new level

Like every other day, I was given the list of classes to cover.

Nothing different or out of the ordinary,

6 lessons on and the usual breaks.

This did not prepare me for the events of the day.

Lesson one, a cover in drama.

Comfort comes with teaching something you are familiar with.

Wrong.

Year 9 certainly don't share the same enthusiasm that I share,

for anything it seems.

Unless it's me.

When silence riddles the classroom,

and you are up there doing your thing,

holding them in the palm of your hand...

you notice the one murmur.

I wish I had not said a thing.

'Did you want to share that with the class,

given I am teaching and you are talking.

Clearly it is more important'

I said with the confidence of the world.

The remark was beyond my thoughts,

derogatory on all levels.

If that wasn't bad enough,

his mate physically demonstrated the

sexual thoughts he was going to act out over me,

like we were discussing the lunch menu at the canteen.

It was one of those moments,

where as teacher you are being tested.

To kick them out or punch their heads in.

To cry in front of them or run out in shame.

I did neither.

I remained calm,

the rage brewing inside and

in the quietest teaching voice possible,

gave them a fair serve.

The class sat, once again in silence.

The boys were embarrassed,

and I was humiliated.

Who felt the biggest shame.

They stayed after class,

I told them again that they would never talk to a women again that way.

Permanent exclusion for one and a return for another,

was any punishment going to be just?

It was a new low in teaching in the UK,

but a character building strength in another.

I hold my head high,

and hope I taught both genders a lesson.

At what price,

the verdict is not yet in.

The question remains,

how much longer can one sustain this level of bullshit.

the morning challenge

He awoke to the same abuse every morning, the nagging cries of the birds above him and his siblings making too much noise. The sun was only just beginning to peep through the cracks, still far to early in his opinion. He rolled over and ignored the morning wake up calls.

His dreams had been vivid, a delicious portion of meatballs and tomato sauce, garnished with roast potato cubes and cheese. His bulging stomach began to rumble, and he sighed at the thought of his morning chaos. Who knows where he would find his first meal...where he would end up.

He reluctantly rolled out of his bed, carefully avoiding the family. He wanted to do this part on his own. He scurried along the lattice and up to the top of the fence... there really was no other view like it. Overlooking the house tops of his local London neighbourhood was truly magic. From way up here, he could assess all important aspects; dog whereabouts, sneaky cats and not to mention those pesky foxes. He was in control.

He stopped and lifted his tail way up high, shaking it when it was extended fully to make sure he was wide awake, stretching always felt so good. He danced along the top of the fence and down towards the kitchen, such a convenient location on the end of his block. Many a time, he had managed to get enough food for the whole family, however it always presented its dangers. Two legged animals that were much bigger and always upright, most frighteningly was the loud machine that would come away and clear his food before he was finished with it. It would tip it all upside down into one big pile, barely leaving anything on the floor or left behind for him. Still, it was a great place to start... and secret.

He arrived at the old building with anticipation, immediately spotting some tasty morsel in the large blue container. He took a brief moment to assess the situation, no potential dangers... then again that sly black cat was always just around the corner. With little patience, he scampered across the path, dodging the lilly petals that were floating down around him. They made him tingle all over, like he had maddening fleas in his fur.

He carefully scaled the container and rested on the top. He smelt inside...divine indulgence for the senses. There was a combination of bread, banana, cabbage and the best part... some meat on a bone. Again, he took a moment to contemplate his next move, he needed to be swift to get the largest portion. When he felt unnervingly confident, he made his move. Within seconds there was a large clapping noise just above his ear, like someone had smacked him with an old tin lid. He saw it move before he knew what it was, and then fear permeated his body. An enlarged animal must have been approaching. He looked down at his breakfast, a feast for his day. It was food or freedom. He hastily climbed back up the container and down the side of the building, back up the lattice and safely back to his quarters. He stopped to catch his breath and let out a huge sigh. His shrunken belly grumbled in annoyance at the energy wasted.

He climbed back into bed. Being defeated this early in the morning was never a good start to the day. Best go back to those dreams and start all over again later on.

lost boy

With his chubby face and cheeky eyes,
he grins at me with conviction.
He'll swear black + blue that he's sorry,
that he will try and pay attention.

