The Quiltmaker's Gift

What a pity that I haven't heard or seen this book before. However, it is a true joy to find the meaning and discover that there is such a literature for children that illustrates what I long to do with my life for the coming years.

The book is called The Quiltmaker's Gift and is written by Jeff Brumbeau and illustrated by Gail de Marcken. It is a charming fable of a generous quiltmaker who sews the most beautiful quilts in the world, then gives them away. It involves a greedy king, rich and powerful, yet unhappy with the things he have. The two lives intertwined and each learn the power of change and sharing.

The premise of the story is that the quilt maker will give one of her special quilts to the king if the latter agrees to part with his so called treasures to those who are in need. It is like to free ourselves from the bondage of materialism and confront our fear of losing what we have. At the end of the book, the quilt maker gave one of the quilt she especially made for the king and the king answered:

"But I am not poor. I may look poor, but in truth my heart is full to bursting, filled with memories of all the happiness I've given and received. I'm the richest man I know."

It is difficult to give away things we possess or had acquired for the longest time. It is equally hard to let go. However, we live to enjoy these things and when we part, these things will serve their purpose to other people again. Our link to material things should be that of needs and not of wants. Hard to let go, but beautiful to live a more simpler life.

The beauty of living is not that of acquiring wealth but that of acquiring wisdom and strength to fulfill our goals to lead and reach others. This is one goal I look forward to achieve.

Christmas

We make choices in life. Some chose to be away from home because they need to start a new life. Some made a choice to be away to escape what there was in their past lives. Some chose to stay. Whatever the choice was, there is one thing that connect us again, Christmas.

I put up a Christmas tree for many reasons. I celebrate Christmas and believe in the birth of Jesus Christ. I put up a tree every year because I am alone in the house, for almost eleven months of each year. The tree becomes a reminder of my childhood days: the presents, the parties, the get-togethers, my friends and my family. The tree reminds me of the true meaning of Christmas: not that of receiving but being more loving, more caring and more forgiving.

Since I live alone, the tree is there to reminisce family gatherings and make myself feel better. Looking at the tree is like having hope all the time. When I sit down on my sofa watching the flickering lights, I cry not because of its simplistic beauty but because of the past and good memories associated with it. Christmas is my favourite celebration and putting up the tree early is a way of making the spirit of Christmas longer in my household. Believe me that it takes courage to put them back inside the box.

The lights of the tree just as the star that led the Three Kings to Jesus will shine among us so that we could always remember the goodness of Christmas and the goodness of our hearts, the friendship and the best times of togetherness, the love and warmth of our families, and our commitment to our faith.

Merry Christmas to all and God bless!

300

300 entries since the beginning and I am still going to write and share. Entries about my passions- gardening and teaching; trials and successes; failures and sorrows; books and religion. Each and every entry is a creation not just by the mind but by the heart. My present status as being all alone throughout had forced me to create a vessel to communicate my thoughts and feelings gathered everyday.

300 is a big number but still a minuscule to the many ideas that permeates my core of thinking. It is nothing compared to the many thoughts that pervades my everyday meet with disasters and joys. It is also not enough to compare the number of times I was hurt or fell in love or thoughts of giving up. The entries I wrote were just a summary of my real core.

Each entry speaks about a layer of my inner thoughts, desires or faulty decisions. They moved me to seek support from readers and learned through those posts the magnanimity of dialogues. I seek not of an audience but a venue for my appreciation and disappointments. I made a start, continued through these years and eventually managed to reach these many entries.

I will continue to write as it is my only companion in life. Even without an audience, my monologues about living will surely be heard not because it is loud and daunting but because it speaks from the heart.

A Child Like Keene

Keene's drawing

I accepted doing special tutoring to this former student of mine not because of money. Their house is about forty five minutes away from mine give and take the traffic. I take three different modes of transportation to reach my destination: samlor, a cab, and a motorcycle taxi. I take a Skytrain and a cab to return home. It looks a lot of riding but it is my choice.

The family of this boy called Keene is a wonderful family whose warmth and friendship are priceless. The sister is equally smart and fun to teach. Keene displays an ardent desire to learn in most instances. He absorbs details and has been very inquisitive since he was little.

I teach Keene because I have see his great progress socially, emotionally, and academically. I enjoyed my preschool days with him. He always have this infectious smile and questioning eyes. It is obvious that he's one of my favourites.

One day, his family has to be in one particular mall and it just so happened that I needed a book from a bookstore so I tagged along. The walk from the parking space to the supermarket where the family was heading was short but it was in that very short distance that I felt something in my heart.

