That year I was eight years old.

Later, I also found life boring many times when I failed the exam at fifteen, fell in love at the age of forty, unemployed at thirty-three, and having achieved all success at the age of forties.

But eight years old has the boredom of being eight.

That was the day for some reason why I thought that life had nothing to wait for.

Many years later, I have learned that philosophers and theologians are still struggling to find the meaning of life, and they are unlikely to find it by the Moroccan New Year.

But when I was eight years old, I found life was nothing new to explore.

The same sun shines every day. Still black curtain that falls each night. On the roof and on the leaves behind the garden, the wind still lamented the wind's voice. The bird is still singing the bird's voice. Crickets voice crickets, chickens clear voice chicken voice. In short, life is old.

My life was more old. Every night, before I go to bed, I know tomorrow what events will happen in my life.

I told them: In the morning, I have to do my best to wake up while I still want to sleep. Of course I had been pretending to be in a slumber even before my mother let out a hoarse voice and shook me, but of course I remained as blank as a log until my mother tickled the soles of my feet.

When I set foot on the ground, I have to brush my teeth and wash my face, in short, do morning cleaning before being pressed against the table to lazily chew on something that is often out of taste. My mother has always been concerned about her health and concretizes her concerns by forcing me (and the whole family) to eat nutritious foods while I only enjoy what she deems unhealthy. Fat, like instant noodles.

It is good to be concerned with your health, and the older it gets, the more true it becomes. No one dares to say that it is not good to care. Me too. When I was an adult, a journalist interviewed me, what are you most interested in between health, love and money? At first I talk more about love, later on I talk more about health. I ignore money, even though I see it as an injustice: money has never been acknowledged as a primary concern even though money goes out to buy gifts for love and medicine every day. yeast for health.

But okay, that's the story of the adults - the story of the future. As for me, at the age of eight, I just remember that I didn't like to eat nutritious food. But of course I still had to eat, even with reluctance and laziness, and that's why my mother always lamented me.

Having finished my morning meal (not happy at all), I hurriedly searched for books to put in my bag, picked up another book from the top of the television, another book on the top of the refrigerator, and pulled another one out from under the blankets and pillows. , of course there is always something missing, then three legs and four legs rushed out of the house.

The school is close to home so I walk, but in reality I have never enjoyed the pleasure of walking to school. I have to run all the time. Because I always get up late, always do late cleaning, always eat breakfast late, and take a lot of time to collect my notebooks for a class. About this, my father said: "Son, when he was my age, he always packed his notebooks neatly into his bag before going to bed, so the next morning just take his briefcase out of the house!".

But when my father was the same age as me, I was not in the world to check what he said, because when I was three years old I am now sure I will repeat to my children what he said to me - story pack my notebooks before I go to bed and lots of other things that I never do.

Well, for things like this, you never ask for proof. Sometimes for some reason we are forced to make up stories.

We keep repeating the story until one day we do not remember whether we made it up, and then after a while if we keep repeating that story many times, they I will believe it is real. Even more so than ordinary belief, which is unconditional belief, almost conviction. Like mathematicians who believe in the Euclidean proposition or Christians in Jesus' resurrection.

Oh, but those are also adult problems.

I continued my story when I was eight years old.

So, if I leave the house for a while, I go to school.

In class I always sit in the last seat. Sitting at the last table is spoiled for chatting, arguing, pinching or playing all kinds of mischief without fear of being discovered by the teacher, but the most attractive thing in the dark position is that it is rarely asked to answer the board.

That has its laws. Remember, you do have a lot of friends, you love so many people, but you do not always miss them.

Our memory is too small to hold many faces or names at the same time, only when we see that person in the street or encounter that name in a newspaper report, do we suddenly remember and feel exclaimed "Oh, it's been a long time, I haven't seen him. Last year, I was stuck with money, and he lent me five hundred thousand!".

My teacher is the same. How could she remember me and ask me to answer the cards when she couldn't see me in the middle of a pile of heads and necks bobbing in front of me.

Every day as well as every day, I sat there, gossiping and stirring, and waited for the bell to come out to play to death.

During the years that people call it ornate to crush my pants on a school chair (I would be frankly imprisoned in the classroom), I didn't like any hours, from math, writing practice to. hours of reading, hours of spelling. I just like every hour out.

