Words by Angela Manalang Gloria

(In which I’d rather write.)

***

I was supposed to be writing the continuation of my essay for Asian and Philippine Literature when I stumbled upon a poem whose title was what I needed – Words.

Words
by Angela Manalang Gloria

I never meant the words I said,
So trouble not your honest head
And never mean the words I write,
But come and kiss me now goodnight.

The words I said break with the thunder
Of billows surging into spray:
Unfathomed depths withhold the wonder
Of all the words I never say.

It was beautiful. What I admire most about AMG is the way she weaves reality and the female psyche into her verses. I felt so connected to the poem I can almost claim the voice, of course, if not for the poetess’ superior play of words and thought. But I read it again and realized that the first stanza wasn’t for me. Yes, it wasn’t for me. I mean what I say. The second, however, describes me. What I don’t say I mean more.

Sometimes it’s ironic that no matter how many words I utter, I still run out of ways to express myself. I speak, and somehow it gets forgotten. I write for the sake of memory and they get lost. I thought I knew words. Now I doubt if I ever knew them. No one needs to understand. I don’t understand it, either.

So I’d rather write. Besides, I should be writing now.

Photo SourceWe Are Made of Words

Sandy and Me (Part II)

(In which everything becomes suddenly heavy.)

***

Thursday

Judah and I were still having a torturous reading class when the kids ran to our room. Sandy’s bright face was the first one I noticed since she ran the fastest to get to our room first. She was wearing a Prussian blue shirt with an awesome print: Princess Now, Goddess Tomorrow.

She smiled at me and said “Teacher!”

I knew at once that there was something wrong. She usually addresses me on a first name basis especially when she’s happy. Or when she wants to be polite, she calls me by my first name and adds the honorific “Teacher” after it. But today there was just “Teacher”.

“Mom said, do many,” she smiled. I knew exactly what she meant but I didn’t like the way she said it.

“Do many what? You mean we have to do more activities?” I asked.

“Yeah!”

Then the lovely bell rang.

I walked out of the room as soon as the kids went crazy over Judah. Some grabbed his legs, some hugged him and some pulled his arms. Whatever the reason the kids have for being brutally affectionate toward him, Judah, I and the rest of the adult population in the academy, were clueless.

The admin secretary spotted me as I was walking along the hallway, ready to take a left turn to my phone classroom to check my instant messages.

“The manager wants to speak with you,” she said and handed something to another teacher. I automatically sensed what the discussion will be about. I went to the manager’s office feeling nothing but sorry that I wasn’t able to check if Alvin has sent me any messages.

The manager’s room never seemed to be a place to be nervous for me. It doesn’t have the strict aura of other corporate offices. With the tall cabinet of neatly aligned books, it looked more of an elementary school’s principal’s office than a company manager’s. Well, this is basically a school and I was never scared of the principal’s office anyway.

I smiled and greeted her like a good employee and she smiled back then asked me to have a seat like a good host. Then we went straight down to business.

“Well, it’s about the Little Sandy. Her mother thinks the book was easy and it could be finished in just two weeks. She thinks your class’ pacing is too slow. She also know that the Sandy likes you and tricks you so you’ll just play games and not study so you have to be stricter,” she said in a manner so slow it made my heart swell with anticipation, both of the topic of this discussion and her expected, incorrect use of an article, and urgency for the speech to be over.

“Madam, we do study. In fact, we are already in our second book. I agree that the book was easy. Our first book was even harder that the current. The problem is whenever we have a new lesson and we review, I notice that Sandy doesn’t remember what the previous lesson was. Also, she can answer activities, sometimes even perfectly. The thing is, she sometimes has to be reminded before she can actually start answering. And that calls for reviews. That usually takes our time,” I justified.

I knew she understood what I said when she gave out a sigh which sounded to me like “I know that but the mom’s bugging me.” I have always made it a point to include that Sandy’s retention isn’t very good on her progress reports. I knew that the manager was caught in between.

“What should we do about that?” she murmured. Then she looked at me and said “Well, the mother knows Sandy likes you very much but if this continues, she will have to change the teacher and she hates that part.”

The redundant pronoun confused me. I was tempted to ask who each “she” refers to but kept quiet. She continued.

“Maybe we can use that. Tell Sandy to be more responsible and obedient because if not, you will change students.”

I got the plan and suggested something more concerning for me.

“Madam, I hope we can also ask her mom to have review with Sandy at home. I know she’s been tracking our progress. I’ve been writing lesson notes on Sandy’s book and notebook.”

“That would be helpful.”

I went back to my room and found Judah being overwhelmed by the kids. I had to remind every single toddler that the break’s over and they’re no longer welcome before Judah was finally relieved.

