I am at the school's Yaya Row, waiting for the bell. I don't want to burden the "regulars" with thinking up topics to lure me into their conversation, so I am pretending to write. Which is actually an excuse for doing what I do best: eavesdropping. :p
The yayas are, as usual, doing the cellphone talk, their dialogues peppered with "unli talk," "textmate," "callmate." They are obviously setting each other up with that faceless voice who might just look like Gerald Anderson. Funny, but the high-tech version of the age-old flirting and fishing game is very much alive even within the gates of this innocent-looking preschool, hehehe.
The more mature ones are trading recipes and rules on discipline. One's version of kinunot is making me salivate, especially after a not-so-filling lunch taken on the run. Another claims that Aling Dionisia's granules really works.
One youngish mother is feeding on her paranoia. Her daughter, she says, often complains that her classmates don’t “love” her, and she’s wondering if she should transfer her kid to another school. She hangs around the school all the time because she says she has a compilation of "yaya" horror stories. Ugh. But before I could wallow in the same cloud of paranoia, two loud thuds came from Gianna's room.
Two yelping girls with two ugly bumps effectively ended my "productive" hour on Yaya Row.