Going out is probably the best thing an adult can think of for a kid. Going out meant that the teachers' golden words slipped out of memory as quickly as the wind, extremely smooth. Going out means getting rid of the crib (of course, having to press the belly to get back in), and being allowed to breathe free air.

During my school years, my friends and I used those rare moments of freedom on soccer and marbles, but most often and most enthusiastically are chases, fights, or grapples. Until no one looks like a good student, that is when his elbows are scratched, his eyes are bruised, his legs are limp and his clothes look even worse than cleaning rags.

Why don't I ever leave in here. Because leaving means leaving one prison to go to another, just like people transferring camps to inmates, there's nothing cool.

I'm not exaggerating, because every day welcoming me at the top of the alley is also the worried face of my mother and the face of my father.

- Oh my God, why do you always go out like this every day?

Roughly my mother said that, her voice gasped, speaking while squeezing the top of my bloody arm as if to see if it was about to fall off me.

My father has a different way of saying it, very close to the way the dragon spits fire:

- Are you fighting again?

- I'm not fighting. My friend hit me and i hit back.

I lied (though it was more true than telling the truth) and when my father approached me in the form of a tenth-tier storm that hit the mainland, my mother pulled me away:

- Grandfather, the child is already crushed!

My mother had a very similar exaggeration to me, I chuckled chuckling at her while chasing.

After that, without saying, everyone knew that I was thrown into the bathroom by my mother. When I was as pure and fragrant as a freshly baked loaf of bread, my mother started to apply all kinds of red and blue green medicine that made me very soon look like a chameleon.

Of course, from then until the meal, I was not allowed to leave the house to avoid having to fall into various games equally attractive to the kids in the neighborhood, the opponents who were very worthy substitutes for us. at school.

What did I do when I was eight when I finished lunch?

Go to take a nap!

In this big world, there are probably a lot of kids my age who are tied to their naps by their parents in the way people tie cows to poles to keep them from running around. Neighbors also came to the house to curse loudly.

In fact, for an eight-year-old, a nap has no health value. When I was growing up, I had to admit that napping to an elderly person is more precious than gold. As we age, health declines. Working hard, headaches, blurred eyes, tired back, trembling hands, sleep at night are still not enough dose to successfully repair the damaged parts of the body. In the afternoon you have to take a nap for a while to be awake enough in the afternoon without hammering your arms or missing your feet when walking down the stairs.

But if you have lived in the world for only eight years, there is no good reason to take your nap seriously. For peoples that don't have the habit of napping, like Americans, for example, children find it much less meaningful to climb into bed after lunch.

When I was eight, of course I didn't have that kind of wisdom. But I also vaguely realized that when my father went to sleep I was forced to go to sleep, like a sheep awake and a shepherd could not rest assured to take a nap.

I was fidgeting beside him on the couch, sighing deeply as I thought of the punches my naughty friends were swinging out there.

- Don't stir! If you keep moving, you will not be able to sleep!

My dad said, and I listened to him. I don't move, but my eyes are still wide open.

- Don't open your eyes! Keep your eyes open and you won't be able to sleep!

My father said again, he was still lying neatly so I thought he could not see me open his eyes, he just guessed that. Unfortunately for me he guessed every time.

I close my eyes, narrow it, my eyelids are still hot, but I can't make my eyelids stop.

After a while, my father asked:

- Are you sleeping?

- Yes.

I replied, innocently and obediently, falling easily into my father's trap.

I lay like that, awake for a while, feel pity and melancholy, and then fall asleep when I don't feel good.

When I woke up, my life path was already laid out. I go from bed to bathroom to wash my face and then from the bathroom straight to my desk doing the boring job of studying or doing my homework.

Occasionally I was allowed to run to the front of the house to play with the neighbors' children but in front of my mother's supervising gaze (from a mysterious position behind the doorways that I could not discover forever), I just dare to play sly games like hopscotch or blindfolded goats, sort of games for girls who cry. (Later, more clever, I learned how to alas let my mother let me go to a neighbor's house, so for a long time I had the opportunity to do what I like).

Play for a while, I have to sit and recite the next song, the more I chant, the more I forget it, but still chant for my mother to peacefully cook rice.

From this moment on, my life was incredibly boring.

I lazily studied while waiting for the rice to cook. When the rice is cooked, I lazily ate it while waiting to continue studying.

Tiveo TV seldom touches my hand, it looks like a decoration. Always, I can only leave my desk when I have memorized all of the next day's work.