“You are so popular among the kids,” I remarked.

“Yes, in Korea too. I don’t know why,” he said, panting. He must have been the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He wasn’t a kid. He knows something was wrong and I told him.

“Oh that’s the child’s problem, not yours,” he sighed. “That’s the problem with children in our country nowadays. They are into too much studying. They don’t enjoy their good childhood memories because they hardly have any. Our generation is so much different compared to them. You know? That 10-year-old is just in elementary school but she is studying middle school math.”

I can only say “Yeah, what a shame.”

“I believe it’s because our country doesn’t have much natural resources so we have to focus on manpower. We have to produce the best and the brightest to help the country’s economy. Frankly speaking… “ He paused and was hesitant at first. Then he continued, “The Philippines is a poorer country than Korea but I believe the people here are better because they are so positive. They always smile and they are happy. In our country, people are very aggressive and competitive. They spend too much time studying but their hearts are empty. They do not know about the real human condition,” he said, pausing every time he has to look up something on his electronic dictionary.

“My father runs a business and he told me not to be like them.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Most people. He said he knew a lot of people who are very smart but not useful because they do not know how to deal with other people,” he answered.

“If you really understand your father, I think you won’t be like most people in your country.”

The hour-long break was bothersome. I knew that the next class will be full of pressure. And I was right.

“Sandy, you understand what you have to do, right? No more delaying tactics. No more running and hiding. You know why?” I asked Sandy as I carried out the manager’s plan.

“I know. But Mom said if we answered many, not change teacher.”

As she said this, she opened her book and started answering the activities; pausing whenever she has questions.

“Teacher, auxiliary and helping verbs are same, right?”

“They are.”

“Yey!”

The two hours were religiously spent on lectures, activities and more activities. After the four-page review, we had lessons and discussion on paragraphs followed by a couple of writing exercises. Then we also had lessons on adverbs and had some more exercises. She asked questions now and was obviously not lax. But it broke my heart to see her write more quickly than usual, ignore Danny when he calls from the other room and look at me impatiently while we’re having our discussions as if she’s late for a lunch date. She also looked extraordinarily frustrated and bothered when she couldn’t recall a term. The ending: 10 pages on the workbook and several more on her notebook done in only two hours; and when she asked me to cover the next couple or more pages since we still have five or ten minutes before the class ends, I almost cried.

The class was fast yet emotionally dragging. Before we call it a day, I was able to ask her why the kids like playing with Judah so much. She said, “We like running and catching him because we want to steal his cigarette. Because that’s bad.”

Sandy and Me (Part I)

(In which there’s always been something to tell.)

***

Monday

I have been used to dealing with Sandy asking if she may go to the bathroom and then stay there for so long that I have to follow her only to see her walking along the corridors with eyes closed and feeling the nearest thing with her face. Once, another teacher saw her and asked why the hell she’s kissing the wall. I knew that sometimes, it was just one of her delaying tactics but often, she’s just being the kid that she is. Other examples of her childish tricks are running and hiding from me, which will eventually result to chasing and tickling and roars of laughter followed by panting and dragging to the classroom. Sometimes, we enjoy that. But not now.

During the second half of our two-hour class, she played her hide-and-seek trick on me again and I found her chatting comfortably with another student in another classroom. I told her that we should leave and study. But she resisted as if I’m going to take her to the death row. She sat down on the carpeted floor and wouldn’t stand. I held both her arms and tried to help her stand only to be burdened by the pressure she’s been exerting to keep herself on the floor.

“Sandy, stop it. Let’s go,” I said calmly.

She whined and pouted which just made her even cuter. But it wouldn’t work. I pulled her again and was defeated by her weight. I can’t continue being in that shameful position so I have to be decisive.

“Listen, Sandy. If I let go of you, I won’t come back here anymore. You’re on your own,” I said seriously.

She gave out the same whine and pout but she didn’t look cute to me anymore. I repeated the threat and she still resisted. That did it. The threat was no longer a threat. I let go of her and walked back to our room.

After a couple of minutes, as I was checking her test papers, out of the corner of my eye I saw a tiny face with long hair tied in a ponytail peeping at the side of the door. After a while, Danny, the male student from the other room, came and asked for Sandy’s dictionary. He was surprised to see Sandy out of the room. And he was even more surprised to see that she’s acting furtively. He got the picture and started teasing her.

“Oh Sandy! Can I borrow your dictionary? Please? Sandy?” he asked in between silent laughs, putting an overly obvious emphasis on her name.

I could hear some mumblings and some more laughter. Then Danny asked one more time.

“Why? What’s wrong, Sandy? Why are you here, Sandy? Why are you hiding?”

