Back to school (Part 2)

"Polaroids of classrooms unattended. These relics of remembrance are just like shipwrecks. Only they're gone faster than the smell after it rains." - The Ataris

 

Form 3: The outcast
First year in the morning session. Oh the fun of heading home in the afternoon and have lunch sitting with my high school PE shorts on in front of the TV watching reruns. Homework can wait till night falls. And definitely I enjoy the spontaneous naps under the cool fan spinning rapidly, chasing away the heat devils. The whole day is there for my disposal. The whole world is there for me to waste.

I can barely recall this year because I have spent the good first half of it selling my soul to my extra co-curriculum activities. This was the year SUKMA was held in Penang and my school band was one of the five being selected to join the ultimate band formation managed by Penang’s most sought after conductors and teacher advisors. And I was one of the few lucky new band members to join with the seniors in this once in a lifetime phenomenon. This became my calling to greater things in the band. This is what life will be in high school for the rest of my life. Or at least for the next three years.

I was sieved from my original class to assemble with the other band members from the same year in one class. It was the last class in the bunch but everyone did not mind because the bracketed ‘P’ – for Pancaragam, meaning school band – behind the class position was enough to satisfy all curiosity. Most of the time, we were not even in said class. Probably two days per week, three buses of us would be shipped off to our practice venue just as classes were about to begin in the morning. The remaining three days, we had our own band practices to go to. But I was not one to complain. I had the best days of my life there. Going to practices at the break of dawn bleary eyed and coming back sweat soaked and so bloody exhausted the bed felt like cotton marshmallow for a deep dreamless sleep.

I had to adapt back to my original class once the performance was over and I had earned my very first incentive. I doubt I had ever been in any class with my classmates. I barely knew any of them. I felt detached from them. However, things slowly fell into place as I stuck close with some friends I knew better.

Academics were the last thing on my mind that year. But alas, Form 3 was the second most important year in a girl’s high school life. PMR was the governmental examination that will seal our fate on whether or not we are up for the fourth year of high school. Before the examination period was around we already had assignments for Living Skills, building plank woods, sewing pieced cloths and wiring chunks of electronics. Mine turned out awesome, partly because half of them were done by better classmates. I loved my masterpiece I still had the junk stored at the top shelf, the useless wooden shelf its surface still glistening from yesteryear but the battery for the self-made music box had died and rot. It became a memory. An evidence to my once upon a life long gone.

The teachers. They did not give a damn about me. They did not know me well because of my absence for the first half. The Science teacher did not like me much because I was quite a brat. I would not bring her textbook to class and would love to move my seat towards Yi Shu beside me to share the book while having chitchats with her and Lynn sitting in front of her. She hated us. She would definitely stare me down and make me go back to my seat. I would always pray she would not walk over to my place when I did not bring my textbook. Fortunately, I had an interest in the subject since the beginning so it did not hinder good grades for this particular subject. Hey, we get to learn about sperms and sexual intercourses. What could be any better for a girl hitting in the middle of her puberty?

The Moral Education teacher was a nuisance. Words had been going around the year before of his strictness. To have him as one of our teachers bellowed out groans of dissatisfaction all year round. You know how it is. You would not know your teachers on the first days of school until they step through the door and oh gawd you wish so hard and pray so sincerely hoping they are just substitutes and will not be here for long. Most – if not all – of the time never answered. He was one of the teachers every class would like to not have. He gave you rattan whips if you failed to complete his homework in time, probably send you to the Principal’s office. Or force a demerit mark on you for not doing the corrections properly. He would leave fortune cookie-like note strips in between the pages. Always stating your mistakes and demanding a correction if not. Rarely there to praise you for an exercise well done. You would not want to see your exercise books – or even the pages – folded too drastically. He yelled at a few students and threw their books out of the classroom, over the balcony whenever he was in a worse mood. He was a nightmare.

