A boy named Zafran.... (part 2)

Zafran, the new candle that lights up my path as a teacher. The child who broaden my vista, the one who opened my mind to see and to give empathy to others. Zafran became my greatest teacher.

Born like any other child, Zafran lived a happy, normal life. But cunning was mishap, predicament befell him at the age of 2. An accident that cost him his life. A fall down the stairs, the skull shattered and left the boy in a comatose state. Replaced with a synthetic skull, doctor gave no guarantee that he will be normal, ever again.  With such injury on the head and with only one eye working, Zafran was presumed handicap-able. Few months later, doctors were pleasantly nonplussed as Zafran started running again.  

The imprint of the injury still lingers to this date. The fits that he has occasionally is the result of  the freak accident- a post traumatic epileptic seizure. What he had gone through was definitely more than any of the other children had gone through. He faces life heads on and never did he ever complained. 

You have taught me well and I hope you'll do well in your future, you brave brave boy...

A boy named Zafran.... (part 1)

Last Saturday turned out to be 'the' most memorable event in my years of teaching (well, up to this point). The day appeared to be just like any other ordinary day and that was where the twist came in. I was having English period with my year 4 and things got ugly. Not literally though. One boy of mine, in fact one of my favourites, had an epileptic seizure. Gave me a fright he was. 

A read-aloud comprehension session was soon replaced by an agonizing scream. I looked back and saw, to my horror, the boy holding his finger as if it was caught on fire. Barely reaching out for his shoulders, the boy, continued with his screams, now, as it seemed, tried to bury one of his arms into the chest.  

The anguish pain was soon replaced by a sick, gurgling sound. The head jerked uncontrollably, the mouth twitching to the sides in a frenzy. In an attempt to do something, I tried to carry the boy, but futile it was, the best I could do was to drag him onto the floor and laid him there. 

Feeling impotent, I screamed for help, not knowing what to do, I shouted at some pupils to get help, shouted at some more, pleading for space and air for the poor child . Few minutes later the fits seemed to slow down. Holding the boy in my arms, calling out his names, praying and wishing that the boy will gain consciousness any time soon, I took a gallant step to check for the breath. Registering what was happening, I completely lost it, shouted at the remaining pupils to get help from the staffroom. With a whole crowd of pupils rushing to search for aid, I was left alone (with one or two pupils), fat tears forming at the sides of the eyes; "He stopped breathing", I repeated countless of time in my head....

By the time aid is here, it will be too late, I told myself in despair. Just then, the boy resuscitated, swaying with minimal control of the body. Murky it was, now the room seemed to be dazzling and blinking. Aid came one tad bit too slow but all was well. 

The boy was rushed to the hospital but the aftermath of the event lingered. The heart palpitated like there was no tomorrow and all colours drained from my face. If something were to happen to the boy, I would have blamed me for the rest of my pitiful life, I told myself in great disgust.   

One month after...

This is the first post after a month being a teacher... Honestly speaking, I'm in love with this job! I love all the kids. Well, most of the kids. So far, my favourite class is year 6 Cekal. And I love teaching art!! I love being called Mr. Tan (I don't like to be called sir Tan, sounded like Setan). 

Anyhow, Something funny happened today. No, actually two funny things happened today. I went into the year 3 Intan today and as usual I asked them to finish the art I asked them to do for the past three weeks. AND as usual, when they were doing the colouring/pasting, I walked around to monitor their progress. So when I came to this table, a boy was talking fast to me. Let's call the boy, boy T. He knew from previous weeks, I have a ps3, so he kept asking me about games and whatnot. Then, quite abruptly, he said this, "Cigu. Cigu kenal Shahmi? Cigu kenalkan? Shami gitau Tammy yang Shami slalu chat sama cigu dalam facebook." Not really paying attention, I asked: "Tammy ane sapa?" He pointed to his reddening face and replied: "aku" and the whole class was laughing. I had no idea the whole class was eavesdropping. haha, I'm so useless. Poor kid he was. 