Keene was holding my hand and the feeling of being a dad surfaced unto me. It was magical but short-lived. The possibility to be a dad is nil but to be one, for a short time, is empowering.

Small Talk, Lasting Impression

When I first started working as a preschool teacher in a not so familiar environment, I had apprehensions and bouts of loneliness about what's to happen and what's to expect. When one is in an unfamiliar territory, with less experience and knowledge about life, I get anxious.

One early evening I was invited by an English friend to have dinner at their residence. I accepted the invitation and enjoyed the company of her family. It wasn't a lavish feast but it was very warm and welcoming. When the table was being cleaned up, the two children ages 4 and 6, asked me to watch television with them and during that short moment, a conversation ensued.

"Who lives with you in your house?"

"No one, I live alone."

"That's why you are lonely."

"I am fine but sometimes I do feel lonely."

"You know, you could come to our house if you feel sad."

"Oh, thank you. So nice for the offer."

"We could play some games or you could come for a sleep over."

"That would be lovely. Both of you are so very nice."

The food at that dinner table and the setting of the house are just distant memories and I couldn't even recall them. The warmth and friendship of the family is the one that stuck to me through my many years of battling the realities of life. The sincerity and the wisdom of those two children had been cornerstones of my existence knowing and believing that people exists for others.

The boys had grown and the family had long left Thailand but the friendship they offered during my down days simply never skipped my mind and heart. Thanks to the Harris family.


artwork by Emilia D.

Answered

Morning tea
waking
staring out at a distance.

Deep thoughts
wishing
life gifts of exuberance.

Well worth
thanking
one's daily existence.

Moment stopped
gasping
far from resistance.

Distance short
beholding
a sight to fathom.

Second look
shivering
a face magnificence.

Blind sight
illuminating
etched phantom.

Benign sign
smiling
filled of wisdom.

My Own Fairy Tale

Fairy tales often captures the imagination of both boys and girls. The sword fight and the fearsome tales of the knight fascinate boys while the beauty of a princess and her magical adventures grab the minds of the girls. Often, fairy tales have a happy ending.

Some create fairy tales of their own. Rising from poverty to rich splendour, some have managed to do such feat. Waking up from the slumber of defeat and hopelessness, some met the light and started to fight. Of what seems like tales become fulfillment of dreams. I commend them for their achievements.

For others, the temptation of the apple seems aplenty in our daily living that biting one would probably be our initial and continual actions. It's not a kiss that could wake us up from our deep sleep nor holding on to the glass slipper to find our match. We do not need a fairy godmother to magically transform our present life to a one night of fantasy. For what seems like enchantment could also be a source of disappointment.

We weave tales in our lives making mistakes or completing a cycle of great achievements. The characters in our stories challenges us to meet a certain expectation but it is within our power that we make a life to live. We trust our own fundamental capacity to succeed whether we are generously supported or treated badly. Our fairy tales can come true because we believe in ourselves.

I wanted to create a fairy tale where I get to be happy forever and ever but I live in a real world. The real world has so many things to offer but I always miss the opportunities because I was busy with other things or simply because I ignore what's around me. The creation of my fairy tale will probably merit nothing but a sad ending. Thus, it is about time to look where I am heading rather than let people direct me. It is happening now and I am fortunate that I have faith in myself and that I can do many things despite the many obstacles.

The Time Is Now

Revelations creep through each and every entries I post and I find it a relief that my feelings are validated after I finished posting my stories to share. There were moments of weariness and trodden despairs whilst tidbits of guilt and bursting happiness. Each and every stories are pages of my life from the past to the most recent.

What did I learn from all these years of writing uneventful or surprising events? There are a lot to say about the good and that I am ready to face whatever evil comes along the way in forms of jealousy, envy or flat criticism of my style of writing. I write because I needed to open up a kettle full of steam. The feelings inside maybe of hatred or love, success or failure, or just plain sharing of idle thoughts. Needless to say, it's my life.

I write because I wanted to pave the way to my feelings toward other people such as my family, my friends, my interests and my students. My compliments for them simply stemmed up from my respect and heartfelt love for being with me, or believing in me, or by supporting me in many ways.

The time is now for me to say thank you and that I owe them what I have, a life that I respect and a life that I perceive as full of grace and unending rewards. The time is now for me to say I miss you all and that you're always be included in my prayers. The time is now to reveal that I do love being with you as much as I love seeing and hearing from you all.

