Dear fuckers

First of all I want to say thank you. Thank you because in these five days without seeing you I’ve realized that your behavior has affected me more than I thought.

I recognized that this Cabrera 08 has been the first summercamp in which I didn’t mind going home. It was not that I wanted to go home, but I was less sad the last day. And now that I’m at home, you don’t imagine how happy I am without seeing your stupid faces anymore.

I specially remember your face during the class, you were absolutely out because you were not able to understand anything nor the first day, neither the last one. Moreover, you didn’t do any kind of effort to understand me, so while the rest of the class spent 3 minutes trying to guess what I was saying, you could only wait until everybody was finishing the activity to copy it.

However, this lack of understanding was not the worst of your behavior, what really made me laugh was the level of absurdity you can reach when you pretend to be funny and you are not. I remember one day, that I gave you a piece of paper to write down some sentences and the first thing you did was spit in the middle of the sheet. I looked at you and I said: throw it to me. You looked at the floor ashamed and I repeated: come on, throw it to me. The rest of the class was in absolute silence, looking at you and your disgusting spit and I was so happy… I felt so glad seeing that you were so “short”, so ridiculous, and moreover, so COWARD…

Another anecdote I like to explain to my friends is the night that you and your friends decided to escape out of the hostel. Ha ha ha, what a bad boy you are, aren’t you?! I’m sure you did it only to explain the story to the girls the next day. I was preparing the material for the class and listening your voice explaining how exciting had been and how silly had been the monitors, looking for you in the forest, with the torches, at 2 o’clock in the morning. Of course I didn’t say anything to you, but in this moment I really wanted to stop the game of being english… I could have said too many things! But no, I resisted one more time just thinking how stupid you were and how stupid would be your life.

Ah! Now that I’m talking of understanding everything and going on with the game of being english… I also understood when you were talking about how gorgeous I am, and about all the nice dirty things you would do to me. “Think you know everything, you really don’t know nothing, I wish that you were more intelligent, so you could see that what you are doing is, so shitty, to me”…

I don’t know why I’m writing this kind of letter but I could write six like this one, or more, one for each fucker, because I still remember your names, your faces, and your animal reasoning. And the last thing I would like to say is that I’m writing in english because even thought at this point you probably know that I’m catalan, you won’t understand this letter if one day you find it, or you will have to do a big effort to have an idea of what I’m talking about, because your mind is a joke and you have no idea of english.

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El primer petó

En Pau és un nen de 7 anys, estudia a l’Escola Barcelona de Les Corts i els dimarts a la tarda assisteix, amb poques ganes, a classes d’anglès a l’Escola d’Idiomes Big Ben. Sempre surt dels últims, passa pel meu costat i em mira sense cap mena d’alegria aparent. “Pau, give me five”, li dic jo extenent la mà a la seva alçada. Ell xoca la meva mà dient: “quin pal Sara”, adoptant una postura rebel i un vocabulari poc comú per la seva edat.

És el lider de la classe, el més atrevit, nerviós i en definitiva, el més difícil de mantenir sota control. Potser per aquesta raó és el meu preferit, ja que més que un alumne, és un repte. A vegades li faig una carícia al cabell i ell m’aparta la mà, però tot seguit ve a mi i m’explica alguna cosa.

Dimarts passat, en Pau va sortir de l’escola gairebé dels primers, em va buscar amb la mirada i va venir a mi.

-Sara! Sara! Sara! li he fet un petó a una noiaaa! a que no t’ho creus? es veritat! li he fet un petó!

-De veritat Pau? sí? oh, me’n alegro molt per tu! felicitats! (li faig una abraçada i es deixa)

-Estic suuuuuper feliç Sara! es que no m’ho crec! fins i tot he aguantat tres o quatre segons, així que ja és quasi un “morreo”, no?

-Homeee Pau! jajaja Tres segons està molt bé! I ella què diu, li ha agradat?

-Crec que sí… després ja no hem parlat en tot el dia però crec que sí, estava somrient. A mi m’ha agradat taaaaaant! tinc ganes de que arribi la nit per somiar amb aquest petó!

-Me’n alegro molt per tu, de veritat, em fa molta il·lusió, a veure si es repeteix aviat i m’ho expliques dimarts que ve. Avui és un gran dia eh?

I sí, li podia haver donat alguns consells, però potser en trec jo més profit que ell, d’aquesta experiència. Un bon professor no és aquell que rectifica el teu camí, si no el que aporta les eines necessàries per construir-ho. La relació entre professor i alumne no és unidireccional, el professor no només transmet coneixements, si no que adopta el rol tant d’emissor com de receptor. L’alumne s’alimenta de l’experiència del professor, absorbeix coneixements, en fa una selecció i utilitza només el que l’interessa per arribar a la seva meta.

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