sea ms. muna

it was an offspring of betrayal. it wasn't betrayal, really, but it was very close to it. genetically.

naphat, my seven-year-old thai kid, loves trees. in science, we were learning how to identify parts of a tree. we took a walk outside. all 34 of us. i showed him the bark and told him that if we cut past the bark deeper into the tree, we will paralyse it. we will semi-kill it. induce a lot of pain. naphat asked me if he could take a piece of that bark home and show it to his mother. he put it in his breast-pocket. then he hugged and caressed the trunk of the tree, with a corrugated forehead, looked at me and said, "it is very painful for tree."

then on my second last day at school, we read "the giving tree." a tear jerker that had sent me hunched over in silence at a chicago bookstore some years back. naphat raised his hand while we were reading and he said, "ms. muna, even if i old, i still can climb trees. i not cut trees." and he shook his head in his seven-year-old conviction.

when i told the class that i was going to leave the school and subsequently leave them, i showed them a map of the world and told them where i'd be. and why i was leaving. we made jokes about it. how when i see them next they'd have three kids each. three naughty kids. or how old i'd be. or how my plane might crash (not funny!).

then we broke off for snack.

that was when naphat approached me.

naphat always raises his hand.

naphat never interrupts.

naphat cannot sit still.

naphat writes in dancing letters.

he came up to me and asked me: "ms. muna, tomorrow, you last day? you no come on monday?" and i said, "yes, naphat, I won't be here on monday." he nodded his head. and in all maturity accepted it, "oh, okay." and walked away. arms raised to the sky. covering his ears and his eyes.

i went after him, to find out that he'd been crying and didn't want to show me. in my attempt to console him, i started crying. i don't know why. but i couldn't stand it that i had sent this little seven-year old crying. i hadn't scolded him. i had just betrayed him.

well, it was an offspring of betrayal. it wasn't betrayal, really, but it was very close to it. genetically.

no loud noises. now banging on desks. no, "keep quiet!"s. it only took a whisper to break his heart.

my last day at school, i gave naphat one of my most beloved rubber objects. a blue rubber whale that my friend, anthony, sent me from australia. i wrote on it and told him to keep it. and told him about whales, how big they are. how beautiful they are. and how we should love and save them, just the way we love and save trees.

he put it in his pocket and couldn't help but take it out at every opportunity to show it to anyone/everyone he came across that day.

naphat gave me his mother's phone number and told me to call it.

i didn't call the number.

(naphat always raises his hand. naphat never interrupts. naphat cannot sit still. naphat writes in dancing letters.)