In Search of Happiness (Part II)
The first week was entirely spent searching for appropriate references that could provide both standard and challenging questions. I barely found time for my usual course work during those days. Fortunately, the pack of the scraps and photocopies from the previous school teaching experience was still in the storeroom somewhere between not-even a time-read books.
As I was turning the pages of these books one by one, vague memories of my childhood were screening up in front of my eyes. In that time I used to study alone like a very quiet boy, thinking about various problems from the school to life on my own. “I never realized how you completed your studies and got your way to the university” my mother always says. It took me a couple of hours to gather everything since at the same time I curiously was trying to solve some math questions for the sake of an arbitrary satisfaction.
I anxiously put the next appointment with Zeynab for the coming week. It was Ramdan month when Muslims fast. So, we set a time around 6 pm after the sunset. I knew I would be tired during the same day because of the school work as well as the part-time job I was doing. However, I was sure this tutoring as least relieves the pressure in my mind. “I’ll take more rest the day after” I answered this little doubt.
It was Thursday evening, the last working day of the week in Iran. This time I found myself in front of their house without knowing how I took the same trip. This ‘audio-visual’ memory is a bit strong in me. Voices, sounds and images with smallest details vividly remain in my mind as if they are happening right now compared to the fuzzy record of the names. Sometimes, I even awfully forget the name of the person I meet for the first time after the conversation.
I was guided to the study room. There was a shelf full of books I bet she had never touched decorated with some of her paintings. I had teaching material with me enough for a two hour session. However, I preferred to start with 3rd grade mathematics using the school book, the smell of which is the first thing I feel every time I see one. Having asked a couple of questions, I noticed that there is ridiculously no connection between her level of understanding of the problems with the same difficulty. It took me a quarter or so to figure out surprisingly that she actually pretends that she does not know some of them. It was an absurd situation for me. “Is this kind of a game?” I asked Zeynab. She smiled and answered like she did not want her mother to know about this “No! No!” the most obvious lie ever.
There was, of course, no point in continuing the usual practice of the book contents, yet her marks were not acceptable. After working on some challenging problems from my own, she seemed to be more interested in such unusual stuff as most of kids do. “The educational system in Iran is very boring” I heaved a sigh as I was thinking of how they wasted our time in school. Still, I had to find the missing chain in describing the connection between her massive intelligence and such low grades.
Hussain was not there disturbing like the previous time since I had mentioned her mother this major source of distraction. After the class, he climbed me up again like he had been waiting all that time. My mind was not working anymore, that is when I rely on the sense of humor. “See you soon” I said as I was waving my hand so that to get my dead body back home on bed.
As I was turning the pages of these books one by one, vague memories of my childhood were screening up in front of my eyes. In that time I used to study alone like a very quiet boy, thinking about various problems from the school to life on my own. “I never realized how you completed your studies and got your way to the university” my mother always says. It took me a couple of hours to gather everything since at the same time I curiously was trying to solve some math questions for the sake of an arbitrary satisfaction.
I anxiously put the next appointment with Zeynab for the coming week. It was Ramdan month when Muslims fast. So, we set a time around 6 pm after the sunset. I knew I would be tired during the same day because of the school work as well as the part-time job I was doing. However, I was sure this tutoring as least relieves the pressure in my mind. “I’ll take more rest the day after” I answered this little doubt.
It was Thursday evening, the last working day of the week in Iran. This time I found myself in front of their house without knowing how I took the same trip. This ‘audio-visual’ memory is a bit strong in me. Voices, sounds and images with smallest details vividly remain in my mind as if they are happening right now compared to the fuzzy record of the names. Sometimes, I even awfully forget the name of the person I meet for the first time after the conversation.
I was guided to the study room. There was a shelf full of books I bet she had never touched decorated with some of her paintings. I had teaching material with me enough for a two hour session. However, I preferred to start with 3rd grade mathematics using the school book, the smell of which is the first thing I feel every time I see one. Having asked a couple of questions, I noticed that there is ridiculously no connection between her level of understanding of the problems with the same difficulty. It took me a quarter or so to figure out surprisingly that she actually pretends that she does not know some of them. It was an absurd situation for me. “Is this kind of a game?” I asked Zeynab. She smiled and answered like she did not want her mother to know about this “No! No!” the most obvious lie ever.
There was, of course, no point in continuing the usual practice of the book contents, yet her marks were not acceptable. After working on some challenging problems from my own, she seemed to be more interested in such unusual stuff as most of kids do. “The educational system in Iran is very boring” I heaved a sigh as I was thinking of how they wasted our time in school. Still, I had to find the missing chain in describing the connection between her massive intelligence and such low grades.
Hussain was not there disturbing like the previous time since I had mentioned her mother this major source of distraction. After the class, he climbed me up again like he had been waiting all that time. My mind was not working anymore, that is when I rely on the sense of humor. “See you soon” I said as I was waving my hand so that to get my dead body back home on bed.
Comments