Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Flower Under the Rain.

The sky had been dark and the sun veiled for a while now. What was going on in everyone's minds, was that we wouldn't see the end of this gloom before we had a downpour of some sort.

Surely enough, it came. Right after one o'clock that afternoon, the ocean of vapour pent up in the clouds materialised and cascaded from the skies in a torrent.

I was in the classroom, after school at the time. We were having extra class; History, of al things. When the rain came, I found myself thinking: What is she doing right now?

Surely her father was kidding, right? What time does her school finish anyway?

I looked out the window, and watched the rain.

Our History teacher has a daughter in our class' year. I had seen her repeatedly at Malay tuition for what must have been half a year before I learned that she was his daughter; and once I found out, she suddenly wasn't just another girl anymore. Not that I had a romantic interest in her... but she's the daughter of my History teacher since sixth grade. I knew my teacher well. Now I was curious to know what life must be like for a child of such a teacher as him.

What kind of teacher is my History teacher? Well, here we are in extra class two days before our first History assesment test, and he's just given us seven sets of questions, 40 multiple-choice questions a set, to be finished before the test. That's him in a nutshell.

"What time is it now?"

That was so unlike my History teacher. He seldom kept his eye on the time when he was teaching - more often he would be keeping his eye on that mischevious Indian kid in the front row. When he asked the class what time it was, I thought something was not right. He would hold extra class for two hours if he wanted to, and if nothing was stopping him.

Something was stopping him.

"Its one-forty-five, sir."

"Okay, so we still have time. When it rains, I have to go fetch my daughter from school. I tell her, if she sees them closing the school gate and its raining, she should go out the gate and wait under a tree until I come."

I was still looking out the window. This rain wasn't a drizzle. The primary St. George school's football field was probably swamped by now. Not that this would stop anyone from playing football there, but it was that kind of rain, and that's the point.

I pictured that young, short-haired, bespectacled girl, standing in the storm under a tree that barely provided any shelter, her books and school uniform getting drenched as she waited, patiently, for her father to come.

In the meantime, her father was here, teaching us History, in preparation for the inevitable final exam at the end of the year. We're keeping her father in school so that we can pass our History test, and she has to wait in the rain.

It really had to make you sad to think about it.

Extra class ended before two. The rain hadn't lightened up a bit. As I left the classroom, that sad image of that girl under the tree in the rain wasn't taking up the fore part of my mind, but it was tucked away somewhere, still nagging and nudging my thoughts. Then I stopped walking. My feet had brought me to the school's back gate.

All thoughts were kept away as I focused on what was in front of me. I realised what would have to next. It was raining. I have a few hundred yard's walking distance between me and my father's clinic, where my mother would pick me up. A few hundred yards of exposition to the rain. Getting wet. My neat green prefect's blazer would take the rest of the day sitting under the fan to get dry.

At this point I had two options: turn back and use the infamous change-eating school public phone to tell my mother that extra class was over. The other option was to make a mad dash for the clinic. Getting wet.
The first option seemed so much simpler. So what if I lose a couple of quarters to the public phone? I would spare myself from getting wet. But then again, my parents always like me to walk to the clinic. My father usually needed to be informed that I was back from school, and I could phone from the clinic for much less than a dime. Often my mother would already be at the clinic anyway at that time.

What should I do? Should I practice the art of wastefulness and use the public phone? Or do what my parents would like me to do and get wet?


Getting wet. In the rain. Under a tree. Waiting for her father.

A chill went down my spine. That was it. I would make a mad dash for the clinic.

I wrapped my blazer around my books. I braced myself for the rain. I took a few deep breaths. Then I stepped forward, and...

...saw my mother's car pull up right in front of me. Gratefully, I dived into the front seat, slammed the door, dried my hair a little, and I was on my way home. That long distance between me and the clinic, endangered with gallons of rain, had been shortened to a bothersome dampness between me and my mothers car a few feet in front of me.

I was so glad I didn't have to get wet.

But then it hit me.

Right now, she was probably still out there, in the rain, under that tree.

Getting wet.

***

GOOD day everyone! Its actually night right now, but I feel bright inside.

Some of my regular readers may have noticed a dramatic change in the blog's appearance as of last Monday's Late For Class post. No, this is not going to be permanent, but once I change back to the Moose Wheat Field background, don't think I'm not going to bring the thundercoulds back again. You must admit, the thunderstrike looks quite nice doesn't it?

So what if such a small incident as being late for class sways me so much that I change my entire blog interface? I'm a teenager. I have the right to have mood swings. Any book about teenagers by non-teenagers for parents that you can find in any bookstore will tell you this. Which begs the question: shouldn't books about teenagers for parents be written by teenagers?

I just changed the background because, well, the post has a very dark mood to it, and the sunny wheat field with a moose standing in it just... well, didn't quite do it. Thanks to the incredibly shocking change to the blog's appearance, I was certain readers would get the message of the post right. Anyway, you have to admit, it was a nice change for once, wasn't it? Don't worry, once I find something nice to blog about, I'll change back to the old background, and you'll be able to see my moose again.

Exam Season starts tomorrow, and History is on Friday! We also have to go to school on Saturday for exams, but that's just Civics and Phys. Ed., both of which in my opinion aren't subjects that can be tested. Not to say anything against those subjects, but those are practical subjects. Subjects that you put into practice. I mean, how do you have a written Phys. Ed. test?

Question 1: What is the proper procedure of doing jumping jacks?

That would be something to write about.
  

2 comments:

  1. very well written post, with a lil bit of rantings... Haha. This is teenangers' life, well, everyone has to go through this stage, so why not just enjoy what you're doing ? Live life to the fullest! ;)

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  2. Haha... thanks. Living life to the fullest is fine. Its just not always very enjoyable. But when it's fun, it really is.

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