I knew it was a terrible situation for her now so I asked her to enter and the teasing and the laughter stopped. Then I explained her mistakes and we had class as though we are enemies who have to be civil for business’ sake. When the bell rang, we said goodbye and left.

Later, as I was having my phone class, someone knocked on my door and in came Sandy when I opened it. She handed me a piece of something yellow and sweet looking pastry with waffle cross marks. I thanked her soundlessly, as I wasn’t supposed to utter unnecessary words while talking to another student on the phone, and she smiled and was off. After the class, I took a bite of the lovely thing. It was crispy and sweet and buttery. I learned the next day that it was called a Butter Waffle.

Tuesday

This day was also known as The Laughing Day. Sandy is getting weirder and crazier, probably because of the high that was caused by knowing she will be back to their country in three weeks’ time. After exhibiting “magic tricks” which we both know all worked when or after I closed my eyes, she started laughing like there was no more tomorrow. And she couldn’t stop. The next thing we knew was that Danny, the student who’s just right behind out wall, was laughing out loud too. And they laugh like freaks who couldn’t stop even if they wanted to.

“Sandy, stop! Relax. Why are you still laughing?” I asked. I was already filled with worry but my face felt as if I was showing a weird smile.

“Teacher… I.. don’t… know.. why I laughing!” she managed to speak and then laughed some more.

The result: two teachers trying to have class with students who can’t stop laughing for unknown reasons. Thus, we can also call this day a Crazily Clueless Day.

Wednesday

It was a normal day. And with Sandy in mind, I define “normal” as the classroom condition wherein I, the teacher, was able to conduct a class for a full thirty to forty minutes without any childish interruptions. And usually, normal classes only occur on the first half of the class.

On the second hour, as she was scribbling something on her pretty notebook that were by now full of my notes in pink and purple ink, and as I was checking her workbook, pausing every time I need to explain or re-explain something, she asked about my travel history.

“Teacher, have you been Korea?” she asked and started to draw a cartoon character with an enlarged head and a ridiculous hairstyle.

“You mean, ‘Have I ever been to Korea'?” I asked in clarification.

“Yeah,” she answered and continued drawing the body which looked like a five pointed star with the upper point off.

“No, I’ve never been there,” I answered. She stopped drawing and looked at me. “Why?”

“Because, I don’t know what I’m going to do there and it costs a lot of money,” I explained.

“Have you ever seen snow?” she asked again and continued her drawing. This time she created the face. She put two dots for the eyes and a lowercase W as the mouth. The drawing looked totally hilarious but I was used to seeing her draw like that so it didn’t affect me like the first time I saw her masterpiece.

“No. But it would be really fun to see it once.”

“Then go to Korea!” She threw her hands up in the air as if she was on a roller coaster. Her drawing was finished.

“When I plan to go there, I’ll tell you.”

She stopped, looked down and smiled. Then she looked up at me and spoke with a big smile.

“Ree-jell, when you call me and tell me you will go Korea, I will meet you in a supermarket,” she said and started laughing. I was thinking that she might be thinking that I’ll treat her some chocolate drops. The she continued. “Then I will close my eyes and walk and find you. Then I will bump into someone so I will open eyes and look – It’s Ree-jell!!” I remembered her habit of playing blind and walking the corridors with her face as her cane. We laughed. Then she spoke softly. “One day. In Korea.”

As the cheeziness of the moment creeps in, we fell silent which I broke after a moment.

“It will take a long time. It’s going to be embarrassing to walk blindly in a supermarket when you’re already at your twenties.”

“Then you’ll be a Grandmother?”

“Probably not. Just a mom, maybe.”

“Are you going to get married? Do you want to?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

“I hope to,” I answered with genuine hope.

Just then we heard Danny singing the Alphabet Song with hilariously repetitive lyrics, keeping the tone of the four letters in his song.

“H, I, J, K, H, I, J, K, H, I, J, K...”

I was aware that my face became an unquestionable display of surprise and curiosity as I felt my facial muscles twitch. Then I heard a brand new addition to the lyrics. Well, with only some minor alterations.

“H, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I...”

The curious and surprised expression on my face suddenly turned into a big smile, then a laughter. After a while, I heard Sandy laughing too.

“Gosh! Danny, you sound like a pirated DVD!” All of us were laughing now.

We asked his teacher what the matter was and she responded.

“Well, he’s trying to alphabetize a list of words.”

Twister

(In which my last resort turned out to be a hit.)

***

Friday. It was the day when my students Mikey and Bangs will be going to Boracay with other students. They look happy and excited that Bangs even took her Friday test last Thursday in anticipation for the weekend hangover from Bora. Yet I doubt their decision of going on a trip on this kind of weather. With the doubt comes envy. I need a vacation too. So two students going away means several hours of additional sleep. That will do.

