I am done with my second year of university. This means, I am halfway done with university; two more years to go. I’d like to think that I am doing alright, I’m scoring relatively decent grades and I am thankful that I don’t have to worry about being called up by the administrators because of poor grades. In fact, I have even been praised several times for my academic work.
Next semester, I am going on a semester long overseas exchange in the United States, something that my physics teacher once advised all of us to do in junior college. Go overseas and expose yourselves to another culture during University, he said. It will be a once in a lifetime experience, he said.
Right now, I’m lucky to be able to say that going on exchange seems like a no brainer—I am fully qualified, equipped with the necessary criteria to do so. A more than sufficient GPA, a wide variety of school options to choose from thanks to the relative prestige of my university, and of course, a very close friend to go on exchange with. Everything is good. All is well. I don’t have to worry about anything.
But three years ago, I almost thought I wouldn’t make it to university.
Despite my comfortable grades now, I will never forget how it felt like to suffer every single day in junior college. I will never forget how it felt like to fail almost every single paper, scoring a grand total of 30 rank points out of 90 for my prelim exams right before A levels. I will never forget how, when I went up to receive my physics prelim paper with my table mate, who was quite a high-flyer, my teacher asked her why she had done so badly for her paper when she had scored nearly double my marks, and yet my teacher said nothing to me—like it was almost normal that I was going to fail anyway. I will never forget how I was called out to attend every possible remedial, and how my name, along with others, was flashed on the auditorium screen in front of the entire cohort to see the year master. That shame, that embarrassment, but above all, that crippling sense of internal devastation. I will never forget how, when I was overseas during the school holiday when I was supposed to be attending remedial (the plane tickets were booked a year in advance, so it was not purposefully booked to avoid the remedial), my physics teacher texted in the entire class chat that “if you can even make it to university” when I mentioned that I happened to be at Cambridge during that time. And I will never forget how, when I went back to visit my junior college during my first year at university and bumped into my then year master, I was doing my university school work but she thought I was still trying to apply for university.
Because some impressions don’t change. Because people are quick to form judgments about one another. Because most people are not so charitable, not so understanding, not so willing to believe. I wanted to give up on myself, and it didn’t help that one of my teachers so openly expressed doubt in me. But honestly, in retrospect, I don’t really blame him. I can’t. This is what the education system has shaped us into.
But amidst all the self doubt and the failures, my GP teacher never gave up on me. She constantly fought for me, because not only was I struggling with academics, I was also causing troubles with my classmates. The discipline mistress wanted to call my parents, she fought to convince her not to do that. She noticed my interpersonal problems, and she was there for me. However embarrassing they were, never once have I felt like she judged me. I was vulnerable, but she cared for me—in a tough way, but enough for me to feel her sincerity. She gave me continuous consultations, and she encouraged me. She complimented me. For the first time in a very long time, I heard a teacher tell me that I was good at something academically. She told me I was good at language in writing, that I had a strong personal voice. And if only I could improve my content, I was able to come up with a good essay. It was like seeing the light at the end of a dark tunnel, hearing that from her. I didn’t want to disappoint her; I didn’t want to disappoint the only teacher who had complimented me. I worked very hard for GP, and at the end of the day when I received my A level results, amongst the Bs and the Cs, the only A I got was for GP. And that was euphoria. Not only because I had scored the first A I have seen in my entire junior college life, but because I know it was the best way to show my teacher that her efforts in me had paid off. That I was worth believing in. In fact, I’d say that the whole reason why I managed to pass my A levels in the first place—and doing well enough to get into a good local university—was because of her. Because she didn’t just teach me how to write a good GP essay. She also taught me to believe in myself.
Fast forward to now, my residential hall in university sits directly opposite NIE, the national institute of education where all the teachers of local schools must attend to receive teaching training. There is a banner somewhere in NIE that says “Your classes may be forgotten; but your lessons never will never be.” And every single time I see this banner, I think of her. Hands down, the most impactful teacher I ever had. Hands down, the teacher I am the most indebted to. Hands down, one of the biggest reasons why I am here, now, in university and doing comfortably well. Because somewhere deep inside, she always pushes me on, even though she no longer teaches me. And now that even though I am writing 2500-word long essays for the bulk of my assessments, I still think of her harping on my 500 word GP essay. And honestly, a contributing factor as to why I chose a major (and 2nd major) in university that requires so much essay writing, was because she helped me believe in myself that I can write.
So yes. It’s been three years since I graduated junior college, and the painful times then are now history. But I will never forget how a teacher saved me from the darkness. I will never forget the moment of elation, of relief, when I saw my final results and knew that I could make it to university. Now, I receive academic compliments much more often. But your compliment will always be the one I treasure the most.
Thank you.
; 