I harboured an immediate animosity towards the English teacher. She was a newbie, you know, one of those fresh graduates hired mostly temporarily. I guess we got off on quite a good foot but she was not one to give me a sweet smile all the time, even if I did well for her classes. So, there was this test and we were to write about a trip to the Cameron Highlands. It is common for such essays to come with keywords dropped down on you like cats and dogs do on rainy days. It was fine by me. I just merely added a few descriptions, which were totally out of the books. See, I so coincidentally happened to have gone on a trip to the Highlands myself during the school break that year. I loved the place. I had a photographic memory of it in my head and blurted it all out in the essay in hope that what I saw would gain me some benefits. Mind you, I was not out to ass-kiss anyone. I felt accomplished being able to express myself. I was crossed when my paper came back and the teacher had left the entire essay cleaned and approved, save for that particular self-expression. The grade was dragged down a little because of that. Of course I was a tad bit pissed; I wanted to be a writer for the rest of my life. I remember myself arguing, “But that’s what I saw with my very own eyes!” I remember her sweating internally and thinking of a good excuse to rid of me as her red pen tracing the underline already there until the paper almost tore a hole. “I will discuss this with the other teachers.” That was her solution. Think about what? It was not a salvation. It was an insult.

PMR was a blur. What I remember vividly was burning the midnight oil memorising of all subjects, Geography. I was an ass with this so I need to save myself a little here. I did not score for that subject but merely gotten a decent grade. However, I earned myself a helluva migraine that will from time to time re-emerge if ever I think too much. Academically. I know it is a sad excuse but what do you know? I remember doing a lot of photocopied past year questions. Mathematics and Science mostly because those were the only subjects I could see myself completing with good marks that will motivate me to do better. Besides, those were the only subjects (including English) I aimed for and succeeded in scoring.

Despite its significance, it is nothing but a quick shuffle of blurry flash cards whenever I look back. I scored good enough for myself, a constant self-comfort for an average high school student. In fact, good enough to allow me a good seat in the Science stream for the next two years of high school. However, I forwent it and decided for something simpler. Because in high school, it was not about being in the best classes in the better stream. It was all about survival of the fittest. Make it out of high school alive and you will have the whole world to waste in your own sweet time.

 

Form 4: The bitter honeymoon year
The classmates for this year would be the same up until the next and final year. We were the fourth class in the Commerce stream. But it did not matter because we were of one unique crowd. We were the only class in the stream to replace Accounts for Information Technology. We had Additional Mathematics and Economics while the classes after us had to do Geography and Arts. The competition for class placings was just amongst ourselves. We were special.

Our classes were the furthest away from civilisation. There was a new wing for our high school that year and the Form 4 Commerce stream was lucky enough to be situated in the classrooms there. It sucked only because we had to walk practically the entire campus to get out of school. It sucked for some students too because the windows overlooked the gory cemetery in the backyard. When teachers decided to have meetings or not come to class at all – another perk – classmates would gather around in even numbers because of some superstitious belief. And they would tell ghost stories just for the heck of it. I sometimes would join them and watch some girls squealed over stories that were not even scary to begin with. Sheesh.

I would never be in class for the first half of the session. Suddenly, the school band took a passionate interest in annual state-level band formations. We would come to school early in the morning to attend long band practices standing under the hot sun in announced positions while leaders walked around trying to figure out how to get from one artwork to another. Practices would have ended just as the afternoon begins. Goodies would rush to go to class. Band members like me would drag our feet up to the band room and sit around till our sweats were nothing but another layer of skin on our hands. By the time we were done lazing around, the recess bell had rung its finale. Rarely the teacher advisors would pay surprise visits and force us to flee back to our classrooms.

It was around this year I was exempted from PE classes and house practices because of my well behaviour in band practices. Which was a perk for me because I was not one to love running four laps around the bigass school field and nearing blackout at the first lap. House practices were compulsory but yet a bore. I was a happy girl.

