Droplets from my pen

My eyes yearn for one more glimpse of your sweet smile, Oh Ma Leila. It was all too sudden: your death, your inevitable return to Allah. It was you who inspired the love for tunes and recital of prose and poetry. So as I touch the texts from which you read, you are more than just a distant memory. Through your guidance I realised the power of expression. At times no words were necessary -- just a simple grin of affirmation. The smell of Panache fills the air as I breathe when I think of you, Ma. And, as I dream of you at night I know that you're not that far. At your door I once stood and watched as you took that one small pill. And at that very moment I realised that you were ill. Then one morning you went for a routine visit to the doctor to check on the pain you felt. And just the day before...rubbing your feet, on my knees I knelt. I did not get to say goodbye because you never returned again. So forever your spirit will remain alive through my thoughts, my prayers an...

White on, white off... so the day goes. Imagine a day with no green-, black- or whiteboard. Would this be a problem? Not really- depending on your view of teaching and learning. The board is a medium for recording, demonstrating and displaying. And so, we often use the medium to its full capacity. Or... Do we? White on, white off... So the day goes. This has been a long day, The duster and chalk knows... The board has served us for a very long time, In its memory is math, sciences, art and rhyme. As we stand with our backs toward the board, We look ahead at the paper piles we hoard. My board, my pride. White on, white off. So the day goes.

Dear learners... I am your teacher/guardian while you are at this school. The setting of high expectations for yourselves is my golden rule. Do not expect me to turn a blind eye to your different levels of transgressions. All I want is your honesty-no need for public confessions. I know that there are things you have to deal with which are out of my control. I cannot say I understand, but know that I am here to listen and to console. I do become frustrated when your work is incomplete. It is only because I want you to experience (mostly) successes instead of defeat. Do not roll your eyes at me just because I care. I will, without a doubt, reprimand you with a motherly stare. You have been placed in my class for the duration of this year. There is no need to be anxious, no need to fear. I know that I may not smile every minute of everyday. I just have that serious face you know, to keep the naughty ones at bay. There are no 'ideal' learners, no teacher's pets ...

And so… My first year of teaching was a tsunami: smaller tremors and a huge earthquake. My heart shudders, my tears flow, the effects of the trauma I cannot fake. I listen to my heartbeat while my breathing hastens. Here the wave of emotion comes, behold, perserverance and patience. No song nor poem can erase the debris. I am still gasping for air-what has come over me? I cry at random times as the tremor emerges. The flashbacks become overwhelming as the huge wave surges. “Help!”- I should have said at the time I almost drowned. But all I did was swim and crawl to find  higher ground. Around me people seemed not to notice the tragedy because (perhaps) it was all in my head. “Stretch out your hand and call for help”,  my inside voice should have said. I shake my head and blink a few times to remind myself about the present. I cannot go back, cannot regret, life’s waning crescent. Though the memory of the disaster remains. It is etched deep in...