor! If using the shortcut, I most usually use the second stairs next to musalla.


I won’t use the shortcut just to get to the class more quickly. No way. The only reason for using the shortcut is because, (Please don’t laugh.) should I be in the mood of fashion, I would rather use the first stairs as I know I can surely hold a “fashion show”, walking as arrogantly as a popular superstar, displaying my so-called costly attire whilst heading straight to the last class confidently. Like a cat-walk? Oh please! But then, can’t deny, my students always find me attractive to be looked at, I suppose. Heehee…


To get there, I’ll have to walk few meters past the Multi-purpose Room, PSV Room, Senior Assistants offices, sewing workshop and musalla, of course.  

As I walked, I had no idea how I was feeling. Either delighted or probably not! The unseen brain deep in my head couldn’t help thinking about the induction set – what I was gonna begin my P & P. Even though I knew that the first day of teaching must always be preceded with an ice-breaking session. Oh God. “I was damn nervous!”

Something’s crossing in my mind. Aha. First impression! Yeah I recalled. “What’d I be like? A starving skinny lion? Or maybe a nervous little kitten?” I found myself thinking pretty hard to find an answer. Slightly serious and focused. Reminding myself about my lecturer’s advice, Dr Zainurin Abdul Rahman often insisted, “First impression really counts!”


I can still remember his lion-like face briefing us over a post-mortem on our teaching observation – but frankly, I wasn’t the least bit scared. He’s merely a handsome man, not an ugly ghost.




Why does one’s first impression matter? Do you know?


A teacher has gotta be careful or he’s dead?! The first class session is most typically when students acting like a doctor attending a patient make an evaluation of their teacher. The teacher’s behaviour. The teacher’s characteristics.


“Am I too fierce like a tiger? Ngauumm!!! Or too subtle like a homosexual? Hi Darling muah muah! Or, maybe, as friendly as Dato’ Siti Nurhaliza? Or as funny as Johan Raja Lawak?” They themselves will make their mind up.


Upon arriving at Class Form 3 Bestari, I randomly observed the students’ behaviour in the class from outside. Like a cheetah looking for a victim. I didn’t walk to the class directly. I conversely headed to the corner beside the back class door watching the nice, stunning, evergreen view of Kampung Rassau – mostly occupied by Christian Ibans.

I could make a prediction that there were a few students of that class observing my react. They might be identifying, “Who’s that handsome tall man standing outside?”

Of my observation, they could be guessing whether or not I was the new English teacher. I’m telling you, I like it when they had to wait and wonder for the answer! Because I so proudly wanted to tell them that I wasn’t an ordinary English teacher ‘imported’ from the Peninsula. I was a mantop one! ROFL.

I then walked into the class with overconfidence. I whereupon headed to a dusty teacher desk whereby it’s located right in the middle of the front part of the class. Behind the teacher table is actually a rectangular-shaped blackboard together with a whiteboard. “Err…this is pretty good. I may utilize both. I may write more on both of them! Leaving the students a whole lot of exercises and much more homework? Heehee…

The class monitor, Ferrylyse shortly stood up and bade me ‘Selamat pagi, Cikgu!’ and then followed loudly by the rest of the class. Now, every one of the 3 Bestari students was respectively looking straight at me. A new cute teacher who seemed too young to work in the teaching profession. I knew I must be looking good. My face must look freaking serious.

I responded in a teacher-like tone, “Good morning. Sit down.” They’re allowed to have a seat afterwards. The English response obviously indicated that the standing teacher before them wasn’t teaching any other subjects but the English language. The killer subject. That’s why I’ve gotta look like a killer too, have I not?

According to the properly suggested agenda, the induction set would be an ice-breaking session. Guess what I was gonna do? Having every student introduce themselves? Or, probably, having them recite a Malay poem? Usman Awang’s Guru Oh Guru poem for example as to celebrate my first day working? Absolutely not! This wasn’t a Music class, was it?