Special thanks to Jepoy, Lucas, Kris, Tik, Lilian, Joan, See Teik, Odelia, Jiji, Steph and to all those who visit and read my entries.

The Dancing Man

Ruth Bornstein's The Dancing Man is of a wonderful story about a little boy who was fond of dancing. One day, he met an old man and gave him silver shoes as a present. When he was old enough to wear them, he ventured far away and danced for everyone. He made his way from one town to the next, meeting good people who appreciated his dancing and touching their lives. Until one day when he was tired and weary, he knew what to do and decided to continue the legacy of the Dancing Man by leaving the shoes to a young boy whose dream was to dance and see the world.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to a charity performance presented by Point Studio based here in Bangkok. It was the studio's fifth anniversary and they decided to showcase their dancers and students with a production called Fun+.

The entire show was mesmerizing as the dancers gave their brilliant performance interpreting various styles of dancing. It provided the audience with different aspects of Thai society seen today and in the entertainment field. Of outstanding value to me was the interpretation that reflected the dark side of Thai society featuring the night club dancers, the garbage collectors, the beggars and the hungry. Scene after scene, the dancers captured the audience with the intensity of their dancing and artistic rendition of different roles. It was a feast to the senses.

We are the dancing men and the road we traverse is the road to our goal or dream. The people we met along the way are the experiences of our lives, the failures and the happiness. The passing of the shoes means the love we can pass to others as we travel the road to our self-fulfillment. We become messengers, providers, and receivers and we do our job in many ways. For some, it is in dancing that they convey their sentiments. The Dancing Man and the dancers at Point Studio speaks of the same things: love to one's craft and the pursuit of one's dream.

A Typical Day

I start the day with a bright spirit. The morning rituals of dressing up, breakfast and going to school has always been accompanied by prayers of thanks and provisions. My driver is the first person I see every morning. He is jovial and would always be smiling. There is a certain air of light bearing that is pass on to me.

Then I see the people in my school. I get some greetings from some and a great, big hug from a very good friend. I start the day greeting each and every child, making sure I speak with everyone giving my full attention and make my students' learning fun. This is one typical day. After school, I go and conduct special tutorials to older children.

After a tiring but joyful sharing of my time, talent and wisdom, I retreat to my abode for a needed rest. I either use the computer while waiting for the washing or simply lie down on the couch facing the television. I do some watering and some cleaning up. If I have the luxury of an hour or so, I would be walking and inspecting the garden and eventually doing some gardening. Later, I would be going to bed with a book to read, a prayer to offer and off to a much needed sleep.

A typical day with atypical purpose: to live a meaningful life, to touch lives of others, and to commune with my surroundings.

The Secret Life of Jonathan Yu

A colleague who happens to be a good friend is back and she is still full of zest and enthusiasm. I have not seen her for many years and she has been away from the e-mailing thingy since then.

Before she left for the US, she asked my permission to write a book and told me that she'll be giving the book the title, The Secret Life of Jonathan Yu. I was intrigued because my friend does not know much about me but she made mentioned that she was just going to use my name because it sounds fascinating for a title.

Anyway, I thought of this when I met her again and through my mind, the ideas had been running like crazy. What is there to write if I actually have a secret life. Could it be my brush with accident and death in many different instances? Could it be my unconsummated affairs from the past? Could it be the many stories shared to me by strangers and how open they were to me? Could it be the invitations to meet new people and the offer to marry some strangers? Could it be the encounters I had with robbers, hired women, and cabbie drivers?

Our secret lives are feasts to others whether they are weaved by gossips or truthful events. Our secret lives proves the duality of living something we are interested into and something we dare to try. We are not dictated by the society to act like what they want us to behave. We dare not defy the law nor aim to please others but we live our lives because we wanted to live worthily and be happy.

The Secret Life of Jonathan is already written in this blog. Though sometimes it takes some layers to peel to truly understand my thoughts and innermost feelings. As one enters this realm of understanding someone else's thoughts, the revelations can merit different reactions. Simple yet fulfilling.

Friday's Treat

Friday for me is my fave day of the week. I named it my ice cream day. The reason is because I get to go to the nearest mall to get myself an ice cream, kind of a treat to myself for being a good person.

The rewards I seek are simple: a pat for a job well done, a simple thank you note, a smile from a colleague, a warm hug from a lost friend and others. I treat myself to an ice cream, or a bar of chocolate or a movie. I reward myself of a day's rest or a weekend's retreat to the beach. Simple rewards in everyday situations and not wanting more.

