Don't Hate the Word, Playa!

     Reading the Word Power section in my April issue of the Reader's Digest has inspired me to do something different today. Before this, I would try my very best to 'increase my word power' by committing every new word that I have learned into memory, but unfortunately, to no avail. Sigh. A lot of it may be attributed to the fact that I never really had the chance to use those bombastic words either in speaking or writing.

     Today, I have decided that I should do something about it. I decided to use all the new words that I have learned to describe my day. So, here goes:

     As of now, I feel extremely exhausted. The overwhelming tasks of behemoth proportions are lying before me, waiting to be dealt with. Sorry, but I am just not in the mood. I decided that I better spend my time learning how to develop some concinnity by conjuring up a blog post using my newly acquired, elegant vocabulary.

     As many teachers might tell you, the craziest moments at work would be when examinations are approaching. Preparations need to be done, and as far as the English language is concerned, I sometimes feel like a factotum. The conjuncture of events both at school and district levels makes the situation even crazier.

     To add salt to my wound, the lack of decorum among my pupils does not help make the situation better. I was having a hectic day today, with four classes in a row, leaving me a mere 20-minutes in between to have my breakfast. I nearly choked myself to death when I hurriedly ingurgitated my food in fear of being late for the next class. I literally dashed in my high heels up the stairs to my 5B class, only to discover that a quarter of the boys in the class had disappeared. Apparently, according to the girls, they were having some sort of a jubilant celebration at the restroom. Needless to say, those fortunate boys received a well-deserved auto-da-fe treatment for the 'vanishing act' that they had performed the moment they reappeared at the classroom door.

     And that was not the end of the story. In my rage, I failed to realise that two of the boys had not returned to the classroom yet.

      "Where are they?" I demanded.
     One of the boys stuttered, "Still there, in the toilet".
     "Doing what?"
     "They had a fight. Imran's leg was stuck in the toilet bowl. Azim is trying to help him out".
     "And you all left them?!?"

     Silence.

     Sometimes I wonder whether I am teaching in a primary school or a palaestra. Anytime from now, I would transform myself into a children-eating chimera - a combination of a big octopus, a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Incredible Hulk and Simon Cowell. Those cute, mischievous little rascals would cry in their pants and beg me to forgive them. And to never do it again. Oh, how I wish I could. But I couldn't. For now, forcing them to write "I will not party with my friends in the toilet" and "I will not try to flush my friend's leg down the toilet" in their exercise books a hundred times would have to suffice.

     I am not saying that the whole day was a disaster, though. A little boy made me smile during recess.

     "I made this for you", the cute one said, shyly.
     "Thank you, Iskandar".
     "I hope you like it". He turned away and ran out of the staffroom.

     Iskandar had drawn a portrait of me. Below his signature, he had scribbled: "The prettiest teacher". It was just a simple child's drawing, but to me, it seemed like a masterpiece in its own right. A work of art that displays such acumen that has left me greatly impressed. And flattered, of course. Hehe. Perhaps the 'Pretty Teacher' painting is going to be among the first of Iskandar's juvenilia. An autodidact artist, this special boy has a lot ahead of him.

     I thought I should leave early today. I tried to escape from the staffroom to get some fresh air, but the task was made impossible by the piles of papers and books that are lying on the desk, on the floor, everywhere, turning the small, crowded and congested place into a tricky maze. The chorography of my own working space is such a complex task, I think I would need a map if I ever hope to get back in after I get out. That is, if I ever succeed in getting out.

     I succeeded, just barely. A hard, humiliating fall caused by a clumsy stumble upon a rock-heavy dictionary when I was just inches away from the door knocked some senses into my head. I fell flat on my back.

     "Cyn, are you okay?" My colleague stared down at me, wide clownish grin on his face.
     "Yeah. Nothing's broken, I guess".
     "Let me help you up".
     "Thank you".
     "No big deal". He still had that silly grin on his face.
     "Damn dictionary". I cursed under my breath.
     The silly grinner chuckled. "Don't hate the word, playa; hate the dictionary!"
     "Huh?"
     "Brian Celio. The American novelist. He comes up with that".

     Yeah, I've heard of Celio. That quote of him sounds like music to my ears. Years from now, it would definitely turn into a priceless adage handed down from generation to generation.

     "Don't hate the word, playa; hate the dictionary!" - Brian Celio.

     Hmm. I love it so much that I want it to be the epigram on my tomb when I die.

    Either that, or...

    "The Prettiest Teacher" - Iskandar.

    Or maybe both. :-P