School.

“Mr. Cheng MC is a really nice man.” That’s why I wrote in my best big kid’s scribble on a page of Harresh’s scribble-doodle-woodle notebook. He answers all my questions, without giving that “TSK-W-T-F-IS-IT?” look. And that’s why I like him. The only thing I dislike about that nice man, like how all humans have their flaws, is his teaching disabilities. Most of the lecturers of my course suffer from that disability. As students, we suffer too. Their monotonous droning tortures our attention while we struggle to stay awake. If you ever get the opportunity to observe a class from the back of the lecture hall, you’ll notice bobbing heads and motionless tilted ones.

My classmates are very exciting people. They never look like they’re sick of school. In fact, I strongly suspect they might have some secret overwhelming love for school. They know school like the back of their palms. Yet I still can’t get the names of eng school’s canteens right. Short circuit. Bread board. I’ve to act like I know it to avoid embarrassment.

Alright it’s dinner&urban time.

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