I went to Nurul's class to observe her teaching year 6 Ceria for art. When I went upstairs, the class was really chaotic. Pupils were running and some girls kept requesting permission to look for Nurul. Because the requests were persistent and because the boys were misbehaving, I decided to 'erupt' in the class (although I'm not supposed to teach them). I yelled myself hoarse and did my best to do a scary stern look and I guess it paid off because I managed to control the class. While I was yelling, I saw my cousin as well as some other children (who is in year 5, next door) peeking into the class. I thought to myself, "wow! I must be really loud that the kids next door came peering to investigate the source of the noise".

During the journey home, I asked to my cousin, "I looked scary just now right?" She replied: "No, not at all. I felt like laughing". TOINK! Then I continued: "How come you guys were there when i was yelling? My voice must be booming then?" She replied: "booming? I can't hear you at all. We were just drinking, that's all"  

I'm loving it!

This is a post from a friend's blog about life. It's purely his writing, so please don't credit me. credit zukri the man! I'm just directing; Here goes:

Little Big Life

Let me get one thing out of the way before we go any further. In my opinion, and after years of pondering, reading, asking and more pondering, I think for absolute certainty that:-

HUMANS ARE LIMITED

We are. We have expiry dates. We have limited time from the moment we were born, to the moment when we finally have our final sleep. In between, we are limited by our energy level, by the time of the day, by the time of other people. We are limited in our physical capacity, by our mental capacity, by our social, spiritual and emotional capacity.

We are limited, by nature.

I cannot be skiing in Korea, while also scuba-diving in Bali. I cannot flap my hands fast enough so that I'll float like a humming bird. I cannot cross a football field in a single leap.

It is obvious that we cannot do everything, no matter how much planning we do. No matter how much positive thinking we inject, no matter how much training we put it.

It is obvious that we cannot do everything – but, make no mistake, we are capable of ALOT.

Most of us never reach our full capacity, because we never dare. We have been taught by society that failure is a painful emotion and that we should back away from even the possibility of failing. That holds us back. That makes us unwilling to put ourselves beyond our boundaries. This makes us limited.

Indeed, I believe that we, humans, are limited – but we are nowhere near that limit.

There are things that are being discovered today that we never knew possible a few years ago. There are inventions, born from a single idea, and grew into empires. Records are broken. Adventures had. Books written. Wonderful, new things being done every single day.

One day, we will reach our fullest potential, our maximum stretch, our furthest reach, where we've reached our limitation and unable to grow anymore.

But that day is nowhere near us.

We all have a part to play in pushing ourselves, and discovering how far we can jump, how high we can reach, how much we can take.

Do your part for humankind. Show us what we’re capable of doing!

Here is a trivial post...

Hey there... I've got something to share here.

I was told by a friend that a certain ferry (somewhere closer than you think) charged people for going to the toilet. I mean yeah, why bother sharing this, it's quite common for some faculties/buildings/transportation to charge us for going into the lavatory.

Well I'd say, hold on to your sea horses! I've not made my point! For starters, the ferry charged 20 cents to those who go into the toilet to urinate. What's more, people who wants to defecate or in a more delicate form of word, "to shit" will have to pay 30 cents. AND AND AND, there's more! If you go for both, you'll actually have to pay 50 cents. Well yeah, a 2nd year primary school child can solve that simple addition. BUT (there's a huge but for it), this is not about the pricing (well in a way, yes, this is about the pricing).

So, here's something for you to think about:

Number 1: Why charged them differently? Both are the final product of waste and there's not much of a difference between these two: They're smelly and dirty. Same degree of disgusting-ness.

Number 2: How would the caretaker know whether they're "shi-shi-ing" or "poo-poo-ing"? By all means, people would be paying 20 cents for all it matters. Unless, they put a camera inside the toilet to know whether this people are lying or vice versa. Or a much less brutal way, put up a smell-o-meter to give it a sniff whether they are pissing or crapping. Right?

Number 3: Who,and I mean, WHO goes into the toilet and make a 'huge investment' without the 'small investment'; who? No one right? Then, for all it matters, they should be putting "20 cents for the tinkle and 50 cents for the wrinkle" or even better "20 cents per entry" for the signboard, which sounded much more reasonable and less hassle. 

So there you go. If there is someone who has a different opinion, go on and give it a comment.  

It's the Nu ya!

