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bglv.cb bp;;fhghg b ghjmgvgdvghjjmjjkjmj n nn m bbghgnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg .l.l. l.;l.,k olkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkmmmmlk llkcff5 ,d
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Above was Zara's first blog! Whoa, 'lawan taukeh', nampak?? Trying to break her mummy's writing record?? While other 10 year old girls kept their dear diary thingy, I quitely recycled an old 'Buku Latihan' (with that soft brown cover) to pen down my tiny thoughts of 'cerpen' collection.
After my parents found out about the book, they introduced me to (the late) Pak Long Noorjaya, an old writer from the North, who looked deeper into my writing 'feel' and techniques.
Later when my Guru Besar found out about THE BOOK, she requested... no insisted... to see, read and see how she can help in polishing my so-called talent (which I could have done it with my dad and Pak Long). But then, after giving so much thoughts about it, I said YES (Why not?). Never would I imagine that it was the turning point in my life- causing me to soul-search untill this very day. I bet Abang Rizal, the Admin officer, who saw me appearing everyday at the office doorway to collect THE BOOK, would understand what I'm talking about...
My visit to my dear, dear... dear, dear Guru Besar's room about two weeks later was the shockest... no, the most devastated day of my life as The Book, which I've been keeping for two years -- HAS GONE MISSING. Gone case.
I cried and cried and cried. Then I cried and cried and cried again. I was just a little girl. I was given high hopes; but the high hopes were taken back... no were snatched back right from my face. I was lied to. I was heart-broken.
But thank you Mama for your comfort advise.
Thank you Abah for inheriting me the ability to see things through words and letters.
Thank you Ms J, for killing my talent. THE END.
But if Zara chose to write, I'll watch her GURU BESAR like a hungry leopord!!!
'"
'.
bglv.cb bp;;fhghg b ghjmgvgdvghjjmjjkjmj n nn m bbghgnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg .l.l. l.;l.,k olkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkmmmmlk llkcff5 ,d
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Above was Zara's first blog! Whoa, 'lawan taukeh', nampak?? Trying to break her mummy's writing record?? While other 10 year old girls kept their dear diary thingy, I quitely recycled an old 'Buku Latihan' (with that soft brown cover) to pen down my tiny thoughts of 'cerpen' collection.
After my parents found out about the book, they introduced me to (the late) Pak Long Noorjaya, an old writer from the North, who looked deeper into my writing 'feel' and techniques.
Later when my Guru Besar found out about THE BOOK, she requested... no insisted... to see, read and see how she can help in polishing my so-called talent (which I could have done it with my dad and Pak Long). But then, after giving so much thoughts about it, I said YES (Why not?). Never would I imagine that it was the turning point in my life- causing me to soul-search untill this very day. I bet Abang Rizal, the Admin officer, who saw me appearing everyday at the office doorway to collect THE BOOK, would understand what I'm talking about...
My visit to my dear, dear... dear, dear Guru Besar's room about two weeks later was the shockest... no, the most devastated day of my life as The Book, which I've been keeping for two years -- HAS GONE MISSING. Gone case.
I cried and cried and cried. Then I cried and cried and cried again. I was just a little girl. I was given high hopes; but the high hopes were taken back... no were snatched back right from my face. I was lied to. I was heart-broken.
But thank you Mama for your comfort advise.
Thank you Abah for inheriting me the ability to see things through words and letters.
Thank you Ms J, for killing my talent. THE END.
But if Zara chose to write, I'll watch her GURU BESAR like a hungry leopord!!!
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