But the night before the trip, I received a text message saying that they cancelled their trip because of the weather. I bade goodbye to my several hours of additional sleep. That’s not a very big problem really. But the thing is I didn’t prepare an exam for Mikey since he asked to be given a test on Monday. And great thanks to my work schedule, I barely had time to enjoy dinner.

So I did something for Mikey first thing the next morning. I thought of giving him tongue twisters on the sounds he is having the most difficulty. His face twitched when he saw me with the papers, thinking that they were test papers.

“Exam? But you told me on Monday!” he said, trying hard to make me understand how important was the promise I broke.

“No. They’re tongue twisters.” I replied.

“Ahh.. Okay”

After some mouth stretching, we started off with… yeah, Peter Piper - our dear friend from the elementary school who never got tired of picking pickled peppers and packs of papers.

The student from the other room seemed so curious about our chants which are oozing with P’s and occasional F’s that she asked her teacher about it. A moment later, while we were chanting how the flea and the fly flew through the flaw in the flue, I heard her saying something about the girl who sells seashells by the seashore. When the bell rang, I went back to the room where I conduct phone classes to check on my e-mail. When I went out, I saw, much to my surprise and gladness, a bunch of students chanting where the pickled pepper Peter Piper picked was and that Laura and Larry rarely lull their rural roosters to sleep.

At least I did something interesting today.

Redefinitions

(In which my internal problem was finally realized and I learned “new words.")

***

Shopping means time, energy and money, of course. But last Saturday, it meant new meanings to me.

I told my sister that I’ll be shopping for art materials and she asked me to come with her to Anitpolo, saying that the bookstore I’m looking for has a branch there. So off we went and she was unbelievably concerned about me getting there that she rode off the jeep and walked me to the bookstore.

“It’s far from your workplace, right?”

“Yeah. But you aren’t familiar with this place so I’m showing you where it is. I’ll just take a tricycle later.”

How sweet!

When we finally get to the scarlet bookstore, I thanked her and waved goodbye.

“Ate! Don’t forget the letter I told you to edit and print, okay? It should be ready tonight.”

How sweet.

I entered and left my bag at the baggage counter then started looking for the materials I needed.

Masking tape: check!

H and B Faber-Castell pencils: check!

Faber-Castell eraser: check!

Faber-Castell Classic Colored Pencils: check!

Ooops. Then I saw it. It’s a set of 36 Faber-Castell Classic Colored Pencils and it cost more than a hundred pesos cheaper than what I have. But it's also 12 pieces less. I held it up and compared. It will be wise to check which colors were included in the 48-piece set that were not in the 36-piece set. But the free DVD was put in the place that would not allow me to see the colors in the set. Great.

I spent more than one minute thinking and arguing with myself over which one is better.

Sure. The other one is way cheaper but it’s not the best I can have. I mean, I don’t mind spending a lot for something really good. I might be able to save myself from spending almost two hundred bucks but it won’t save me from the disappointment that I will get later on from not being able to make the right color combinations or settling with my limited palette. 12 colors – THEY MATTER!

Then a realization hit me.

Why do I settle for the temporary happiness something gives me when I can have something better? If it makes me feel good for now, will it last?

That’s it. I believe I know where my problem is now.

Long term effects plus good quality: CHECK!

It’s time now to get the papers. I went upstairs to pick some really good Strathmore or Canson paper. Wow! Just the thought of it really makes me feel good! I remember my sorrow during my high school days when I can’t purchase these art materials because they are very expensive. I remember the hard times I have to endure thinking about combining different colors to get a more complicated one because I only have the 12 basic, limited colors… (Screeching sound.) But that’s over.

I pulled a sheet of plastic-covered beige Canson paper just to get disappointed. Damn, they look like they have been touched by someone who hates them! It took me ages before I can get the neatest of them all. I was planning to get two sheets of Canson but because of their misfortune, I just chose to get a Berkeley instead. Poor Canson papers.

I went to the counter to pay for the items. The cashier carefully placed them, except the papers, in a plastic bag. She sweetly asked me if I want to take advantage of the bag the bookstore’s offering for Php99.

“No thanks.”

“Okay.” Then she smiled. She held the two sheets of watercolor paper up and placed them on the counter.

“Is it okay if I fold them?”

“Ugh… Please don’t. I had a hard time getting the smooth ones. You can just rol-“

“Okay. I understand. I’ll just fold them,” she said with an I’m-not-stupid-I-know-what-you-mean kind of smile.

I opened my mouth to stop her from folding it but before I could utter a sound of protest, she has already rolled it, wrapped it with a plastic strip and secured it with a tape.

“Anything else, ma’am?”

“No. That would be it. Thank you.”