My father was the one who directly checked that. Unlike my mother, my father was so determined that I had a feeling he would get a huge boost if he went into the police, the courts or the tax department. He never stepped back from my tears, even though at that time I looked so sad that I was only a step away from death.

- I finished studying, Dad. - Usually I open my mouth first.

My father came over and looked at me with doubtful eyes:

- Are you sure?

- Yes, sure!

I replied quickly, and when my father began searching, I immediately denied my assertiveness completely by standing at the spot where I thought I could never forget it even if I hit the stump.

- Study again!

My dad said with a shrug and turned away with the newspaper still clutched in his hand, clearly wanting to send me the message that he was willing to wait for me even though he was forced to read through the last ad when he had nothing left to do. but also read.

By the way he swung the newspaper in his hand, I feared that his implications would go further: it seemed that if he needed it, he would start rereading the paper for a second time and more. Thinking so, I had to bury my head in the words that now to me were like mortal enemies, that mood made it harder for me to remember them mindlessly.

So you can also guess that when I have memorized the temporary, that is not very fluent, my body has been mercilessly knocked out by sleep, and often I dragged myself into bed with unsteady footsteps. , half awake and half asleep before my mother's sad eyes.

So, in short, the day is over.

I only need to tell one day is enough, there is no need to add other days.

Simply put, every day is the same as any other day. A day like every other day, as the saying goes.

And so life for me is monotonous, if repetition is the most precise and clearest manifestation of monotony.

It was not until much later that I discovered that there was another view of repetition. It is called stability.

An arranged job, a predictable career, is the desire of many people, many countries.

Of course, it would be nice to have a forecast of a country's economic growth, but if you were to predict exactly the same way about your own emotional growth, it can sometimes be tedious. It would be weird if you were convinced that in a month you would start falling in love, three months later you would be falling in love - a little, six months later you would love more ...

I have seen many young people making plans for their lives: 22 years old graduating from college, 25 years old getting married, 27 years old starting a company, 30 years old giving birth to their first child, and so on and so on ... How tight! But once a person's life is programmed so closely and scientifically, if it all goes as planned, will you be emotionally saturated?

When talking about emotions, perhaps it is impossible not to associate it with each person's personality. The optimist says stabilizing what the pessimist thinks is monotonous. The life of husband and wife is the same, some will be peaceful, some give tasteless, and some know how! Indeed, couples who live together so well and not so well are like those between two benevolent neighbors, and the extremist has the opportunity to boast that peace is not relative to happiness, know how to say

But oh well, I was talking again when I was an adult. Talk about husband and wife taboo here again!

I will return to the subject of this book, come right back, which is to say about what I was when I was eight years old.

The story I'm about to tell, unfortunately, is also related to husband and wife. But besides suffering, there is also luck, this is just a game of husband and wife - a game that any child my age loves to play even though when they grow up they are very cautious.

Ti and my baby next to my house is a couple.

I am my husband, Tí sun is my wife.

The Tí rut is not beautiful, the person is black, the hair is curly because they run and dance in the sun all the time, so they have a toothache.

But I willingly accept her as my wife, just because she likes me, I tell him everything. Honestly, I prefer Frisky, because the most beautiful daughter in the neighborhood, she has dimples. But I do not marry Frien because I see him always hanging out with Hai stork. Later I knew it was a feeling of jealousy, of course childish jealousy, and at that time I just felt uncomfortable.

And I don't marry Tí sún, in the way that adults say: marry my lover, not the one I love, especially when the person I love doesn't seem to love me!

I married Ti rut for about five minutes and immediately gave birth to two children: Hai stork and a cub. I hated the two of them, I made them just like that, but Hai Stork was a year older than me

- Where's the stork? - I shouted.

- Yes, Dad called me. - Hai storks ran to.

I exaggerate:

- Pour three pieces of water!

Seeing the cub covering his mouth and giggling, Hai Stork stabbed:

- I'm studying.

- How to study at this hour? - I shouted - Fool!

The stork reached out his hand to pick his ear to hear clearly:

- Is studying a lie?

- What more! Do not study any homework! Good children have to run and jump, climb trees, bathe the river, fight!

Hai stork unexpectedly caught such a crazy dad, grinning:

- So I'm going to fight!

After saying that, it ran away.

But I'm not mad at it. I am enjoying myself. I accidentally discovered how to make life a little less boring.

- Shit! - I shouted.

- Yes. Pour water?

