Non-Fiction
(Diary)
Dear Diary,
Things have
been very tough lately. Battling with missing and home sick feelings, I try to
shoo it away by making myself as busy as a bee. With keen prayers day and
night, things flow with an ease. The weather is unpredictable today, the
forecast predicts raining cats and dogs for the whole day, but the sun still
maintains his anguish hot ray whether in the morning or evening. From here, I
assume that God wants to remind me, humans predict and plan, but the Almighty
God decides everything.
Today is my
last day of school based experience in Sekolah Kebangsaan (P) Methodist (1)
with Raihanah, my classmate. If I were to describe my experience there, I
have a fruitful and delightful experience; no exact amount of gold bar or
mountain of diamonds could replace the knowledge except gaining it with the
effort and the willingness. Diary, this will be my last school based
experience before I go for the practicum next semester. I am very satisfied and
overjoyed because I made myself clear about those questions that I bombarded to
myself regarding the implementation of Malaysian English Curriculum since my
foundation year. I shall gleefully cheer to myself for the extra knowledge
gained!
Meeting with
professionals and heart-warming teachers, having spontaneous Question and
Answer section with them about the implementation of CEFR and listening to
their sincere opinion about the current curriculum, are an eye opener for me
and Raihanah. I always bump onto the article about the gap between the policy
makers and the implementers. Today, I found out, the gap does exist which
causes problems in our education system. How ironic when the policy makers
claimed the CEFR suits for Malaysian learners but in fact, most of the teachers
who are the implementers show disagreement as pupils were having hard time to
imagine and making connection to western culture such as Helloween celebration
and many more. The teachers are stitched between balancing the requests and
reprimands from school authority, pupils and parents. From the forehead
wrinkles to the smiling lines wrinkles; during day time, they hide the forehead
wrinkles and turn it into a smiling line wrinkles in front of the pupils. Pure
soul with unconditional love and passion in building children of the nation.
Besides
academic discussion and findings at the school, I met a teacher who is the
grandchild of Raja Muda of Kedah. At first, it was an extemporaneous chit chat
about his experiences being a Math teacher and his life of a father to 5
children at the age of fifty, but unexpectedly, we jumped onto the historical
storytelling slot. Having a seat beside him is such a fortuitous opportunity.
He shared; Iskandariah palace is a haunted place and has invisible “guardians”.
Not everyone can stay in the palace, including the Sultan and his wife. There
was one time, when the highness Sultan and his wife slept at the bedroom; they
woke up in another room. He proclaimed that the palace “guardians” recognize
him that is why he can stay there without being interrupted by the paranormal entities.
His stories are
full with amusement, up and down, adventurous and also have a dip of mysterious
sense that spices up the story. It brings me back to the historical “ride”
without having to visit the place live. As it is told straight from the horse’s
mouth, and was written in the historical memo, rationally I do believe his
story because Iskandariah palace is synonymized with “Adat Tabal Jin”.
Diary, I think
that’s all for today’s entry. My fingers are with its eagerness and passionate
to hit the keyboard but my eyes refuse to give its cooperation. I shall call it
a day and see you again, diary.
Fiction (Short
Story)
Opportunity
That morning, the blazing sun strokes its
heat on my head and the skin. I can feel my sweat glands and pores were
screaming and shouting catastrophically underneath my blue mask as though the
Armageddon is approaching, “Safe us !”. The agony of wearing a mask was
unbearable, but we had no choice because we are now fighting with the deadliest
pandemic called, Covid-19. I walked down the school lane at a pacely rate,
trying to control the sweat secretion dewing from my forehead. Stopping at the
canteen compound, I took a seat while waiting for my friend, coming out from
the loo.
From afar, I watched a young and diligent
janitor was sweeping dusts and dried leaves at the hallway. Sometimes, she
wiped away her sweat and glaring at the sky, waiting for the Mother Nature to
blow the chill wind. Without any hesitation, I greeted the young lady. I
could see her hazelnut-brown iris with smiling wrinkles gathered around her
diamond shaped eyes. She is a polite and humble in person, she used “Ma’am” to
address me but I sensed a gap between both of us when she used the “M’
word. “This is not right.” I monologue to myself, so I told her to
address me by my name.
Meeting her was
a blissful gift from Almighty God for me. She “taught” me something precious
that day. I started the interview session by asking her name and some random
cliché questions. From her accent, she is not a Malaysian Indian lady; she
revealed she is from Punjab, India. But, the most shocking thing that she told
me was, she is 22 years old, the same age as me. I was stunned, I am standing
in front of her, as a teacher; but she is as a janitor. We are the same age,
but disguised and fated with different life fates. At that moment, my curiosity
pounded aggressively, wanting her to share what makes her migrate to Malaysia.
She said, Punjab is a small place and the unemployment rate is very high there.
Many graduates struggle to find job and the only escape is to move out from
Punjab. Within a second, it flashed back my trip to special needs school three
years ago. A girl, with drooling saliva at her mouth edge, was waiting for the
assistant teacher to hold her hand to wipe away the drools. She only could say
four words repetitively and she is the same age as me.
The more I reflect I realized all this
while, I portrayed myself in ungratefulness. God showed me how much I should be
grateful with the opportunity being a future teacher. There are none of the
thousands reasons that I can make it as an excuse for not being acceptance and
grateful. Guaranteed with a job after I graduated, with a good amount of
starting salary and able to think and move independently are more than enough.
All I need to have is a grateful heart to furbish my life.
Poem
Migration Kid
I saw my
friends read fluently,
But I crawled
from word to word,
The books are
my enemy,
But I don’t
want to be a coward.
Every day is a
nightmare for me,
I could only
learn some,
Teacher, I
lived in a nightmare,
But I am
puzzled, from whom shall I seek for better knowledge.
Living as a
migration never be my opt,
The moment I
heard my name being called,
I felt nothing
except embarrassment,
Is it fair to
put the blame on an innocent child?
I want to be a
doctor, I want to be a leader,
Yesterday, I
bumped onto an angel,
She smiled at
me with the most welcoming smile,
I never felt so
welcomed and eager,
To be a great
reader and learner.
