Back at one

*2002*

Sixteen eyes glanced up as I walked into the hastily-improvised, windowless brick-and-tin shed that served as a classroom for the fifth graders. Like veteran shoppers at Karwan Bazaar, they scrutinized me, weighing me with their searching gazes, while the wheels in their heads whirred away, labelling, defining, categorising me.
I stood there, a very frightened eighteen year old, in my ill-fitting printed tunic and floppy jeans, white-knuckled from gripping the register copy.
"Class, this is your new English Literature teacher, Sabrina Miss." Tipping a thin-lipped not-smile at me, the slender, balding Language teacher pivoted on his heel and strode out of the classroom, oblivious to the paper missile chucked at his back from the back row. The thin tin door banged shut behind him, with all the finality of prison gates closing. There was no escape.

*2008*

The glass door slides open before me with a sigh, and forty heads swivel around as I step into the well-lit, air conditioned room. I adjust the strap of the Gucci bag on my shoulder and continue towards the table at the head of the room. Setting my stuff down on the table with a click, I lean forward, silently surveying the faces turned towards me. Shuffling feet, nervous coughs and sideways glances ensued as they submitted themselves towards my assessment. When I finally smiled, the collective sigh of relief was audible.
"Hello, class. I'm your new Communications teacher." As I turned towards the white-board, diaries were flipped open, pens poised for taking notes. I took a deep breath and began writing. There was no turning back.