I chuckled:

- You don't pretend I'm smart. I'm out of thirst.

I said as if out of anger:

- I am I, God hates smart kids, that is, the kids who study once in a while are already under the edge! Hmm, good job!

Con Nhu doesn't know what I want. Seeing me frowning, it was afraid to tremble:

- Yes, I'm not smart. You are an idiot.

I gloat:

- So you really are my good son.

I took out my pocket and took out a tiny piece of candy that was left from yesterday:

- Here, I reward you.

Frustratedly, she took the candy, not understanding why he was stupid and was rewarded, so he did not dare to eat.

I was trying to tell my son "Eat," then Hai Stork ran in from the outside, gasping for breath, acting as if he was fighting.

- Are you going to fight back there? I asked lovingly.

- Yes. - The stork was excited - I took ten children at once!

- You are really good. - I complimented, and looked at Hai Stork from head to toe - How my clothes ...

- Still okay, Dad. - Sea stork happily showed off - I beat each other with them but the clothes were still healthy, straight ...

- You bastard! - I shouted, not letting Hai Stork finish his sentence. - Fighting without tearing, scratching, bruising, but also called fighting?

My sudden anger stunned Hai Stork for a while. It does not know how to react but falter:

- Uh ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ...

- What y'all y'all! You really are a pervert! I embarrassed him to death alone!

My wife Tíún, started to feel bewildered by my teaching style:

- Grandfather, the child knows how to keep it well.

- What do you know! - I snapped at Tí sún, his saliva soared without hitting his face. - Fighting, not going to a party! Fighting that clean clothes would be humiliating for the ancestors!

I punched soldiers in the chest:

- Oh, it wouldn't be better if it cut me a knife! My child is a child! You come here and kill your father!

Seeing me howling so disgusting, Ti cringe.

While Hai was laughing and laughing, the male face turned out like a lizard hit the face. He doesn't know what to do with the candy in his hand, whether it should be stuffed in his pocket or in his mouth. His face looked very worried, perhaps because he completely did not know what new action was not listed as "spoiled" or worse by his father, "humiliating his ancestors".

oOo

My friends were just surprised the first day.

Then like any true child, they quickly felt the excitement of that wonderful game.

The next day, it was Hai stork and Bon's turn to play the role of parents. Tí sún and I are children.

Last night Hai Stork must stay up all night, waiting for morning. In the morning I saw his eyes red. If it wasn't a Sunday, maybe Hai Stork would be charred with impatience before the rest of them left from school.

- Where's Mui? - Hai stork booming, his voice is very excited.

Cu Mui is my home name. My parents called me that probably because I was born in the Year of the Goat.

- Yes. - I respond to your voice.

- Please show me your notebooks here.

I was attracted to the practice of tucking in the back of my pants, nervously handing Hai Stork, my stomach trying to guess how it was going to "teach" me.

Turning a few pages, Hai Stork shouted:

- Cu Mui!

I bleakly looked at it:

- Yes.

The stork slammed his hand on the table:

- How do you learn how to practice such blank notebooks?

Before I could answer, he threw the notebook out the window, growling:

- Learn with no practice! You keep your notebooks clean like this, aren't you afraid that the teachers tell your parents you don't know how to teach you, that guy?

I was scolded like splashing water in my face, but my intestines swelled in pieces. I did not expect Hai Co to be such a wonderful father.

I gladly acknowledge the error:

- Sir, this time I trot wild. Next time I don't dare to keep my notebooks so carefully anymore.

I said, and rolled my eyes around, seeing the corner of the house of Frustration and the little girl with a hand to cover her mouth trying to suppress a smile.

- That brat brat! What are you laughing! - Hai stork glanced at the Tí sún - Have you finished cooking, but stood there smiling?

The Tí rut was polite:

- Yes, I have already served. Invite parents and Hai to eat.

- Are you crazy? - Hai stork raised his hands to the sky - Until now, the rice is sitting and eating, only someone who has not been educated to a place can do so, understand?

- Yes, I don't understand. - Tí sún is honest - What do they do when they are educated?

- They go out and do nothing. - They go swimming, they play billiards, they fish, they play tag or fight, in general they can do anything to keep others waiting, except the very incultry thing is to sit at the table.

The child was awake and alone:

- Your father is right. Only spoilers can eat on time!

oOo

At first, I thought I was the only one who enjoyed this crazy trick. It turns out everyone likes it. Of us, Tí sún is the gentle and slowest child, but by the third day, he can adapt to the situation by adjusting Hai stork to play when it is his turn to become a mother.