Some rewards are yearned. I do miss the times when I opt for the weekends because I get to be with friends. I do miss the times when I opt for Sundays because I get to do some Christian missions. I do miss being with my friends and the story is different now.

While I grow older and reward myself with less things, I am learning that living is not about accumulating wealth but by living it wisely. Just like a child, a small rewarding experience is better than being given a bulky present for good behaviour. If we somehow train a child to get what he wants all the time, then we do not give justice to his or her upbringing. If we provide just what is needed, then problems would be more manageable as a child grows. It will always be a conflict between wants and needs.

Yes! I like Fridays but I like the other days of the week too. Each and every day is a goal oriented day whether there is a reward to be collected or not. Overall, it stems up just being simple in needs yet living a fruitful and satisfying life.

Dreamsong

Dreamsong is a beautiful book written by Alice McLerran and illustrated by Valery Vasiliev. It talks about a boy named Pavel who heard a song from his dream and decided to seek the meaning during the course of a day. He found bits and pieces of the song but was searching for the beginning till he was tired of searching and headed for home.

Dreamsong could be interpreted in many ways yet it was the song of a mother that simply distinguishes the story from other books about motherly love. The song was portrayed as wonderful, triumphant, tender, joyous and wistful. For only to our own child could we create and sing a song not wary of the people around or the voice range used. To every child, a mother's voice is pure.

Though there will be no opportunity for me to sing to my own child, I render my singing voice though admittedly OK but not great, to the children I teach. I do not rock them to sleep but I transform the class into one lively and joy filled session with the goal to appreciate music.

My mother's voice is heavenly as she used to be a singer during her younger days. I was told by my grandmother that she was sought after by men and radio companies. I was also told that among the five sisters, she was the best singer of them all. I miss my mom and I am raring to see her this holiday season. For me, my 'dreamsong' would always be my mother's voice.

All the beauty that I knew,
All the love, I put in you.
Now the music can take wing;
Now the song is yours to sing.

Sweet the grass and warm the sun,
Learn to leap and dance and run.
Nothing in the world to fear-
If you need me, I am near.

Loveliness without an end!
Ah, what lies around the bend?
Loveliness that is today,
Loveliness that cannot stay....

Rivers flow into the sea,
Gliding into memory.
Gliding off, and born again-
Rain to river, sea to rain.
(McLerran)

A Lovely Letter

The measure of friendship is not the number of times we meet each day or the frequency of calls or chats we do in a week. When some consider the long absence of communication a sign of weakness or death, I consider the absence as an opportunity to revive and renew.

I received a thank you note recently from a friend and it is just a joy to get one from a fine teacher and person like him. The letter speaks of quality hence, this entry.

Dear Jonathan,
In the closing days of my stay in Thailand, I had a thoroughly enjoyable
and delightful evening in the company of a charming gentleman.

That was a lovely gesture for you to take me to dinner and the show at
Siam Niramit. Thank you. That is now ensconced as one of my treasured
memories. And thank you too, for the gift of the buffalo horn salad servers.
We eata lot of salads throughout summer so the thoughts of Jonathan
will never be far removed from my mind.

It really was a treasure to see you again. Though our meetings
are but once a year, I anticipate them eagerly for the warmth
and friendship they renew.

Always with love, Stephen

P.S. Do please consider a holiday in Australia. My family and I would love to welcome you as our guest.

YOU'RE WELCOME!

More on Art

Under the Spell of the Moon is a beautiful read-aloud art book created for children by the world's greatest picture-book illustrators. Some of the featured artists in this book are Quentin Blake, Mitsumasa Anno, Anthony Browne, Rosemary Wells, and others. These mentioned artists are some of my favourites.

I create art works through my students by exploring different styles and techniques of doing art and works of different artists. Right now, we have started making an ABC art book based on paintings made by famous artists. We have Picasso, Klee, VanGogh, or Marc to study. It is very rewarding as art becomes a form of creative expression not just of the mind but also of the spirit. 

We might not be artists in the real sense of the word but there is always a sense of creativity that flows among us.  It goes with the way we move or the way we dress up. It could be the manner of speech or the organized system in our lives. Art forms a part of our day by day living and it makes our environment a better looking place.

Artist or no artist, the beauty of creating something matters such as when we plant a seed, when we read a book, or when we create a fave dish to eat. So when we make ourselves artists in our own rights, we make ourselves whole as a person. We give something to this world. 

