The second avalanche of cutness wasn't here for one afternoon! In the evening we had a "kempu pire" and we baked potatoes... well, we carbonized them, but who cares, they were delicious the same. When the kids went to sleep I was drinking beer on the porch of my bungalow, smiling to myself, feeling almost happy, at least as happy as I wasn't for a long long time. You know, at ease, satisfied, all worries forgotten and so on. And then I heard the children crying, their place is quite close to mine, it was sleeping time and I imagined the hard time the teachers are having. But it went on and on, too long, far too long. What the hell is going on? I waited a few minutes more, but no, it didn't seem to stop. Ah, my temper! Don't get me wrong - I believe that spoiled kids sometimes need a good slapping (if you find me cruel, ask His Holliness the Dalai Lama about this), but here we are talking about children from six to eight that go to sleep in a completely foreign environment, without parents and you have to do something to confort them! I headed for the guesthouse, blind with fury, having in mind some slapping for the teachers (I swear I would have done it!), when half the way I stopped like a complete idiot. Moron. Asshole. Jerk. Luckily I was only blind with fury, not deaf. They were laughing. They were having fun. They enjoyed it. Of course I had to be sure of it so I reached the guesthouse softly and slowly, peeked through the window and hoped I will dream of them.
In the morning they woke me up at 5.30 - their teachers were still sleeping so they found that playing (and shouting) in front of my door is safer. They were right. It's just that since they left I have no more choko pies in the fridge.
And we spent all the morning together and I was their archery instructor and we had so much fun that when they left I really shed a tear. No, I'm not getting soft, it was all because of the pain, the kiddies just wanted to pull my beard for goodbye! How could I say no?
The really most amazing and sweetest thing I saw was the lunch. The boys serving the girls. Without orders, without complains, without stupid jokes. They just did it. Maybe the "true" emancipated women (wymen?) find this disgusting. I dont care, I find it sweet.
Yes, lunch. If I'm given meat, I just eat it. So I wasn't complainig or being picky when with lunch came also a sandwich with fried eggs and ham. But what the hell was strawberry jam doing in it?
Even before the wee cuties left, another bus came, with high school students. With them we had some more conversation, mostly about archery. Yeah, I became (un)officially an archery instructor (and my brother and my nephew are ROFLing at this). And I'm a good one. You know the Italian saying "Chi sa, fa - chi non sa, insegna"? Translation: He who knows, does -the one who doesn't know, teaches.
In the evening I applied for a teaching job in Seoul. Whish me luck, don't pray!
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