The form-cum-Chinese teacher was never a favourite for us. She built a sturdy bad connection with half of the students in class. They would always curse her back and wish she would not come to class tomorrow. Yet she meant good. Probably because I was not one to offend her. I remember something wise she once told us. Unfortunately, I have forgotten about it. Chinese had never been my strength or my favourite. I could not be bothered to memorise all those Chinese idioms. This might be the year we had to read The Three Kingdoms. I could barely keep my interest past the first line.

The Malay teacher was not my favourite. Her classes were such bores but I had to pay attention because she would randomly pick students to continue reading the literature passages. Student who failed to pick up from where their fellow classmates left off would be punished standing for the rest of the period. I was seated at the first row. Always exhausted from the band practices earlier, I would catch half-catnaps by looking away from her. I was never there spiritually in her classes. Out of the ten times I fell asleep, I was caught maybe just once. We paid hard attention especially for the literature section. There was a story about a second race between the hare and the tortoise (Perlumbaan Kedua) I never finished reading. We would find out about the ending anyway via the exercises we did. However, the poems would be fun if we had not to mind more of the technicalities.

The English teacher was such a darling everyone was shitting over her head for being too nice. The Science teacher was a darling as well but she had her own principles for us to walk along. I loved her classes. So maybe I had such interest in Science because of these lovely teachers. She once dubbed me ‘an angel in disguise’. I never knew what prompt her to give me such complimentary in the middle of the class. I hated Economics. I still hated History. I hated Moral Education as well but once you get the hang of things, it was not that hard to score anyway. But I was never one to get As for this subject.

Around September, things started to pick up for the next year to come. I was promoted a senior leader in the school band and earned myself finally a two-stripe pangkat I can be proud of. It was my ultimate dream to have more badges on my uniform. Around October, recruitment for our graduates committee commenced. And I thought to myself hey, why not make the most of this year and go help out in this committee. I would only be in high school once. Alas. My dear friends had to be in the recruitment committee as well and I was oh so easily nominated to be the Vice President of the graduates magazine. Oh what had I gotten myself into? I only wanted to play a little part as a representative not the whole fucking pie.

 

Form 5: The never ending finish line
The transition from Form 4 to Form 5 was not a broken gap but a well-engineered bridge. During the yearend holidays, tasks for the graduates magazines had kicked off well enough we had to be back in school almost everyday. Blame it on the President. She was a fucking perfectionist. She wanted everything to go her way and no other. Gosh, the entire committee had a huge problem with her. I knew it. She knew it. She did not care. She was one of those Ms Perfect who would embrace everything to her bosom if the others could not get it done the way she wanted. Thus, more pressure. I was the one to unwind her. This was in my job description, calming down the insane leader.

I had two reasons to skip classes altogether for this year. Like, from beginning till the end. Teachers would not even know I was even in school ground because if I was not in the school field screaming my head off at my juniors, I was in the meetings room getting things done for the magazine. If ever there were a chance I could go back to class for a few classes, I would be summoned back to the usual spots for meetings or more tasks. Everyone needed a piece of me. (Very vain indeed.) The only chance you might catch me was when I happened to pass by my classroom to the band room, or when I was chairing meetings for the committee. I was on a fucking roll. I wanted to make the best out of my high school year. And here it was. Being made the best of.

But it was fun, not going to classes and keeping yourself busy from idling. Yet it was not a year to dismiss as another mundane high school year. Because this year was it. The big year. The year of all years. If Form 3 were the second most important year, Form 5 would be the Big Daddy O. SPM would commence at the very end of the year and this, my dear, would be the governmental examination to decide whether or not you are cut out for the world beyond high school. Without an SPM certificate, you would be a drop out. Literally a failure. SPM would be your ticket to the rest of your life. It was so important that you would not even believe five years down the line the examination would not matter anymore. But back then, it was the only ticket to more forward. Without it, you would be done for.