- How many times 4 times?

- Yes, it's 8.

The Tí rut did not yell loudly like me and Hai Stork, but his face looked so cerebral:

- Why is it 8? It is a waste of money to give my mother to school!

The stork blinked:

- How many?

- It's fine, but not 8.

- Mom, according to the multiplication table, 2 times 4 is 8.

- Are you a parrot? What do you hear, multiplication tables? So you don't have a head?

Hai stork touched his head, regretfully:

- You really are a brainless child. Next time I won't listen to anyone, whether it's the multiplication table or the teacher. I promise my mother that I will think with my own head.

Hai Stork's statement is considered as a common statement of all, ending a dark period of living only on the protection of others. Oh, what life has been like since then!

But as people often say "short joy": on the day Hai Stork brought a gloomy face to me, we suddenly realized that life is still gray as if there were four seasons a year ago. bronze.

- What's wrong with you? Newly beaten? I asked curiously.

- Yes. Because of the crime of daring to say that only an idiot can keep the notebook clean.

The Tíún appeared with a sorrowful face:

- And I was punished by my father for insisting that 3 times 5 is not 15.

Con Bon contributed to two rows of tears and hiss:

- As for me, even though my parents were hoarse, I definitely wouldn't run home for lunch.

I glanced at the three of my friends, quietly sighed.

I learned to be a little revolutionary, depressed when I couldn't change the world, and still plagued others.

So I am not gloomy, not sad, not whimpering, and I have tears in my eyes.

My pain goes inside. It was deeper, at least equal to the pain of the three friends combined.

Because yesterday I was beaten for committing all three of the above crimes at the same time.

After all, after both emotional and physical injuries, we were forced to accept not to think differently from the multiplication table printed on the back of each volume. If we want to change, we have to wait until we become successful, that is, by the time we become world-famous mathematicians, then we will compose a multiplication table of our choice.

In the meantime (oh, so long!), Me, Hai stork, cub, and Tí sun are forced to agonizely agree that 2 times 4 is 8, as well as 3 times 5 is 15.

With that humiliating attitude of surrender, we quickly returned to being good children in the eyes of our parents, which meant keeping the notebook as sacred as keeping the pupils of our eyes, as well as being forced to redeem. recognize that a diligent child is definitely not a spoiled child.

Life goes back to its old rails and my life is in danger of dying out in a monotonous rhythm since I was born.

How now? I thought, thought, and thanks to god's help I finally thought of a way out.

Hey, guys! - The revolutionary gathered his remnants - From today on, we don't call the chicken a chicken, the bird is a bird, the notebook is the notebook, the pen is the pen ...

Tí was bewildered:

Then what to call?

Call by whatever, as long as the call is not the same!

Sea storks squinted:

Can you call the hat a notebook, the head is the leg?

Okay. - I huff - You want to call the head a butt is fine.

Son wondered:

But why do that?

That year, at the age of eight, I did not know that in the 5W formula that Westerners used as a tool to discover the truth, including "What - Who - Where - When - Why", we Vietnamese still translated as "What - Who - Where - When - Why", the question "Why" is always the most profound, most substantial, and of course the most difficult to answer. Compared to the other four questions, the question that begins with the two words "Why" is much more important.

As a kid, you probably also have a ton of "why" questions that make your parents extremely confused.

Why does thunder come in the rain?

Why does hair grow only on the head?

Why are we celebrating Tet?

Why sugar is sweet and salt is salty?

Why is blood red?

Why does the stork sleep with one leg?

Why do men have breasts?

Why does the earth orbit the sun?

We, to be precise, we kids, have gone from the simplest of questions to the most complex ones, of which there are questions that would otherwise be impossible for a brilliant scientist. thoroughly explained. Our parents back then (we do sometimes too) often find a way to turn to other things or can't help but get mad at their children because they are angry that they are not great scientists. that's it.

But when it comes to questions like "Why are we born?", "Why do we have to live?", "Why must we die?", Scientists give up. Questions now become metaphysical and begin to enter the realm of philosophy. Prince Siddhartha once sought an answer to this fundamental question - to decipher the meaning of existence, to eventually become an enlightened one of the greatest in the world under the name of Shakyamuni. Mau Ni.

