While doing a pleasant seafood dinner with some friends last evening, we were asked to tell at least one of our resolutions. The ones that didn’t have any were asked to just think/make one up. I was the one who had none, but at that moment, I wanted a 50” 3-D LED television plus a 3D Blu-ray player so, that was what I blurted, “…a 50-inch 3D LED TV with a 3D Blu-ray player!”

(Oh yes, and good health).

I think my resolutions (or could even be considered “resolutions” to begin with) were a little bit of an anti-climax as the rest wanted better career advancements, to find or maintain a solid relationship with their partners or spouses and their wishes to see the rest of the world!

And all I wanted was a TV.

No, it’s not like I have no dreams or ambitions but I like to see life like the famous line from Forrest Gump, “Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

And when and if I do picked up one piece (of chocolate) that tastes awful, I am gonna find out WHAT makes it awful. What I could learn from the taste and if I could see the lesson behind it because no matter how bad (or good), it’s still gonna come out from my other end anyway!

So, for New Year resolution believers, I wish you the best and hope that you would stick to it to the very end.

And folks like me? Well, we get all the chocolates!

Regardless, have a good, successful, loving and healthy year ahead.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering
experience…I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine.

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you

Sing

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year
olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever
own..

Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for
good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you’re 40, it will
look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen…

Everyone was into the occasion and my bosses were even doing some Bollywood moves on the floor. As usual, we all chipped in for the Indian spread and at the end of the do, packed the left-overs home for a later snack and even for dinner.

We had so much fun and now looking forward to the next occasion (Chinese New Year)!

Image:

Top) My colleagues and I in our kurtas!
Middle) Yes, the foood…
Bottom)…and dancing girls!

Those were some of the most interesting days during my stint on drama class/stage acting at the KLPac (Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre). I have always been interested in it from the acting, stage design to the writing aspects, so taking that basic was a start. Since all the participants were working people, our official training took place on Sundays. It was challenging, grueling but nevertheless exciting. We would go back in the evenings after work on weekdays and rehearse late into the night. New friendships were formed and established from there (and a bunch of us are still keeping in touch and hang out).

Our trainer was Joe Hasham, a familiar face on Australian television in the seventies and now a permanent resident in this country. His wife, Faridah Merican is no stranger to local television and the stage. She would occasionally help Joe out or in his absence. I have watched her hosting numerous local television programs as well as on the radio since the late 60’s.

One might ask if I have appeared on stage and acted in a production? The last time was when I was 15 in a school play. No, first being of bad short-term memory! I forget my lines!

Second is stage-fright!

But I do love the stage!

This time, the tears flowing were uncontrollable. I knew somehow that if it was from another boy of the ‘A’ group who miraculously not being able to answer by some mysterious divine intervention that morning, or even some other classmate from my group (‘B’), that boy’s punishment would be much, much milder. It was also “Him”, my classmate from the ‘C’ group whom I had known for the fifth year by now. He was a quiet boy; timid, a bit slow (in retrospect, I don’t think he was slow, he just lacked self –esteem) and pretty much kept to himself at most times and even at that age, I wondered if him being poor had anything to do with his constant predicaments with our teachers. Our uniforms were white shirt and blue shorts and I never saw him in any what seemed to be new clothes. They were slightly off-white, mended and sometimes un-pressed.

The same would go for his pants – faded and mended with mismatched threads. I don’t think neither of us anticipated the severity for not being able to answer the square-route of 49 that morning. It was about 30-minutes after class had begun in the morning. It was year five of primary.

Mrs. Kwok, had the reputation of being the “best” teacher of primary year-five. Her students’ total score average would topple all other year-five classes for the highest in rank in the school and she made sure she maintained her record, or more so her reputation. By doing that, she gave us freaking tests three times a week for the whole entire year. In fact, she was so obsessed with it that shortly before our year-end final examinations she was somehow leaked on all the questions for the upcoming science paper. One morning she made us promise to keep what she was going to “share” with us a “divine” teacher-student secret. Then with a smirk on her face, she wrote down those 50 questions and asked us to study them (I did but I somehow still got two mistakes out of the exact identical 50 questions that were earlier given by her to study before the examination).