Then he will fart and cackle all over again.
I want to get mad,
furious for his lying and disruptions.
But his uncanny resemblence to one of the lost boys,
not to mention his harmless behaviour makes it hard to keep a straight face.

In a more quiet lesson, he tells me his story.
Juvenile for 3 months and no real support from home,
he will be out on his own at age 16.
'I have anger management issues you see Miss' he tells me solemly.
'I don't want to be like this, but feel so out of control'.
This delightful bundle of trouble just needs some love and care.
he fights everyday; for his rights,
his home, for the eggs that he throws at the cops and strangers.

I want to give him a cuddle and a slap all at the same time.
He's story is just one in my class, they all gradually share their sadness.
They laugh amongst each other, but you know that they are sad.
Forced to fight and grow up at the age of 11.
Their knife scars are frightening, but trophies all the same.
this rudeness is a disguise of rebellion.

Their laughter and troubles are contagious,
and make me want to try and do it again tomorrow.

being

The pace of life so very different,

the time to stop and say hello.

With their conservative dress and cheeky smiles,

the Turks appear mates to all -

welcoming tourists and friends alike

with their turkish tea or tasty delight.

You wander the streets,

decadent with rugs and pashmina's

all hand woven from ancestors in past,

they tell a story and their culture

so proud to be who they are,

regardless of how little they really have.

The poverty is evident in places,

yet their belief is to look after one another.

'If you know that your neighbour is hungry,

and you let it happen -

then you are not a true turkish person or friend'

It is not a dog-eat-dog world,

but a country of compassion and care.

The landscape so vast,

they call it 'paradise'.

Travelling a few hours feels like you are in another world,

one of caves or mountains,

ruins or waves

Turkey has it's hidden treasures.

'You Aussie friend, Aussie soldier,

come have some food' a phrase so commonly heard.

Not because they have to or want your money,

simply to have a chat.

This friendly way of life I miss,

similar to my own country.

I feel changed, calmer within myself.

I want to adopt to their way of life,

no rush or hurry to get somewhere,

just being where you are right now.

Enjoying the moment and letting it happen.

What will be will be.

just a little rant

After just returning from the beautiful Muslim country of Turkey,

I became accustomed to seeing women in the Burka or the Hijab.

One of the best parts of the trip, was learning the customs of Islamic traditions

and Muslim religion without all the extremist stereotypes that we are confronted with today.

The Turkish people have a connection with their God, similar to Christianity or Judaism,

and when practiced in Turkey, is not one about conformism and brainwashing -

simply a connection and appreciation for their God.

A respect for man kind.

What disturbs me then, is when catching up on world news today,

Australia is debating whether to ban the Burka being worn in our country.

"They" argue that it is suppressing women, 'un-Australian' and shows a 'domination of men.'

Does Australia not pride itself on being a free country where people can live peacefully in their culture or religion?

Do Australian people not have the right to wear whatever they want - even if sometimes it is a little too fleshy even for us locals?

This is not a rant about religion, nor a discussion about what is right or wrong,

but simply a very sad opinion that has come out of some of our leading politicians.

Perhaps, if they were to research into why women wear the Burka,

or even the role that men play in these women's lives,

then they may be able to make more of an educated comment on their Muslim traditions.

This statement only confirms the stereotypes of extremism that the media portrays.

Instead of breaking down the stigma's in this modern era,

we are apparently responsible for creating them and spurring them on.

It is just so very sad when one person, who has the 'limelight' to state an argument,

choses such a flawed way to represent a precious culture.

Done with my rant now :) Sorry!

More creative posts to come.

xx

after

experience lasting a lifetime,

laughter consuming each moment.

Glorious people from different cultures,

a smile bonds us all.

friends made and some go,

the company I will miss.

Lonely London afternoon,

the sunshine is deceiving.

the bitter wind sweeps by

and i already feel alone.

One moment on top of the world

the next just left wondering.

tomorrow it will pass,

work will make me busy.

Dreams of another trip become a reality

as i book to escape the time.