I can’t understand.
There are just a lot of things that I don’t understand.
I was 5 when my friends (
or shall I say playmates cos I have never been friendly as what Tomoe said) fetched me from my house to school. That was the first of the rest of the tumultuous moments of my schooldays. I could exactly remember I didn’t want to go to school and mom had done everything to convince me- from candies to new school stuffs, from extended play-hours to new toys, sadly, nothing worked! I had this fear of attending classes probably more appropriately called shyness to be with the group. Unbeknownst to me, my mom went to school that very early morning and secretly agreed with my soon-to-be teacher who also happened to be an aunt and neighbor to bring the whole class home and convince me to join the mob per se. Woooah…surprised I was and sure left with no enough choice, I submitted to what my mom wanted. Why my mom did that and how she made the whole class escort me?- those I didnt understand.
I grew up in a village where people’s lifestyle conveys simplicity and empty-handedness. Owning a motorbike is more than enough to show wealth and living in a two-storey or concrete house demonstrates affluence (
and power). My uncle who served as the school’s principal and who probably was the sole government employee in the place was a person to reckon with. Utter his name and any same person would think of vast pices of lands, coconut and rice plantations, and multiple bank accounts. On the other side of the fence lives the majority. Things like these didn’t bother me at any rate. I just couldn’t understand why my uncle had to work so hard and the people who hardly raise a dollar in a day for their family had to settle and be contented of they have? IRONIC.
Came another uncle to the scene. He was not the previously described, worth-imitating clansman. Drunkard. Warfreak. Wife-beater. I always tried to understand him except for one afternoon when the neigborhood had this drinking session. Curious as an ordinary teen, I approached the cluster of my tuba-smelling kins. None dared talk to me, they probably just didn’t want me or wanted me to walk away from the place. I didn’t know what that cold treatment meant. After a while this seemingly friendly cousin handed a glass of tuba to me and thinking that as a gesture of welcoming me, I immediately grabbed the welcome offer but to my surpise, a hand hastily got the glass and hit my cousin’s forehead. What’s next? A very long moment of deafening silence and knee-shaking sight of blood dripping from my cuz’s face. Confused and scared, I inched away from them. One question puzzled me. Was my uncle’s gesture a sign of caring for me or was it just a mere sign of selfishness, not wanting to share the spirit of alcohol in them? What do you think?
When I was in my 3rd year, second semester in college, I decided to change my major. Though not officially yet, I started taking some subjects offered in the Journalism curriculum while my form for shifting majors was processed. There I met Profesor Canada, well-respected, filled with humor, intelligent, and a good conversant. What else could stop me from admiring him as a teacher? He was, by far, one of the living and veritable example of a teacher. Except for missed daily quizzes and writing exercises, he was all-praises to me. I consistently topped exams and intraclass exercises. I was in heaven and very much adulated. But why the hell I got an INC (short for incomplete mark) when final grades were submitted? I didn’t understand. Was he just apple-polishing me or he expected more from me? Uh.. (Note: I had to take the subject the second time.)
See? There are just a lot of things that’s beyond our understanding and expectations or if you think they are simple enough to figure and sort out, then something might have been wrong with me, admittedly!