By 11, I was made to believe that I was slow, stupid and a failure as what Mr. Chuah had described me to everyone repeatedly in year-three. Even though Mr. Tan from year four was okay, I steered my own believes about myself back to the former when during most recess periods, Mr. Chuah, Mr. Tan, one other teacher from another class would congregate with the Mad Cow (Mrs. Kwok) in our classroom to chat (or gossiped). At most times, they don’t even care on what they were chatting on was within our earshot. They liked discussing on the “weaker” students while nibbling on their food on the big teacher’s desk in front of the classroom! Sometimes, I thought what they were saying about some of my classmates (occasionally the ‘B’ but always the ‘C’ and ‘D’ group of students) or I was exaggerated.

So, to me it didn’t mattered if I studied or not and I was not going to sacrifice my television or play times for constantly studying for the Mad Cow’s never ending tests. After a while, I didn’t even bother about being constantly beaten by her with her old thick hardwood ruler on my palms or knuckles. This Mad Cow by the way was really strong and I am not surprised if she could wrestle and overpower an alligator with her bare hands!

So, throughout that year, I got my regular training in pain management except for the English and Bahasa Malaysia (Malay) languages. I escaped at most times on Science because I enjoyed it but not for math, history and geography. I absolutely hated these three subjects and wondered how it would apply in my adult life (and at my age now, I am still waiting! Besides, we have Google, Yahoo and Wikipedia if we need to know when Shih Hwang Ti burned those books and for local history, try entering, “fabrication” on your search engine because they keep “updating” them from time to time)!

I could still remember vividly on that painful morning when the mad Cow asked me out to the board in front of the classroom. Sure, I wasn’t paying too much attention on my square-routes a few days earlier and I got the answer off from my other classmate that morning. I was sitting at the back and every single one of us had to answer a math question. I was one of the last 6. There were other students who got the answers from their friends but none of them was asked on how they got their answers until my turn. In order to “teach” me there and then, she started asking me on my multiplications table. As usual, her shrills became sharper and sharper as she went on and I felt my brain going blanker at every of her question! By the time she asked what was “7 x 7″, I was totally blank and speechless (by the way, Mom had drilled me on my multiplications table in year 2, and I could answer anything anywhere up to 12 x 12 within a second then). My heart was racing fast and if I had a thinking bubble like those in comic books it would be totally white and blank!

That was when she started the hard slaps continuously! Then she scanned the room and picked this other classmate out by “jumping queue” while still gripping on to the back of my collar. It wasn’t supposed to be his “turn” yet but I felt as though he was also picked on.

Like me, I think he also went into a panic mode but he escaped the slaps. Then, the Mad Cow grabbed the back of his collar and started banging our heads against each other. My head hurt until the next day.

During those days, teachers were well-respected and they could do no wrong to most parents or a guardian’s eyes. Even if I had told my Mom what happened, the mild would be told that I deserved it because I didn’t study; and the worse would be my Mom punishing me as well. If I told her how I was being punished by the Mad Cow, she would think that I had instead exaggerated! Ultimately, think who would the parents believe if they had a sit-down session over me?

Like this other kid who was being punished along with me, we were not noisy, uncontrollable or mischievous students. Yes, we were probably lazy kids or misguided in our own thoughts or beliefs but have any of these teachers actually taken the effort to really help?

No.

They only knew how to instill fear and took the easy way out by constantly punishing us thinking that would “change”, study and get good grades in order for us to avoid punishments. They fail to see that some problems lie deeper any beyond the cane or the ruler (that I was sort of immune to).

It is also shocking that during those days, Psychology 101 was not part of the curriculum in training teachers over here even after it had already been implemented shortly after the second world war.

In the early nineties, the Malaysian government did a research and found that 28% of our teachers were with some forms of mental illness. I wasn’t surprised because I had an aunt who was also a primary school teacher. You go do the math.

