Killer Monay

Dear Youko,

I was barely done saying good bye to III-Chromium when two smiling faces gave me my daily warning signal to leave Room 412 and head on to Room 418.

Feeling happy and enthusiastic to teach and remembering they still don't know the story behind the diary, I went to my last class today. I met other students from that class on the way. I even mocked the way their section name has been spelled in their attendance sheet folder. F-L-O-U-R-I-N-E... Makes them sound like a baking ingredient.

I was welcomed by their greeting which was well-practiced and was learned the hard way. I checked their attendance, gave them their daily doze of preaching and voila! We were off to discuss on the topic which, I can safely say, took the heart and the interest of III-Beryllium, III-Barium and III-Chromium. I was so excited to see the same looks on the faces, same gasps, same disgust, same awww's and aaahhh's in the students of Fluorine. But just as the rainy month of August is popular for its magnificent meteor showers, my class made a little nimbus cloud and covered the skies of knowledge. The boys were shrieking and screaming like little girls being pinched on their hineys. I caught their attention and gave a warning. I went on with the lesson but they still shrieked. I gave my second warning. I think I made a third warning, too. I just can't remember well. But some students just seem to enjoy acting stupid... They shrieked again.

That was it! I reached my boiling point! I was eyeing on the misbehaving students and my vision was starting to blur. My head was nagging me with questions: "One and a half months without salary and yet we are expected to teach these multitude of students? Did I spend almost my whole day preparing for tomorrow's lesson just to be insulted? Must I use up the quality time I should spend with my own baby to care for someone else's teenager? Should I be blamed by a parent whose child cuts classes, drinks in his classmates' house, spends his parents' money on DOTA, and sleeps in the classroom? Is it worth it?"

I could feel the urge to break their noses but I resisted. I saw my green plastic chalk box and... THUD! It lay broken on the floor surrounded by the pandemonium of chalk, board eraser, keys, pens, and dust. There was silence in the classroom.

I went out of Room 418. A student ran after me asking me to return to their room but I didn't listen.

I sat staring at the piles of paper to be checked and recorded and the number 18 and 19 on the calendar. My broken chalk box was asking me for consolation. "Better a broken chalk box than a student"s broken face... It's easier to replace a box but a student's face can't be bought..." I told myself while inspecting the damaged hinge of the box.

My head was throbbing and my heart started skipping beats again. I seriously think that I'll meet my death inside the school.

Theirs truly,