Oh, I'm chattering again. But all is due to the Tí sún. It asks me "why" - a philosophical question. In an effort to answer a question that has the seeds of philosophy, anyone can become a philosopher, even if one is not on purpose and is only eight years old.

I was sporty, my face was red and gay:

Why do you do that? Because we need to prove we have our own worth. We do not like to obey other people's arrangements. Why should we call the dog a dog? Huh, a dog is a dog, that doesn't make any sense. If the first person called the dog the iron, we will now also call it the iron. It's just a dua! So stupid!

Great, Cu Mui! - Hai stork rang. If Fret doesn't chain her iron, even if I am her husband I swear I will never step over her house!

Sea Storks! "I think you should close your arms," ​​he growled.

The stork extended his arms and frowned:

This arm?

I smile:

I think the Frustration is more than talking about your mouth.

Ah, - The stork hangs his head - That means from now on we will call the mouth an arm. That's good!

oOo

In those days, it was best not to enter our world. If not, you will feel like you are lost on another planet.

I mean it. For sure you won't be able to understand replies like this:

It's night, I'm going home to go to the market.

My mom promised to buy me a new well on my birthday.

No matter how imaginative it is, you cannot imagine how we would say we can go to the market instead of going to sleep, just as our briefcase suddenly turned into a well innocently.

Respectful parents are of course not interested in this chattering, especially we seem to be slowly infecting new words that when the three kids tell him to turn off the fan, it turns off. TV, like Tí rut dozens of times run out to the street just to find the Bra while her mother waited wearily for her to bring in the iron.

At that time, I thought it was a child's play and only children could think of such amazing games. We want to change a way of calling, even if possible, renaming the whole world, with just one very good purpose of making the world new, pristine, like being born again. We have no other way when we are too young while the world is too old. That's why we kids desperately need our own young and rich world.

But when I became an adult I discovered that adults also love to play this game, of course with a completely different purpose. People call bribes giving gifts above affection, calling wrongdoing irresponsible, calling embezzlement a loss that has serious consequences, and so on. The purpose of this conceptual swapping is to obscure what is so clear, with the typical way of using a complex and understandable phrase to call an event where people are. It is completely possible to call by name with a short, simple and transparent word that no one else can understand even if they want to. In this ominous way one day it is very likely that people will give out the Physics Nobel Prize to someone capable of exerting a deliberate acting force that causes matter to move from one position to another. which the client is unaware of, while that beautiful, classy phrase actually refers to the pickpocket name.

Our children are much more innocent and pure.

But that's why we have to pay the price.

This is the accident of the Stork.

The teacher asked him to read a passage in the reading book.

I took out the book! - The teacher said and he casually picked up the math book.

Not this book! - The teacher was shocked - Didn't you bring your reading book? Where's my notebook? Do you copy the article?

Hai stork awkwardly pulled out the cloth hat tucked in the pocket of his pants and put it on the table.

Are you kidding! - The teacher stood up, her face turned red - I followed her up to the office and met the principal right away!

Teacher, the principal is not going to school today. Yesterday, the principal had a fight with me, this morning I was still groaning at home.

The principal in Hai Stork's mind is of course me - the guy of Goat. Yesterday afternoon I beat him really (just because I had a fight to see who could be the father of the child first) and at night I had a fever, for whatever reason only heaven knows but Hai stork boasted that he beat I lie flat.

In our newly renamed world, Hai Stork is the police chief, Bon is the flight attendant, Tí sún is Snow White, and I am the principal. These names are chosen by us, according to each child's secret wishes.

On the good days before the Stork's crash, our world was filled with sounds of joy like this:

Principal, today I will be a mother, will the principal be the child?

What are you chewing on in your arm, sheriff, will you?

Snow White, stay away! Did you urinate when I went to the market last night, but my father heard about it?

Flight attendant, did you just buy a new notebook? Come here to try it for a bit!

As you know, we gave the hat a new name: the notebook, the television was the fan, and we went to the market to sleep. And it's also great that we call math a reading, history is writing, ethics is drawing, and tons of other bold innovations.

But all are not as dangerous as calling Cu Mui like the principal.

Fortunately, the real headmaster, after hours of interrogating the sheriff, understood that the principal who was beaten up by Hai Stork was not a teacher, and although he did not consider it as an insult, after that dark hour. of history, the dog was again the dog, the guy the Goat was the Goat boy again, which meant we were not allowed to redefine the world again in a way that adults are far from coming up with.

Can they ban us because they are jealous?