<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d6429848\x26blogName\x3danjalispeaks*\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://anjalispeaks.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://anjalispeaks.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-7313561392857078984', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
"Is it weird in here or is it just me?" Woody Allen

HOWDY! This is a platform for me to express myself. To bare my thoughts, emotions and life stories. Leaving bite-size pieces of me before I go. I graciously invite you to comment, swap stories and thoughts. Please post your comment or get in touch with me here.


alexandra wong
lynn wabbit

09.03 10.03 01.04 02.04 03.04 04.04 05.04 06.04 07.04 08.04 09.04 10.04 11.04 12.04 01.05 02.05 03.05 04.05 05.05 06.05 07.05 08.05 09.05 10.05 11.05 12.05 01.06 02.06 03.06 04.06 05.06 06.06 07.06 08.06 09.06 10.06 11.06 12.06 01.07 02.07 03.07 04.07 05.07 06.07 07.07 08.07 09.07 10.07 11.07 02.08 03.08 05.08 09.08 10.08 12.08 02.09 04.09 05.09 06.09 07.09

a rustic analysis*
bo leh*
buat donno*
jakun & boon cit - a love story. not.*
jingling nona*
many happy returns of the day, u sexy u*
love misunderstood*
no willy*
perfect man*
save me from this misery*
tan ah yam, i'm sorry*

an interview with joe blogs*
woo! a review!*

halong bay - you jump, i save you*
hanoi on my mind*
hanoi - in search of the pain-in-the-arse ice cream and other stories in between*
sungai petani, my hometown* [pt 1]
leave my country* [pt 1]
leave my country* [pt 2]
ozcapade* [pt 1]
ozcapade* [pt 2]
ozcapade* [pt 3a]
ozcapade* [pt 3b]
moomoo vista* [pt 1]
moomoo vista* [pt 2]
moomoo vista* [pt 3]
ah moy in paris* [pt 1]

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

powered by: blogger
illustration by: lionheart.bizhat.com
photo storage by: photobucket
commenting by: haloscan
linked with: blogwise , blogarama , registered! , bolehblogs , voi ,project petaling street , blog explosion & bloggernity

crop circle* 

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Yesterday was Teacher's Day. Aaaah...teachers. They are truly a unique bunch of animals, I tell you.

Well, at least that's what I can say about mine. Especially during my late secondary years. Sometimes I can, mind travel back in time to some funny incidences, to recapture the tickles. To knock on the door of the past to chirp a quick hello and bid goodbye almost immediately.

Anyway, I am what you might call as a teacher's cotton candy nightmare. But I'd like to think of it as I added spices to their miserable mundane, routined lives. My teachers and I share a unique love-hate relationship. I stick out like sore thumb.

Among the many, the one whom I truly liked most is Mr Ooi, the maths teacher. He was in his mid-30s, married, has a pretty daughter aged 4, drives a white Nissan Sunny and has the best wit for a China man. The only downside was his over-consciousness over his receding hairline.

Not a class goes by without him picking on me. On some bad days, he managed to shut me up. But occasionally, I managed to outwit him with my dare-devil sarcasm. I think he secretly enjoyed those few wins of mine. For my sake. To spur me on. To brush up on my sarcastic wit. To match his.

On one humid afternoon, he came into class. After our customary standing up and "Selamat Tengahari, Cikgu" wishes, he picked a chalk and drew a medium sized circle. Then he turned to face the class. Somehow, despite the dead-pan face, one can tell he's got something up his sleeves.

"Apa yang telah saya lukis di papan tanda?" He called on a Malay girl sitted in front.

"Bulatan, cikgu." the girl answered assuredly.

He gave a loud sigh. And then shook his head softly.

"Salah. Itu adalah kepala anjali*. Kosong." Face continued to be dead pan.

I felt my blood rising up. But I kept my cool and replied, "Cikgu salah. Itu kepala cikgu. Botak."


Dead pan face.

A deeper sigh.

Then a smirk.

Ting-ting. My score 1-0.

May 17, 2005 // anjali* pranced on tip-toes all over the keyboard at 5:24 pm