Miss Nosy

I can still remember how she told me why Miss Nosy was like that, and her words can still give me flashbacks of last year’s summer. In the middle of the biting heat and the pale yellowish stain of the sun, she told me how Miss Nosy conquered the classroom to be her playground. Too bad I had to play with her, too.

I want to tell you of a morning that had died down with my memory, and it depicts me on my solitary seat on the wooden stool, oblivious as Miss Nosy flips her fingers in such unusual display of pseudo-royalty. As I stare at her sketching white lines on the board, weaving numbers, mumbling things she wanted to say, I would remember that very day when someone told me why Miss Nosy was Miss Nosy, and then I’d laugh at my mind, for she was indeed a character.

One day as I sat by the window, with the morning sunshine lost on the illusions of the glass, I heard Miss Nosy tell her own tales of such thick meanings, that I do not know if she wanted us to laugh, or if she wanted to hurt somebody. Then I stared at her, she twitched her face with much meaning, but still she managed to push me away from the truth in her words.

“ Do you even know how to do that?” was a classic line. When I heard Miss Nosy say that as I passed by her dim office stuffed with piles of paper, it made me think if I was good enough, though of course, she never asked me that, at least, directly. Then I spent that afternoon thinking of that statement, and with such zest I tried to piece it together with the mornings when I had to listen to her joke about stuffs and the flaw of other people, and yet, I don’t know what I must think of Miss Nosy at all.

Of course, the mornings had been the same with Miss Nosy. We always had our usual charade of honesty and ambiguity, her humor, the way she made us feel we were not as good as who she taught were good and the forced laughter. Miss Nosy was such a puzzle, I never really tried to know her.

Then on an evening when I had to share stories with my friends and our teachers, I realized that I was not alone with my notion of who Miss Nosy was. Through it all I thought I was unfair in judging her, and so I suppressed what I thought and called her humor as humor, and never insults. I thought I was getting paranoid, so I controlled myself and called her focus as focus, and never favoritism. But on that evening, I knew Miss Nosy by how others got to know her, for we share the same burden of confusion.

The truth is, Miss Nosy was never there, for she existed inside her own world where she is the child, the queen and the master. And so I must not feel such resentment for I made myself vulnerable to her unfair judgments, and then I just kept quiet. I was not alone though, we all thought Miss Nosy was just impossible.

When I leave I will think of Miss Nosy, our mornings with too little honesty, and her number classes when we had to resist shrugging off the meanings in her humor so dark we could have been blinded. And then I will thank God because I was never fooled after all. I knew Miss Nosy by her face, her action and her deeds. It makes me feel nice for I never knew her more than that.

But at times when I look at Miss Nosy, I would wonder if she was really happy, or if she was just laughing at something she finds brutally funny.

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people need to read this for enlightenment. i hope they dig blogs.yeba.