Hey Hey! Its the New Year! Welcome year 2011, bye bye 2010... I know for sure that this year, there's a lot to look forward for... One thing, I'm turning 25 by September and also, I'll be leaving UBD (if there's no problem). and Ooh yeah, I'll also be having my teaching practise and guess what? It's just around the corner... Nervous! And not to forget, it's the 1st of January so it has been 3 years since our beloved grandmother left us.

Now that year 2010 is sooooo last year, let's talk about year 2011. As in, what would I like to achieve? you know? A new year resolution? lol... So here's what I want to achieve by the final day of December 2011.

By the end of year 2011, I should be able to:

1) Ignore all the negative remarks supplied to make you feel bad about yourself and be happier.

2) Complete my degree and also to pursue for higher achievement.

3) maintain a healthier lifestyle.

4) express myself and deal with stress better than I could now.

5) become a better: friend, son, uncle, teacher, person and better boyfriend

6) land myself a nice, "I-heart-cooking" girlfriend.. haha! I'm kidding about this one. I may have felt lonely at certain times but I'm not desperate! haha

Well, there you go, 5 resolutions to keep by the end of year 2011. AND, go BLAST yourself with the new year celebration. haha

Sarah

This is a story I got from Chicken Soup for teacher's soul. It's really inspiring and in a way, broaden my mind. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do, and I hope you'll be able to gain something from this story.


Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye. =H. Jackson Brown, Jr.=


I will never forget Sarah. In my eight years as a Head Start teacher, she was my most exceptional student.

One morning, the administrator had called my assistant and me into her office. she told us that we'd be getting a new student- a three-year-old named Sarah. "The girl has been abused," she said. Her father had poured a scalding bucket of hot water down her head, badly burning her neck, back and legs and scalp. She had no hair. Her back and legs would have to be wiped down with oil every few hours so they would not get stiff.

Sarah visited my preschool room the next day for an introductory meeting while the other students were out. Her facial features were petite, and she smiled up at me with innocent brown eyes, startlingly naked because her eyebrows were missing. The back of her bald head was badly scarred down to the neck. She wore a simple white sundress that showed her burnt arms. I seized with anger at the father. The I worried about how the other children would react. I struggled to maintain calm in front of Sarah, her foster mother and my teaching assistant. After Sarah and her mom left, I gave into tears.
"We must prepare the students," my assistant reminded me. "We can't just let her walk in and be made fun of."
"To draw attention to her appearance would single her out," I said. After much discussion, we agreed to have Sarah come in for a half-day on her first day in order to ascertain how the children would react towards her.

The morning Sarah arrived she quietly took a seat. I watched her every second. During playtime, the other children talked to her and shared their toys. They didn't seem to notice that she's different.
"It's dress-up time," One of my students reminded me. Everyday before lunch, they all got to raid the closets and play in a collection of grown-up clothes and fanciful kid's costumes.
"Okay, everyone, let's get started," I agreed.

Sarah followed the other children and put on an Easter bonnet and princess outfit. I tried to smile, but the disparity between the delicate fabric and her scarred skin made me ache for her.

Sarah left for lunch. Her classmates had nap-time and then I led a vocabulary-building lesson. Finally I asked the children, "so how do you all like our new friend Sarah?"
One child answered. "Her hands are small."
"Another added, "She picked the long skirt for dress-up."
Not one mentioned her thick skin or her missing hair. The children's observations helped me realise something very valuable. We teachers saw Sarah as a child who had suffered greatly, a child who needed exceptional handling and assistance. We wanted to hold her, prove to her that not all adults were bad. The children, many of whom had also suffered in some way, saw beyond her scarred appearance. They saw another child, a peer, a new friend.

The next school day, during dress-up, Sarah put on the princess clothes again. She stood in front of a full-length mirror and danced in front of her reflection. "I am beautiful," She murmured o herself.

The confidence of her whirling poses and self-compliment struck me. Here was a child who I thought should be shriveling in self-pity. Instead she was twirling around, having fun. I felt humbled by her inner strength and honored to witness her joy in just being alive. I reached out and embraced her. "Yes, Sarah, you are beautiful."

By Michele Wallace Campanelli