Growing Old With Grace

Seated inside a bus and looking at the window, I can't help but notice the many trees lined up along the road from the province of Lamphun going to the city of Chiang Mai. Each and every tree was wrapped with a saffron cloth and tied with a bow. The religious implication was just so vivid. Each and every tree can possibly be hugged by three or four friends joining hands together. The trees stand for its beauty, its strength and its grand old age.

My life had not been a whirlwind of activities or event-full of grandeur. My life had been simple and quiet. I had met some people who from a very young age, lived their lives to the fullest enjoying each moment. I had met some people who had aged but still pinning for that hope to live their lives. I had met some who goes uphill and downhill as they search for the meanings of their lives.

When we search the meaning of our existence, we gather through the years experiences that will help us stand firm and strong. As we age, we then become wiser yet our body becomes weak or sickly. When we die, we make it a point that someone along the road, we had made an impression.

I am one of those trees because I knew from the many stories I heard and from the many people I extended my support and help that I am also a revered friend to them. I may not be wrapped by saffron cloth for protection nor tied and chanted with prayers nor hugged to see how my existence had been beneficial to others. Yet I knew that when someone takes a short trip along his or her own undertakings and reminisce, the shadows of my generosity and wisdom linger to their lives, now.

While living, we should strive to be of importance to many people and not just to our family. Our being a person should be marked with beauty, strength and wisdom. When we grow older, we should grow with magnitude and grace. The trees I saw became good examples to how I should be living today.

Busy Week

For most, having a week off is heaven-like and I feel the same. After working continuously for many weeks, we needed to re-charge our batteries so a break is so deserving. The week is almost over and I am going back to work. The question is if I am ready or not. I feel that I need a vacation after this vacation of mine.

I am wishy washy so I have no plans on where to go though I was able to be in many different places in a span of five days. I was riding cabs, buses, vans, motorbikes, planes, rickshaws and pick-up trucks all throughout my trips to the Eastern and Northern side of Thailand. I was just going with the tide, planned nothing but to be away from work and worries.

On the last day of my holiday, I took a subway from end to end for no purpose at all. Probably to kill time, to watch passengers, or to simply kill my boredom. I told this story of mine to a colleague and she was just cracking up. She told me I have so much time to kill but it wasn't time that I was killing.  It was something else.

Maybe another long holiday is needed for me to go back to full swing. I am lucky though that in two months time, I will be having a three weeks off so I could see people, meet new ones, do what I like, eat what I feel, and enjoy what life is all about. 

Termites of Our Lives

Recently I had some termite infestation in my house that I finally resorted to a pest control company's help. I stayed at home watching the pest control people's preparation for the great invasion. The chemicals, the spraying, the digging of holes, and the smell made me a fan of termites seeing how they can wreck havoc in one's home.

During the past weeks, I am assessing the value of my life as a person and as a teacher. I am constantly balancing my values whether they were of greatness or ridicule. My accumulated material things seems to be just something to make me feel secure. I realized that the things that surrounds me should be marked according to their importance rather than their quantity. For I do not need more of what I have and more of what I should not be having. I simply should stop.

One of my children's book under my collection was damaged by the termites. I was dumbfounded and angry but in a way, remembered being wasteful. I have collected books through my many years of teaching but have not found a special place to store them well thus the infestation. The accumulation was a proud moment but the loss of one special book became a shameful action.

As I pray for the good things in life to continuously fills my everyday life, I also would enjoy living what suits best which is a life without glitter, without lavishness and without guilt. I have to be a new person, needing and not wanting, economical and adhering to living back to basics.

To Everything

Forgetting that life is good and that I am simply being a complainer, this book for children reminds us that there is a reason for everything.

Based on the book of Ecclesiastes from the Old Testament, To Everything combines the simplicity but magnifying words of the Bible with the outstanding artistry of the author/illustrator Bob Barner.

The guide at the end of the book tells us that To Everything captures love, hope, and joy as well as the conflict that inevitably occurs in the course of life. The book can be used as a springboard for discussions about the choices we make and the effects of our actions upon others.

This book is a present from a wonderful friend who wrote," When I saw this book it made me think of you." The words in this book serves as a present for all those who are in doubt during these current times.

To everything there is a season
and a time to every purpose
under the heavens.

A time to be born, a time to die.

A time to plant, a time to pick.

A time to tear apart, a time to sew together.

A time to cry, a time to laugh.

A time to hold, a time to let go.

A time for war, a time for peace.

