gMissing Somethingh - By Xun I felt a small impact upon my head. I could hear laughter from one end of the classroom as I saw the crumpled piece of paper on my wooden desk. Flicking it aside, I returned my attention to my work. The classroom is always full of vivacious energy emitted by guys high on adrenaline, especially when the teacher is absent. There is never any discipline in the classroom, noisy as ever. As I paused to think of what to write next, I took a sweeping glance around the room. The class monitor was sleeping on the job, not bothering about the noise going on. I could not blame him on not doing his job under such circumstances. The students were fighting again. I watched passively as they threw dusters across the vicinity, vying attention when hitting something. The class was in an uproar, several people becoming victims to the flying projectiles. I just wished I would not get hit. I looked out the backdoor where my principle would be: at his bakery room. I have often wondered why he had never bothered to come to our class to see the mess it is in. Are we that unworthy of his notice? A loud crash of metal startled me. Two tables have been toppled over in the fight and now they are chasing each other around the corridor. I sighed as I saw them. Their childish behavior never fails to amuse me. Indeed, some teachers see this as a form of entertainment to them. More people were dropping to sleep despite all the commotion. The afternoon heat has a way to drain the life out of us. Very rarely do you see a student here with a book open in front of him. The only other person who was holding a pen was my friend next to me. Noisy bastard, he said, unable to concentrate on his work. Someone sneezed loudly on my right, spraying his spit all over my face. The floor of my classroom is perpetually covered in a fine layer of dust, collected from the lack of hygiene from the students. I could only make sure my spot was dust-free. Nobody here bothers to follow the duty roster, save a few people. The students love to leave their mark in the classroom. Thesis evident from the amount of footprints and graffiti covering the walls, even the ceiling of the classroom. Someone has even carved his name onto the wall, neatly done with a blunt penknife. The ceiling fan continues to creak with each spin. It makes me get goose bumps as it sounds like it will fall from its foundations anytime soon. The students find joy in throwing items to the fan, watching excitedly as the items ricochets around the room. And you thought that humans were the smartest creatures on earth. Profanity is almost a must in everyday communication here. It is common to hear the four-letter word muttered in every sentence you hear. Vulgarity and offensive language reign supreme, making it common language here. Makes this place a gangsterfs paradise. I shook my head as I observed my pitiful classmates, wondering whether to shun them or to pity them. I returned my attention again to my work, willing myself to ignore the noise. When I looked up again, everybody is quiet. Only the lecturer raving away in the front could be heard. I see cold silent faces staring beady-eyed at the lecturer, absorbing each word he says. I look around, but I am unable to see any familiar faces. I feel alone, wondering where all the noise went. I am in college now, and I miss school.