Oh, my head spins with all these AXE notations! But I hold on to this: count the electron pairs, see how many are bonding and how many are lone, and the shape bends away from the lonely ones. For my class project on shapes, I used clay and sticks, and the lone pairs were like my mother’s hands—always there, unseen, changing how everything else sits around them.

Ka jingiashem ia kane, ngi lah ban thoh 11 letters sha 11 spots, hynrei bad ka jingpyniur kaba pyllait ia "M" 1, "I" 4, "S" 4, "P" 2. Kane ka long 11! divided by (4!4!2!1!), kaba ai 34,650 arrangements. Haba ngi thoh ia ka khana shibun "MISSISSIPPI" sha ka blackboard, nga iohi ki khien b'ym lah ban pyllait ia ki "S" kaba shwa—bad kumno ka jingpyniur kam donkam.

Every monsoon, my classroom’s back wall stains with water, ruining the little ones' drawings. It reminds me of watching the race last Sunday, my mother shaking her head at the television—the hope at the start, the quiet sigh by lap 40. But we always prepare the fresh paper again, ngan sa ioh, just like you all will wear the red next weekend.