To Stand

I walked into the classroom of one of my colleagues in school and found her sniffling. I asked her if she was crying and when she faced me, she let the tears roll. I listened and then offered some advices, some assurances and some hope.

I remembered facing adversaries throughout the past months and prayed hard to let the dust of insecurities and fears settle down. Then hearing of the tragic loss of lives brought about by typhoons and a tsunami to nearby countries humbled me. I was being selfish, complaining about life though it was an honest revelation of my feelings. I shared them because I cannot carry the burden by myself. The words of encouragement I received from friends and family members were of tremendous help for my sanity.

I told my friend that she is facing storms in her life because she is a strong woman and that I have known her as that vibrant and positive individual. I assured my friend that after the sudden burst of rain and howling wind, the storm will subside. I claimed that everything that is happening has a purpose and this she has to discover.

I offer the same to those who are lost or to those who are to surrender. Though times is getting tough and hope simply diminishes, there are still people willing to listen and support in any ways.

When one anchors to someone strong, you'll feel a certain strength. An affinity to someone who is full of hope can be hope itself. Facing the battle is one's step towards winning it and that there will always be Somebody great to help.

Colours

Without doubt and without hesitation, colours bring about a much vibrancy needed as we produce a work of art or when we prepare a fave dish. Our house is surrounded by colours and our surroundings are ever so radiant with its spectrum of hues.

We bring forth through our growing stages the fascinating contribution of colours to our lives. When we were little, colours dictate our sex. Colours mandates our choice of school supplies and bedroom things. Colours dominate our personalities and behaviours.

We knew that colours had also been a source of conflict. It has been a subject of debates. It surrounds us and penetrates our choices through clothes and personal identities. It shows our simplicity or our extravagance.

The colours of my life strengthen my belief that life is not decreed by conformity and obedience. If I chose yellow over green, or magenta over turquoise, does not make me a simpleton nor a monarchy. Hues makes me a person as I should be: bold, sensitive, energetic, enduring, loyal and loving. The colours make me see beauty as awesome godliness.

Each tinge creates a part of me as it creates a part of you. We then see that living is great, being with friends is delightfully pleasurable, and that each breathe is a gift worthy of all the colours of our existence.

Hurry and the Monarch

Another charming literary piece I recently uncovered in my stack of books is Hurry and the Monarch written by Antoine O Flatharta. It essays the dialogue between a monarch butterfly and a tortoise named Hurry as they speak about the coming winter. It compares and contrast the two most interesting creatures in the world. One fluttering away to escape the cold weather and one wandering mindful to the everyday affairs of the garden.

The illustrations enthralled me and made me wish that I could do what the artist Meilo So, had accomplished. The lines, composition and colours evoke a high sense of wonder and amazement. She is such a talented artist.

The feelings evoked by one page as the monarch butterfly rested on a curtain pricks my ever so sensitive heart.

She flies in through an open window and thinks it might be nice to rest her
worn wings for a while in the folds of a sun-coloured curtain.
For a while becomes forever.

The story described a beginning of a journey, an end, a longing for an adventure, a wondering mind, and of hope. Overall, it is a great book and a recommended read for all.

A Compliment

Since the start of the school year this August, I had been unraveling the mysteries, the talents, the strengths and the weaknesses of my students ages threes and fours. I had someone very shy, someone very active, some lacking in self-confidence and some teeming with vibrant auras.

One new comer to our school started as a meek and shy girl. She had to find her way to the routines, the rules and the faces that surrounded her. Her initial reaction to attending my class was of hesitance as I was a new face to her. She managed to stay in my music and drama classes with some resistance but eventually learned that being in school is a lot of fun.

Yesterday while I was dismissing the children, the girl's dad came to me and spoke about her child. Then before ending our conversation, he mentioned something that melted my ever-so-sensitive heart. It made my day and will make my days to come. The compliment wasn't new but coming from a child who was refusing to attend school, having a very shy demeanour, and had never been seen to smile, the compliment was indeed a great one.

"She likes you a lot!" :)

And I Pray

I pray...

that when nature unleashes its fury, it's a wake up call.

that when calamities strike, it serves a purpose.

that when hopelessness prevail, there is an answer.

that when despair entails, there is a side to unravel.

that when sacrifices has to be made, there is a reason.

I pray...

that humankind will stay calm amidst the ongoing natural breakdowns.

that people will stay focus rather than surrender.

that men and women will continue to have faith instead of waver.

that children will see the joy of tomorrow.

that we can continue to live in harmony and peace.