To be continued on part 4 (final)

Related links:

“some evil demented creatures disguised as teachers – part 1 of 4 – teachers claiming to have magic powers and eyes behind their heads”

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 2 of 4 – a ruling by the cane and a year of psychological torments” ;

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 4 of 4 – despite and in-between the bad, there were the good years and better teachers”

One sunny afternoon on the fourth month right after recess, a gaunt bespectacled man walked into our classroom and told our current mild-mannered class teacher that an arrangement was made at the headmaster/principal’s office. Mr. Mild-mannered was to be the class teacher of another class and this new teacher, Mr. Chuah Kok Thye would become ours for the rest of that year.

Immediately after we had all settled down and Mr. Mild-mannered had packed and bolted, Mr. Chuah gave us a pop-quiz/test on English spelling! That sent me into a panic mode and admittedly, out of desperation I tried to peek at my neighbor’s paper!

“Brien! Don’t copy!” he said firmly with a stern eagle-sharp stare at me. I froze!

I was the first ‘new’ student that he didn’t even need to remember or memorize my name to my face because we share the SAME Chinese name (except for our surnames obviously, or should I say, good riddance?)! It was also quite obvious that for some unknown reasons that he just didn’t like me the very instance he saw me and for the rest of the year, psychologically tormented me.

Of course, right after that first surprise-test, I got a few strokes from the cane that he brought with him for failing the test. His cane was like his third arm and I never saw them apart except during recess. The cane also became my palms’ “constant aquaintances” throughout that year.

During those days, students were segregated into groups within the class based on their grades. The ‘A’ group would be the crate of “apples (in the teachers’ eyes)”, while the average ‘B’ students would be like the middle-child in a family. The ‘C’ group was pretty much considered the “mild” delinquents and the ‘D’ would somehow contained kids from mostly poor/underpriviledged families, or the academically challenged and the teacher would use words like , ”stupid’ or “hopeless” loosely on them.

One day, I got up too slow when the ‘B’ group was asked to return to their seats and most of the ‘C’ group was called forward and were already seated around me. One of my classmates said to Mr. Chuah, “Sir, Brien is supposed to be the ‘B’ group”.

“If he is so stupid not to know his own group, he now belongs to the ‘C’ group! Brien, pack your bags and move to the group ‘C’!” boomed Mr. Chuah.

I quietly packed my stuff and moved to the ‘C’ group for the rest of the year. At 9, I was too timid to reason with him or his cane!

Mr. Chuah had another trait and that was being in the foulest of moods on most Mondays. He would magnify any minor petty subject/situation into a punishable major at any slightest opportunities. When that happened, he would usually take it out on us boys particularly his unfavorable ones. There was however one incident that he swung his cane repeatedly on one of the boys from the ‘A’ group. Joe (who is also currently on my Facebook) remained nonchalant and pretended that nothing happened despite the lashes on his feet after he had accidentally stumbled and stepped onto Mr. Chuah’s toe! All Joe wanted was to ask for permission to go to the toilet!

Once or twice a week, Mr. Chuah would humiliate me by announcing to the class of my unkempt appearance; my dirty nails and my hair that was on contrary to what you see today, or more appropriately what you DON’T see on my head/scalp, I had a full head of course thick hair then. No matter how hard I tried combing it down with various types of hair creams, oils or lotions (they haven’t invented the hair mousse or gel yet), my hair would still stand up by the time I reached school and would resemble a toilet brush! Also, the word “stupid” was used loosely on me so after a while, I began to believe that and my grades also slipped to below-average from average. The believe started from the incident of being slow to get up from the floor before the ‘C’ group sat down around me.

I also spent the rest of the year in constant fear because Mr. Chuah had told me week after week that he wanted to see my father to discuss my behavior and grades in class. In the evenings, I would see him passing by my house in his motorbike and once, he actually saw me playing outside in the garden. I thought that was the end of me when he looked back and stared but he didn’t stop or eventually made any actual efforts to contact my dad.

