Friday, January 2, 2009
Moving House
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Kids
to my favorite teacher ms nesreen, I wish for you a happy future. good by mr cris*.Raba'adear mr. cris, Hi and bye and I wish you will be lean again ;-) and I wish your next B-4* are worse than yours now. good by. miss nissreen i wish you will become mrs.!!! don't forget us.AliahThank you for teaching me and you are a good teacher and good luck in you life and don't eat a lot! and if I saw Adnan Fallatah* I will tell him my teacher says hello.YazeedThank you for study me mr cris and I wish you have good life.IbrahimHi Hi to my teacher thanks for you to be my teacher & for helping me. I wish to see you another time.from Shams (Maha!)* Inside the classroom, we each had alter-egos. Mine was Mr. Cris, the know-it-all 50-year-old English teacher with a horrible British accent.* B-4 is the name they gave to their class.* Adnan Fallatah of the Ittihad football club was a favorite classroom meme. All the students were hard-core Ittihad fans.I ran into a couple of these students early this year. They've all grown up, shed the cooties, moved on to teenage drama. Me? I'm still racing around the teacher's room in a swivel chair.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
The Mind Dump
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I Think It's...
Sweet when people wave good bye without actually waving, with just a firm hand, like a frozen high-five.
Sweet when your friends and your other friends get along so well that it doesn't feel like you introduced them to each other, like they'd known each other forever. Friends-in-law.
Sweet when you receive presents that may otherwise be extraordinarily ordinary, and yet are just what you need or want. Like bookends. A snapshot of you in mid-laugh. A candy bar.
Sweet when people tilt their heads sideways a little bit and smile at you across the noise in a huge room.
Sweet when people look out into the wide unknown and contemplate their future, with that preoccupied look on their face.
Sweet when sunlight shines through the curtains and tiny, little nothings float around in the sunlight.
Sweet when you catch people smile into their pillows first thing in the morning.
Sweet when you close your eyes against a cool breeze, sun-kist.
Sweet when you hear a song you could've written.
Sweet when someone remembers.
Sweet.
And a little romance never hurt anyone.
- 14 November 2007
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Definition of Madness?
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Remembering The Tinman
*****
So this is what heartbreak is.
You feel so crushed you're almost numb. You're sitting there, with your jittery hands, and your pounding heart, and your averted gaze, and your embarrassing nails, and your out-of-place bag, and your unwanted food, and you are crushed.
You almost believed it. For the first time in years, you remember The Tinman, who stole your heart, the smile from your face.
What robber, what thief, who took away the part so essential to the whole, who stole your heart, who took it away, knowing that without it you can't live.
You had faith in this, that it would work, because it was so unexpected, because it came to you at a time when you weren't looking, or expecting anything from anyone of such close proximity.
Sometimes, before tonight, you would mentally shake yourself, and hit yourself on the back of the head, and suspect that there is some dark magic involved that made you so preoccupied with him, that dark magic you've only ever heard of, that dark magic that manipulates vulnerable souls into thinking they are attracted to someone.
Sometimes, the shaking and the hitting would work for a few seconds, and you would convince yourself that you were right; why else would you be so besotted by someone you wouldn't ordinarily be besotted by. Why else? But it would only last a few minutes, and then you're back to the kidding-yourself.
Was it a trickster using mirrors and sleight of hand
A strong elixir or a potion that you drank?
Who hurt your heart
Bruised it in a place?
And some neighborhoods away, there lies your friend in her bed, crying her eyes out because you know her and you know that she IS crying, and you feel her pain, a pain that is probably identical to yours. And you want to share with her the story of the Tinman, but you know you can't because you've kept so much from her. You are so crushed that no tears come to your eyes.
You are so embarrassed that you said the things you said. You would think you knew better.
You are crushed by the images that cross your mind, of a happy ever after that will never be yours.
You are reminded by all the things that you don't have that could be the reason behind this loneliness. You are reminded by the profoundness of the pathetic situation you are in, of how deeply sorry it is. You are reminded of the neglect that is the only thing you possess, neglect of self, neglect by others, neglect by friends, neglect by family.
You are forced to rise from this. You are forced to pretend nothing happened, that there was no heartbreak, that you didn't have to give up anything because you never owned up to anything to begin with.
Your arms feel weak, your knees.
And you feel even worse by your friends' concern for you. That their concern should explicitly imply that you have, in fact, lost before you've even begun the game.
You are now forced to dust yourself off, and to remind yourself over and over again: Wrong person, wrong time.
Remind yourself, over and over and over:
If you can tear down the walls
Throw your armor away, remove all roadblocks, barricades
If you can forget there are bandits and dragons to slay
And don't forget that you defend an empty space
And remember, the Tinman
Found he had what he thought he lacked
Remember the Tinman
Go find your heart and take it back
Who stole your heart?
Maybe no one can say
One day you will find it I pray...
You are forced to convince yourself that everything's gonna be alright, from here on out. If you just hold yourself together. Like you always have.
*****
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Citations Needed
Instructor's Manual (n) bulky book you take everywhere, presumably to prepare lessons. Main purpose is to cause extreme discomfort on account of its heaviness. To be read in the car on the way to work for maximum cramming.
Student (n) the number one cause of violence and thoughts of murder.
Cleaning Lady (n) i.e. Khala Zahrah; person who witnesses increasing signs of teacher madness, when you deliberately slide down the hallways en route to your class. *cough*
Break Time (n) a 15-minute-period between classes dedicated to catching up on gossip and acquiring any number of diseases from 2nd-hand smoke.
Thursday (n) when the countdown starts for Saturday, when you have to work again.
Friday (n) the day you spend being miserable about tomorrow being Saturday, when you have to work again.
Saturday (n) damn it.
Senior Instructor (n) instructors who have been working at Berlitz for at least 2 years, who can't stop talking about WadhHa, the greatest center director of all time.
Junior Instructor (n) new instructors who are probably getting really tired of hearing about it.
Cafeteria Lady (n) person who knows when an instructor is PMS-ing, based on how much candy and chocolate the instructor consumes.
Twix (n) the Berlitz instructor's kryptonite.
Bulletin Board (n) where you should post a document you don't want anyone to read.
Receptionist (n) person whose job all instructors want.
WadhHa (n) the greatest center director of all time.