A Life Lesson

I grew up being afraid to be close to anyone not because I am lacking in social skills but because I am afraid of rejection. For me, belonging to a group was likened to being accepted. Elementary days were spent in the company of my sister and cousins. My high school days were a school-home-school typical routine. No special friendships were made during those years.
When I started university, I was recruited to be a part of a presumably elite group of students who met and prayed during Saturday nights. There were only two of us from the freshmen batch who were invited to join. I stayed for four years. I was happy to be a part of this group feeling that I had found a group that had acknowledged my presence and contributions.
At present, belonging to a group is still a thing for me but it is not my ultimate goal in life. When I meet people, I make friends with them. When I am friends with them, I keep contact. When the contact is broken, I retreat. When a friendship is threatened, I act positively. I even tell myself that there had been many opportunities of friendships that I missed and I regretted them.

So now, I put great emphasis on creating friendships as part of my lesson plan in school. I see in my little angels something I had neglected when I was much younger. I wanted them to grow happy and delight with the happiness brought by being close to people and having great relationships. I am glad to see friendships grow right within my environment and right through the hearts of my students both in school and in my special classes.

One fine example is my student's love towards her friend. This is something I should be telling those who had left and those I had intentionally neglected. That I am sad for their absence and I wish to bring those good old times. I definitely learn things from my students, a life lesson indeed.

"When Pleng told me she will go to America, I was heartbroken."

Art work by Keena, inspired from the book Fancy Nancy

This Child of Mine

Children are fun. They are smart, sweet, loving and full of energy. They always come up with surprises and never fails to give me ideas to write or anecdotes to share. Some will leave a lasting impression. Some will be remembered intermittently while some will be forgotten.

I wont be able to name the children I taught since the very beginning but I have all the class photos since I started. They are grown ups now. I believe they won't be listening to my "sit down, please" and "classroom voice". I don't even know if I'll recognize them if I bump into them in the streets.

I remembered working in a local school where I get to teach 200+ students in one school year. I might sound a bad teacher but I cannot memorize the names of the students. I knew them by the way they talk, the way they participate, their exuberance and their loving hugs.

In a private international school I worked before, I noticed to be missing two students in class. They happened to be in the bathroom doing something. Both were pulling toilet paper out of the roll and filling up the toilet bowl. Then they will mix the water and toilet paper with their hands. Quite geniuses to create a play activity that both of them enjoyed but the idea of putting their hands inside the bowl was not exactly a good choice. I remembered the look on their faces, not of utter horror upon being discovered, but those innocent little smiles that will melt even the hardest heart.

Both boys were only three years old at that time and since they left school, I happened to become a good friend of their families. One of the boys gave me a painting he made after the school year. To the untrained eyes, it was just scribbles and blots of colours. To me it was a wonderful gift from an equally wonderful child. He is now in high school. I still see him but I have no idea if he still remembers the 'we're mixing the soup' incident many years ago. Learning that he illustrates and paints as a hobby, I asked for one of his works to be photographed so I can make a post of before and now.

I commend his kindness, his good heart, and his joyful smile. He will always be a big part of my teaching life.
Artwork by Alex D.

Cry

I remain standing despite many painful things. Of recent was the lost of someone important, a broken chain of friendship, the lack of support from friends, and the seemingly callous acts of people around me.

I remain standing despite my fears from a burglary, the isolation of everyday, the loneliness that permeates the air, and the cowardice to build a relationship.

I remain standing despite a disapproved career advancement request, a blow to my colour as a person, the questioning intention of a growing friendship, and the lost of faith in people.

And today while I hang my clothes for drying, I am shouting to myself, "Cry, Jonathan, cry." and I did. I kneeled on the floor sobbing while holding the wet clothes on my face. I pity myself for being alone and lonely.

I wish I can withstand the pain so that I could mask my sadness with smiles. I know it's a phase, but I sure had enough of many things.

Projects

One of the best things we do in school is to build up both creative and critical thinking skills at an early age. I enjoy having discussions, arguments, and resolutions with my four year old students. In my six years of stay in this particular school, I had done major projects with the children according to their interests and strengths.


My first year was a pond project which was a big challenge for me as I was new in school. The second year was great as we made a movie entirely from scratch. The story board and the actual movie footage of which I had kept had been fond memories of that year. Then the insect project was challenging but definitely worth our efforts. Building up a humongous insect home where all insects co-exists with one another was prominently displayed in one of the rooms for everyone to admire. Then comes the airplane project which was exhausting but equally challenging. A year passed where we learned about the power of communication and lastly a project on growing, from one self to a community.