I wasn’t that fascinated to know every student’s name since I allegedly believe in my own theory that I’ll get to know them once I’ve begun teaching them. Sooner or later, I’d have known them more than a name. Day by day, week by week… I’ll as well know their characters. School students regularly have a variety of negative characteristics. Just few are positive. And, that it easy! I didn’t put any high expectation, anyway.

 Amongst the kind faces in front of me, some are lazybones, some too much pampered like a baby, some arrogant, some mischievous like monkeys, some passionate and diligent and some smart and some…stupid? Smart alec? Erm… maybe few.  Their respective characters would be evaluated thoroughly without giving them any grades. I would if they bothered finding it out. I’d already dreamt of the grade-giving session in class.


“You (idiot), of my thorough twelve month observation, you only deserve a C+ for your behaviour evaluation. Hope you’d keep improving your behaviour afterward. Good luck (little jerk),” I heard myself saying.


The class of Form 3 Bestari occupies 21 students. Of that number, only five of them are males. And the rest are certainly females (excluding homosexuals, if there’s any). So proud that there are three Muslim Melanau students in the class: Faridatul Syafiqah sitting in the second row and Arni the first front row of the middle part of the class and not forgetting Azura sitting in the last row at the back of the right part of the class. All the three students (are to) wear hijab to school (or otherwise I think they wouldn’t do that though it’s compulsory in Islam.)

Talking about nationality, the majority of the students is Melanau and the minority is Iban. It can be practically said that 95% of the total number of this secondary school students practice Christianity. It’s a new challenge in my life I have to undergo as a teacher. Not as easy as ABC when we teach non-Muslim students who don’t even share the same religious belief with us. I swear. As a matter of fact, lots of forbidden things too. Mind our language.


I mention Zikr Allah every so often with the intention of converting my students to Islam. Please, don’t tell them about this. Laa ikra ha fiddin. There’s no force in Islam. All I do is simply an endeavour.


Using the highest tone, like a popular singer, I presented myself to the class. I can’t have them knowing everything about me. Or else things wouldn’t be fun! They gotta seek it out on their own, as though they could google my name on the Net. Like a celebrity. I told them my full name which is crucial and it’s a must-remember name or their marks would be deducted without any consideration. I mean it. How cruel I am! I’ve never done this, though.

Besides all those ordinary matters, I too chanced to tell them all the way I got there during my first day I was posted at the rural school. Which I felt fucking upset in the first place for having to live in that rural area. With no roadways! No electric? No town nearby? Ah, damn! Even worse, no cell phone coverage?! Fuck!

I narrated all the journey, flights starting from Peninsular Malaysia to East Malaysia, to the ‘Land of Hornbill’. All I’m able to recall, they couldn’t help laughing out loud like crazy (Oh my God) when I deliberately used the verb ‘terbang’ (fly) which is supposed to mean ‘get on a plane’. Anyhow, I got it that they were only pulling my legs. Thought they were ‘evaluating’ me! – First impression really counts, remember? But I shan’t have them doing such a  stupid evaluation.


Using the verb ‘terbang’ (fly) sounds more boastful and high-class. I wanted them to feel a little jealous. LOL.


As soon as the ice-breaking session was over, for the following activity, we talked over a bit pertaining to the topics they had already learnt before I took over. It freaked me out big time as I was informed that they hardly learnt anything. Although it’s already in June?! What the fuck had the school been up to? It’s just another three months to go prior to the big exam. PMR. What a pity!

The English language class would be ending soon. I had had them take a piece of A4 paper out. Then, I wrote down on the blackboard every item I wanted them to fill in on that A4 paper. All info regarding their biodatas such as name, home address, pastime(s), favourite food and beverages and all that. Favourite teacher was excluded. Because I knew they mightn’t yet be willing to put my name as their favourite teacher. I was still new and had just gotten my first teaching started.  “What can I expect?” I thought.

The idea of the task was picked from my former teacher back in secondary school. Approximately 11 years ago. My Form 2 Science teacher named Mrs Salbiah Dagang – wow! Can still remember her full name after 11 years?! I know. I’m smart – used to instruct our class to do the same task on our first Science class.