Near the end of every primary school year, teachers would ask all the students on what kinds of professions that they would like to be in when they grow up. Naturally the bright ones or the ‘A’ and ‘B’ groups would describe professions like doctors, dentists, optometrists, pilots, and businessmen. The underprivileged and academically weak would be RECOMMENDED by the teachers especially when they were unsure with suggestions from the teachers like drivers, plumbers, street-sweepers (NO KIDDING! I heard this with my own ears!), construction-workers and cooks (this was the era before cooks like Anthony Bourdain or Mario Batali took the profession so many notches up to what it is today)!

About a year later when the Ipoh race-course had one of those ‘open-day’ events where children were allowed in for just that particular Sunday, I saw good ol’ Mr. Chuah! He was looking at the scoreboard and somehow at that age, I knew what happened and what caused his foul-moods on most Mondays a year earlier especially with that hurried desperate expression.

At year-four, I had a much kinder teacher (and he constantly made that known to us. And we kids used to mock him, “…teacher is very kind to you..!). I was a little happier with my life even-though I didn’t have much of any self-esteem left. My grades went back up to being an average student that year with only one negative remark on my report card from the “kind teacher” where he wrote, “Brien likes to talk in class”.

It was strange that the even-numbered years of my primary school days were better and kinder, while the odd-numbered years were just horrendous. I was still with high hopes that my primary school years would get better during my final two years, but never had I anticipated such incredible meanness and madness from a teacher that awaited me at year five! She constantly abused me physically that it took me years to work it over…

To be continued on Part 3

Related links:

“some evil demented creatures disguised as teachers – part 1 of 4 – teachers claiming to have magic powers and eyes behind their heads”

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 3 of 4 – an angry abusive ego-driven teacher with zero substance”

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 4 of 4 – despite and in-between the bad, there were the good years and better teachers”

My experience with her was when a classmate squeezed my newly infected BCG (Bacillus Calmette-Guérin-a vaccine against tuberculosis injected onto the upper-arm) and it popped! Blood oozed out like a busted water pipe and she made no effort to call for help, or at least ask me to do something about it. A classmate whispered from behind me to use my handkerchief to block the bleeding. I wept out of fear and my white uniform was now soaked in my own blood. Miss Tan, the teacher eventually screamed, ‘Let him cry forever!’, and continued with her home assignments for us on the blackboard with colored chalks. She didn’t bother to find out what happened and the kid that busted my BCG over a misunderstanding on a pencil sharpener was not even questioned of his actions.

She wasn’t abusive in any other ways but I guess she was constantly hoping of a different life elsewhere with a tiara on her head other that the classroom she was standing in with 45 kids.

The next year, we had Mr. Mustapha. He was a good teacher equipped with two forms of punishments when we misbehaved (like talking when being requested not to). One was having us ‘suck’ a pacifier in front of the whole class. We would then point out whoever spoke next and would pass the saliva-soaked pacifier to the next recipient. The other was the administering of his “belly-pinch”. A quite harmless but an excruciating pinch-and-twist on the region right below the belly-button when we misbehaved or missed our homework! It was like being tickled and pinched at the same moment, and at most times would find ourselves laughing WHILE we winced in pain!

Unfortunately, I experienced my first traumatic act of injustice done to me during our first term examinations that year. We had a teacher from another class invigilated whom we were not taught on any subjects from or met before. During the examination of the first subject on the Malay language, the teacher saw the kid next to me trying to peek at my paper. She came over and very angrily told me to cover my paper up as they were being peeked at. She then went to my bag and pulled out three A4-sized notebooks (we called them exercise books) and threw them on top of my paper and told me to cover up my paper with those notebooks.

