Salam
Hmm. Maaf, sejak kebelakangan ni saya sedikit kurang semangat untuk bercerita. Bukan tak ada cerita, tapi malas mahu bercerita.
Esok hari terakhir penggal pertama persekolahan. Petang lusa saya terbang pulang ke KL. Pagi tulat naik bas ke KB. Lama tak naik bas. Mak aih, 6-7 jam nak buat apa ya? Kena bawa buku balik buku cerita lah ni.
Ikut rancangan asal, si dia ajak ke Melaka menghadiri perkahwinan rakannya yang juga rakan kapasitor; Syawal dan Azira. Memandangkan penerbangan saya sampai lewat petang sedangkan dia harus ada di sana pada waktu itu bagi sesi fotografi malam berinai, makanya kami tidak dapat bersua. Entah bila agaknya...
Cuti ada dua minggu tapi kalau sudah pulang ke kampung halaman, susah saya nak bergerak ke KL semula kemudian balik ke KB lagi. Kalau tiket penerbangan KB-KL belum dibeli lagi, boleh juga saya turun sana awal sebelum pulang ke KK. Ini tidak, jadi banyak kerja pula.
Tapi.., entahlah... hmm... haih...
Malas fikir. Nasib baik kertas peperiksaan budak-budak ni dah hampir habis ditanda.. Huyea!
Err.. hmm....
Salam.
Peace
Frank McCourt : Teacher Man
Instead of teaching, I told stories. Anything to keep them quiet and in their seats. They thought I was teaching. I thought I was teaching. I was learning. And you called yourself a teacher? I didn't call myself anything. I was more than a teacher. And less. In the high school classroom you are a drill sergeant, a rabbi, a shoulder to cry on, a disciplinarian, a singer, a low-lever scholar, a clerk, a referee, a clown, a counselor, a dress-code enforcer, a conductor, an apologist, a philosopher, a collaborator, a tap dancer, a politician, a therapist, a fool, a traffic cop, a priest, a mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, a bookkeeper, a critic, a psychologist, the last straw. - Frank McCourt: Teacher Man


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