My English Teacher
English.
I love it.
It’s beautiful in all it’s words, feelings, pictures and memories. It’s so powerful, It can take you to any place in the imaginable universe. Have you read the book, Looking for Alaska? It’s mildly underrated. Written by my favourite author, John Green, this book has not wowed any of my friends, in fact one of them couldn’t even get past the first chapter.
“I’ts just so boring!” She said.
I guess this book just worked differently on me. I will not throw out any spoilers, don’t worry. I had not started reading until about a year and a half ago. There was nothing that caught my interest. When I felt like starting a book, it would take me 3 solid months to finish it.
The first book that got me into reading, was a romance book. I never would have thought! It goes by the name The Road Trip. It was written by Beth O Leary. Although she is not one of my top favourite writers, I’m thankful her novels brought me into the world of reading.
What about school?
I’m currently in seventh grade. Or should I say started seventh grade. It’s still hard for me to forget about last year. Especially my english teacher. He was nothing special, just that he made me enjoy English lessons. Before he taught my class, I had no special interest in this subject. Maybe it was the topics he taught, or maybe it was the way he taught. I’m still not entirely sure, but I remember he would always be patient.
As the writer Kao Kalia Yang said “Patience is the road to wisdom”, although this seems like once you reach wisdom, you lose patience, I don’t think it’s the same case with him. Along with my wonderful teacher, out of the new students who joined, some of them were into reading.
So I thought ‘why not try it out’
Boy, did I love it. I loved it so much, that I just couldn’t stop! That’s where my habit of reading came from.
Now, things have changed. I no longer have the same english teacher. My new teacher, is a lady. She is somewhat different…
Nevermind, she is very different.
I wouldn’t call her the most patient person, but then again, she is not too frustrating either. She is what you would call unpredictable. It’s almost impossible to guess when she would be fun or when she would have a tantrum.
My old teacher always had something to fill the time. He had this special game called whooshball. I no nothing about the origin of the game or how my teacher came across it, but I do now all the sweet memories it brings me.
The rules are simple, pass the imaginary ball around. You can block it from coming to you, or you can continue to pass. I like to think of my problems as the ball. If they arrive at my doorstep, I can either block them and see them another day, or I can accept them.
When I try to resist my troubles, they always end up returning to haunt me. If I accept them and try to embrace the situation, I can find a solution, and save myself numerous nights of worrying and regret.
Life is a game, just play it right.
