Just a few days ago, before starting doing promo for our cake business, I really thought of my primary school life. It was not really a good memory.
I told my kids about how I was smacked with the long yellow ruler while I was already punished standing on the chair. It was simply because I misunderstood the phrase "ambil gambar" (take photo). The humiliation was seen by the whole class. I could feel my face went inches thicker, reddened by my stupidity.
Later on, I told my kids how I was slapped on my cheek by the same teacher (I can't remember what the reason was) and interrogated by the headmaster the very next day. I bet my mom actually called school to complaint.
I cried even more when she stammered when she tried to explain to the headmaster what exactly happened.
I remember being frightened each time that particular teacher walked into the class. My body went stiff and my mind jammed each time. Time seemed to pass extemely slow.
I didn't submit my Maths exercise book for months. Each time, praying that she will enter the class and I would escape each time. The time came when she discovered that I have not been passing my book. I was horrible.
I could still remember how she flipped through the exercise book, hearing the paper swished as she went through the book. I was so scared I wished I was never born.
Finally, I also remembered how I sneaked using the back door that day when I was extremely late, the bell was rung way long ago, not a single person could be seen outside classrooms. I was terrified, walked quietly or rather sneaking and quietly entered the classroom using the back door praying really hard she didn't see me.
During raya that year, there was a long queue in our class. Only the fiercest teacher gave raya money. RM0.50 each. We could use that money to buy Nasi Lemak back then. But I didn't buy it. The teacher hated me. I was scared to go to school. RM0.50 was not enough to make a difference. I was reluctant to queue to take it. I was still scared.
I spent years thinking how things could have been different. It shattered my confidence and self esteem and yet I didn't hate her.. I was just scared of her. I remember my English teacher who taught us "One, two buckle my shoe" and we had great jolly time singing. That gave me hope a bit about school. I was grateful that at least there was something to look forward to.
Years and years went by.. A teacher is always a teacher. I learnt that this fierce teacher is my teacher after all. I remember my "Kad Sulit" writes "Guru" as my ambition from that year after (Standard 2) onwards. I have never been so sure about being a teacher and somehow I believe that I am born to be a teacher. I always declare that I'm born-teacher and a teacher different from the rest!
I never really got angry when students do not understand and keep on asking silly question. In fact, I always welcome silly question and insist that no question is too silly to ask..
I give 'discount' for those who haven't passed up their book and swear that I'll not get angry if they haven't sent for a while and give them opportunity to start back!
I made friends with my students so they don't have to fear me the way I feared her.. and most importantly.. she taught me to love unconditionally no matter how bad people treat you.. believe that every single person you met has a reason for being there be it negative or positive because Allah has a way of reaching you and will never leave you unattended.
Dear Teacher ********, I forgive you for hurting me.. you are my teacher indeed and I forgive myself for being the person I was and promise you that I will be the best teacher just the way you are.. in my own way..
Happy Teacher's Day.
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