I'm coming back!

AISS

The current school I'm teaching in now. I might've found my calling.

How do you hate kids who are unable to pay attention, who cannot write proper essays, who are the epitome of "tardiness", who laugh at your gestures, who walk around in your class, who defy you when you scold them...

yet who laugh at your jokes, who think you are smart, who think you are pretty, who tremble when you shout, who try to get others to shut-up, who greet you on the corridor, who participate in your class, who make you go hysterical with laughter.

well then... any takers?

I wish I could do more for them. beyond the daily routine of 5 hour marking sprees, the distribution of work, the collection of CA cards, the correction of grammar.

What do you say to a boy, who in the middle of your CME lesson on family says: "It's difficult being the yongest in the family because you always get dragged into situations you have nothing to do with... like when my elder brother stole my father's car... " ?

What do you say to children who deny themselves "cher! our engrish very bad one!"

What do you do with children who's hightest mark in their record card is 50?

How can you not love them?

When I see dreams of unversities and a rich future, They see the basket ball court outside of their dusty classroom
While I tire over marking their broken english, Some tire over their broken homes.
While I struggle to get the class' attention, Some struggle to get my attention... probaby the only attention they receive to assure them of their indespensibility.

Streets of London... anywhere.
Have you seen the old man in the closed down market
Kicking up the paper with his worn out shoes
In his eyes you see no pride
And held loosely by his side,
yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news

How can you tell me you're lonely
And say, for you, that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand
And lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Have you seen the old gal who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags
She's no time for talkin, she just keeps right on walkin
Carryin her home in two big shopping bags
In the all night cafe at a quarter past eleven
Same old man sitting there on his own
Looking at the world over the rim of his teacup
Each tea lasts an hour and he goes home alone

Have you seen the old man outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading like the ribbons that he wears
In our winter city, the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero in a world that doesn't care

So how can you tell me, you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine.
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of london
I'll show you something that will make you change your mind.