Me being me, the moment I saw that one of the notebooks was the one with all the tips and facts on the subject that I was at that moment being tested on, I decided to put it aside. I placed the book at the top left hand corner of the desk in a way of showing off my honest intentions – that I could have flipped the pages for answers but instead placed it aside. I didn’t think putting the book back into my bag was a good idea for she could think that I was up to something fishy or disrespectful to her by putting the book back when she had taken it out for me. Then I proceeded with my paper.

Before I knew it, I was pulled from my chair by the collar and was CONSTANTLY slapped left and right! I didn’t know what was happening as in the midst of the pain, tears were swelling up and flowing uncontrollably from my eyes. She shouted and demanded why I copied! The book was placed neatly at a corner that was visible to everyone and my piece of test paper laid neatly in the middle of my desk.

I was disoriented and shocked! I obviously couldn’t answer her through my tears but managed to utter weakly in broken English, “…but teacher take the book for me…”

Great! I thought teachers were supposed to be all understanding and were protectors of a child’s well-being or welfare, but this one was nowhere near of being there. Instead, what I said aggravated her even more and I recieved more blows on my cheeks from that outcome!

She then announced to the rest of the class that she had magic! She had eyes behind her head and no one could escape her sight. If that was the case, why couldn’t she see that I was innocent?

To be continued on Part 2 (of 4 parts).

Originally posted on Brien’s Bits in one part as, “mad teachers that I have known” on 24 August 2006.

Related links: “favs from brien’s bits“

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 2 of 4 – a ruling by the cane and a year of psychological torments”

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 3 of 4 – an angry abusive ego-driven teacher with zero substance”

“some evil demented creatures in the form of teachers – part 4 of 4 – despite and in-between the bad, there were the good years and better teachers”

This year, we went early in the morning before the crowd could swell to sheer suffocation later in the day. I could even get a parking space without any stress! The smoke from the incense inside the temple has been regulated by volunteers to remove them from the holders before that could overwhelm (ventilation is bad inside the temple).

This could also be the last time I am visiting this temple as they are building a new one about a kilometer away. This was also the first time that I notice the cool sunbeam from the skylight behind the main altar that I am sure I am going to miss!

Top:
The beautiful sunbeam!

Below:

1) The paper ship that would transport the “Emperors” back to heaven on the ninth and last day of the festival. It will be set on fire as it drifts out into the ocean. Don’t ask me how the “Emperors” would be put onto the “Celestial Ship”. I could remember more colorful and eleborate ships in previous years compared to this one. Cost-saving measure, I guess.

3) Artist’s impression of the new temple.

“Oi, sounds like a rickshaw puller!” came from my colleague from the other end of the office!

Poor rickshaw pullers!

Victims of circumstances that led to this profession at that period, most were uneducated, unskilled and rough. When we were kids, we were often referred to these men when we ate loudly (bad table manners), sat “like the rickshaw puller” with one leg up on the chair while the other dangled over, dig our noses, keeping long dirty fingernails, refusing to take baths, yawned loudly etc and to put it plainly, showing any signs of being ‘uncultured’!

Why were people victimizing these poor rickshaw pullers and using them as poor examples pertaining to the lack or absence of any “social graces”? Their lives were tough enouh!

A lot of Malaysian-Chinese men today, despite wearing expensive Pradas, Ralph Laurens or Armani suits and driving more than a million ringgit cars, get ready for this:

A) eat and blabber loudly (“…minced meat keep falling on my face…”)
B) lack table manners (see them at buffets and you know what I mean)
C) sit like rickshaw pullers
D) dig their noses in public (while their chunky gold bracelets clicking and clacking loudly)
E) wear flip-flops to the malls or even hotels
F) take just one shower in a day (in our overly humid weather! I have known some who takes it on alternate days! Ewww!)
G) cuss
H) yawn loudy or talk with their mouths full
I) rude or ill-mannered

Okay, it’s unfair that I only point out on the weak points of most of my fellow Malaysian-Chinese men. We have however progressed in one area on grooming – we cut, trim and manicure 8 out of 10 of our fingernails! Yes, that’s progress!

Have we come a long way? Of course we have! Most of us are now wearing Calvin Klein underwear!