Of the five years in high school, my parents had chosen this year to move to Sungai Ara. It would take practically half an hour to get to school, maybe up to an hour if the traffic was a bastard. I would always catch short naps on the way to school, my mom being the ever dedicated chauffeur. My backpack would be heavy carrying change of clothes for tuition classes after school. I would accommodate myself to a friend or two’s houses nearby and clean up for two-hour tuition classes. Additional Mathematics and Mathematics at Anthony Tan’s. Malay at Aziz’s. English at Ace’s. Form 5 was all about overhearing the best tuition teachers out there and getting yourself a spot in their forever fully booked classes. I would not be home until night falls.

My high school teachers were quite a drag for this year. My tuition teachers were abundant and pwned harder. I bet I could just not go to school altogether and I would still do well in SPM. Alas. Being the disciplined high school till the end, we would not be awarded our graduates certificate if our attendance were to show poor results nearing the end of the year.

There was a constant switch of teachers for Additional Mathematics I hated every single one of them. Especially the very first one: the infamous discipline teacher. She came to classes dependant on the power vested in her to distribute demerit marks at us like giving babies for free. This lady would cruise the canteen during recess hunting for students with inappropriate hairstyle. Not come upon them by chance but literally set out and hunt them down. Those poor souls. I was not one to hang around the canteen during recess. She could not teach to save her life. She would copy examples from our textbooks and walk us through the steps we would have figured out anyway without listening to her teach. I wanted to hurl the textbook at her every time she stood out there chalking up another example from the book. I learned peanuts from her. Without seeking salvation from my tuition teacher, I would have failed badly for this subject. Fortunately, she was repositioned a few months after that. I had Anthony and he was all I needed. I managed to save this subject just in time. From a mere E8 for the SPM mock exam, to a C5 for the real deal. I would have loved to score an A1 for this subject; I loved Mathematics to bits. Alas.

The IT teacher had a problem with me. It was because of her I question my decision in deciding IT as a subject. Then again, IT was an easy score. Granted it was not an A1 but at least it was a decent grade that did not pull down my GPA. The classes were boring. I have never found computer-related classes entertaining or ever exciting. It was always about a bunch of things I have learned or I cannot give a damn learning. So of course I would find never ending reasons to skip her classes. And of course she was not pleased with it. She did not have patience talking to me and I had to reduce to consulting my friend who was a better student in class instead. She said we could email her if ever we had problems with C++ Programming. I emailed her and did not get a fucking reply from her. Sheesh. That was the first computer-related class I disliked. There were more to come, which I always hated. Henceforth, I shall avoid enrolling in classes like such whenever I can.

The English teacher was spaz. One of her classes was the first period of the day. Thursday maybe. She would still be in a blur. Once she was reading through John Steinbeck’s The Pearl and accidentally skipping through two pages. I doubt anybody noticed. Half of the class was in their happy place. The other half sleeping and dreaming of their happy place. The handful of us noted the slip off but decided not to raise warning bells. It was way early in the morning to take heed anyway. It did not matter anyway, we just wanted the class to be over and done with as soon as possible. Honestly, she did not help me along with my perfect scores for my English papers in SPM. She was just there. I thanked her anyway when I bumped into her the day I received my results.

I still hated Economics. But like Geography in PMR, I forced myself to understand and did not get a very decent grade anyway. I could see the disappointment dripping out of my teacher when I bumped into her during result day. As long as I did not fail, it was already a blessing for me. I still hated History. The teacher could have been the best thing in my life, being ever so motivating and patient on us. However, History was never a favourite and I had given up on the subject even before I stepped into the examination hall. I aced Mathematics, doing my love for numbers justice after my boo-boo with Additional Mathematics. I aced Malay. Quite a surprise for someone like me. We had to do well in Malay. Any grade would be acceptable just as long as you do not fail. I guess I did my part well.

My high school years probably ended pretty. I held my end of the bargain being a senior leader for the school band. I did the same for the graduates magazine and gotten Repetition published at the contribution section. My grades were not the best but it was good enough for me. I was a girl easily pleased.