... Kini Makin Gelap

3 Sabar got a new pupil today. Iman, a boy. Cocky looking and sure expressed his cockiness when talking to me.

I sniffed trouble.

We were writing that essay on 'Guru Kesayangan Saya' today. Raimi wouldn't stay put as I dwell on the topic so I had to take my leave before I wasted any more time.

He and Ikbal excused themselves for recess duty. I let them and the rest of the class off except for Raja since he was absent last week. We discussed the topic immensely.

Soon Raimi joined us. I didn't know why he came back to class, but I wouldn't let him off unless he sit down and listen.

Which he did. For a while.

The problem with me is that, I almost always jumble up English and Malay. Even for a bit. And Raimi was mimicking. Annoying that boy was. I wish I strangled him.

To stop his bugging, I finally taught karangan Bahasa Melayu to those two boys in English.

Imagine that.

I left the class deserted except for one newcomer Ikbal. Headed towards the canteen for a brunch of syrup drink and a slice of egg sandwiches.

My first meal that day. All this teaching had the same toll of a full-day Komander course I endured in 2005.

I headed towards 2 Amanah. Spotted Raimi and Ikbal hurdling the kids back into their classes after recess. That's what they were supposed to do.

Ikbal was running away from being pursued by some kid taller than him.

Raimi was sauntering towards me, armed with his contagious smiles and lashy words. "Teacher bucuk."

Man.

A one-period with 2 Amanah and we had a quick quiz and a simple guidance on how to properly answer a question. Like, if you were asked "Apakah nama awak?", you're supposed to reply "Nama saya Atiqah." instead of the one word answers kids constantly use.

And the quiz. Well, I felt like treating them to ice cream, that's why we had one.

An hour later, Bahasa Melayu with 3 Amanah. The class wrenched my heart and smashed the fragile organ to pieces. Adding agony to pain, they had it cremated and spread across the cloudy Sungai Kelantan.

Why must they say they understand when in reality they didn't? I'm there to help, not to punish them if they spit out the slimy truth.

I just want to help.

I think I've pushed them too hard. And it nearly broke the dam.

I consoled myself afterwards by strolling around the school and buying a grape drink from Pak Mud's stall. There I met a student I've never before, grinning and clearly trying to strike a conversation.

"Teacher, you're short."

"What?" I nearly lashed out in fury. The hell was he talking? I glanced furtively at Pak Mud's grandkid [my own presuming] who was managing the stall. He feigned deaf.

"Some kid said so."

"The name?"

"Same as mine."

"And yours is?"

"Can't tell."

"Which class?"

"3 Sabar."

"A prefect called Ikbal?"

"Yeah."

I heaved a tired sigh and left the scene.

What's with all the slandering in front of strangers? What happened to the good old image of the prefects of Aman?

Beyond tired. I'm too mature for all these craps.