In my opinion, this really matters because that way eases me to know them even better. All that night long, I’d been reading their written biodatas. I must say I was quite impressed. Even though a small number of them had real bad handwriting.

Today, so incredible that the school breaks will be ending pretty soon. In a couple of weeks’ time. And I hate to come back! I’ve known my 3 Bestari students’ characteristics really well now. I know which one is so lazy and which is completely hardworking. I sure can tell you now but I choose to keep it confidential. Besides, our student-teacher relationship is getting way closer than ever.


Is it because of my natural friendliness? Or my handsomeness? And that’s why they like meeting me a lot often that some teachers envy with me.


I admit. Nearly all my students I’ve taught look much friendlier with me. I’m so OK with them. Guess what? Few students seem to have been too close to me. Like a bosom friend. Well…I’ve never ever forced them but they themselves choose to get closer to me. What to do? I notice things have changed a lot for the last three months. How come? I dunno. Only do they know why. I like it, you know. Let them be. Vote for me. Lemme win the Most Popular Teacher Ever award. In my dream.


I wanna tell you that you’re about to find out what makes June 11, 2012 so special to me. All you’re required to do is read on.


For the very first time I saw this school prefect, I becamse rather shy. His name is, um…I’d better use an acronym for his name, HE. He looked smart in his black blazer with a dark blue tie. Indeed, he forever is. At the time I was standing before him, he looked pretty enthusiastic. As if what I was a great scholar. (Sorry. I can be such a boastful person at times.)

On top of that, he’s the only male student sitting in the first row in the middle part of the class. His neighbours are a couple of females. Errica Florencia sitting on his right while Arni, also a school prefect, sitting on his left. He was like a Prime Charming there. He totally deserved my genuine compliment for his passion in studies. I can see that.

Additionally, every time people mention about Form 3 Bestari, I couldn’t help remembering him. As though the class and him can’t be separated. Like a loving couple or so. It’s slightly complicated for me to memorise his name actually. Because, you know what? Most Melanaus and Ibans’ names sound like Mat Salleh’s (English’s). The distinction is that their mother tongue isn’t English. Plus, they’re unable to speak English fluently either.

The funniest moment in that class I ever did was when I miscalled his name. Unintentionally I called him ‘halilintar’. (By this time, you could guess what his name is. Do guess. Heehee.) Something unintended coming out of my bloody mouth.

Things became even more embarrassing when the whole of his classmates began laughing out loud at him. Oh HE, poor little thing. That embarrassing incident made me remember his name till today, though. And surely I can’t forget that. Although it took place six months ago.  

Who could ever suppose that me and the school prefect have been this close today? Like my BFF. And, I tell you, there is something I can’t forget about this student. One day, he texted me saying that “Inilah guru (yang) terbaik yang pernah saya jumpa.” (Translated: This is the best teacher I’ve ever met.) As I read the sms, I became speechless. Immediately. Deep in my heart I wonder, “Oh really?” (Can’t hide that I was overwhelmed by the feeling of pride.)

Things are getting all miserable and I’ve no idea how I shall undergo all this later. Can’t believe he would probably transfer to another school! I’m sure he 100% will. He’s selecting a better school for him. For his forthcoming future. For his brighter future. He is a smart student. I know. Excellent not only in academic but also in co-curricular activities. You know what? I feel just envious of him occasionally.

Yet, for the sake of his brighter, more promising future, a better school is more eligible for him to pursue his high school studies. I want him to succeed, for sure. Although I know I’m gonna have to bid a farewell to him next year. Although I know I’m gonna miss him so much. Although I know I’m gonna feel fucking reluctant to let him go. But, what else can I do? Kidnap him?!

Due to his loss, I’ve gotta suffer. I’ll have to accept our destiny that one day, I shall somehow leave him forever and ever. Farewell is full of pain and bitterness. But I’m just an ordinary school teacher after all. Hope I’ll have the guts when the day comes. Insha-Allah.


To my beloved student, HE, please don’t forget me. All the best on your studies.


PS: What’s the student’s full name? Lemme the only one here who knows, OK?