In all those endeavours, the children had played significant roles where they acted as initiators, communicators, developers, builders, thinkers, commentators, viewers, helpers and leaders. The amount of effort and work given towards all those projects became scaffoldings of new learnings. The amount of time spent on collaborating, leading and doing the projects took one school year each but all with a labour of love. As my students of last school year commented, "If we could stay for one more year, we would love to build more of this project. We are very happy to see the project grows!"


As the teacher, I learnt many things from my students. Their enthusiasm and perseverance are immensely appreciated. Their dedication is simply endearing. Their happy dispositions and ardent desires to learn more are traits I continue to practise throughout my profession.

The Artist in Me

"I cannot draw", says the little child.

"But you could try," says the teacher.

"I don't like to colour." says the child.

"I'll help you." says the teacher.

"What do I draw?", asks the child.

"You could draw something you like." suggested the teacher.

"I don't like this picture. It's not nice." says the child.

"Better than yesterday." commented the teacher.

"Why do you ask me to draw?" asked the child.

"To see your world, my child, to see your world."

Watercolour and ink by me, aged 15

Missing You

Having friends is probably one reason why we enjoy life. Having them around is good and having none is indeed sad.

When I was growing up, academic excellence ranked first before anything else. It was home-school-home cramming homeworks, reading materials, and learning a handful of languages. There was no play overs, sleep overs, recreational trips with classmates or cinema visitations. If ever, I had done them without letting my parents know.

I cannot recall any close friends when I was five years of age. But there is this wonderful child I am teaching right now who always show her strong bond to another girl ( a former student of mine as well) by constantly telling me stories about the two of them, writing messages or drawing pictures for exchange. Since last month, I had been hearing my student talk about her friend who left for America. "I miss my friend." "She's my best friend ever." "I wish she is here with me."

I would like to say the same thing to my family and friends though I may not be as vocal as my five year old student. Though distance is a hurdle and time had been our enemies, my good old friends are always remembered.

Artwork by Keena for her friend Pleng.

The Opportunity to Love

When I was in my late teens- scraggy with uninteresting features (not that I became a handsome fellow later), I always envy the people around me. High school was the start of crushes and puppy love which was a little bit late compared to nowadays. College days were seemingly empty of someone to love and the desire to be loved was just overpowering.

I’ve met two interesting and beloved people which became my inspirations throughout. They knew my feelings but I, being cowardly, retreated to my own corner and let the future passed me by. Yes, there were regrets, but the opportunity to love two special people was presented and I took it.

I love my vocation and the children I teach every year. So in my small wonderful world, I make it a point to show them love so that they’ll know its real meaning. When you give love to your child, it is returned. When you show love to your students, it will manifest itself through their actions and words.

When I asked for love, God gave me the opportunity to love, not love itself.

One Garden Treasure

I recall many presents big and small, given to me when I was still young and when I started teaching. I remember my first dial up toy telephone from my godmother residing in America. I will never forget the water canteen I was so proud to display in my school as a gift from an aunt. I still recall the many chocolates and cloth given to me by my Chinese students or the presents from my international friends.



In my travels, I often meet friendly people who became my good friends. I met people from Korea, Japan, Greece, Malaysia, France, and others. They gave me something to remember them: cards, small souvenirs, or a pleasant and lovely company. But in one of my local trips to the Sunday market, I happened to board a cab driven by a very friendly driver. When I reached my destination, he refused to accept the fare money and asked me not to pay. I declined, gave the money to the driver, performed a wai (polite Thai greeting) and got off the cab with a questioning face.



One day, there was a knock on my door and there he was, the cab driver. He asked me where my residence was during our short conversation but I didn't know he'll be able to find me. He came to ask for some help regarding his project (later discovering he was studying for his Master's), and gave me a small fern plant (7 cm. in length per leaf) as a token of gratitude. He offered me a wai and was never heard of again.



The plant is still with me, prominently displayed with all its grandeur in front of the house door. It is now 165 cm. in length per leaf and still growing. It continuously produce seeds that grows into small ferns which now surrounds the mother plant. It is one of my most guarded treasures simply because it has a history of madness, surprises, friendship, and loss.



Some presents could be traded off, sold, exchanged or returned. This fern plant goes where I go, as I have transferred to three different locations now. It is a living proof of how I love gardening and how I treasure gifts from people who made a difference in my life.