For today’s sake of celebrating teachers, let me get down my memory lane circa 1994. Ms. Florida Dao-ines was my grade 1 teacher in the then Kayan Community School. I thanked that I was bit of a reader so I was spared from her famed stick. Of course, my hearing wasn’t excused of her voice harping on the day’s if not yesterday’s lesson. Oh, I could see her small figure with her short curly hairdo passing by my grandparents’ place because she used to visit her brother on the next house. Ms. Dao-ines taught us room maintenance the organic way— scrub off graffiti on wooden desks with sandpaper tree leaves, sweep off dirt, whip the floor with banana leaves and finish it off with coconut husk. On my second year with my grandparents going as second grader, I had Teacher Jeaneth Juan. She was my first troop leader in GSP and Agadangan became a vivid memory of the Scout Movement. Enamored with her not-so-strict classroom bearing, my classmates and I were saddened when one day we came
My thoughts of the devilish and cherubic borne me a diarist. The usual norm: we all started on pencils and paper or the wall or the table with our sticks and loops overlapped and out of borders and lines. These doodles turned to syllables from printing vowels and consonants complicating to words, phrases and sentences. I soon graduated the writing drills of cursive being able to write more than to voice out to express myself. Find the me in this virtual world.
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