Wednesday, January 26, 2005

trampled grass

it felt weird that monday morning, as i walked through the gates of my secondary school. i was clad in heels and a skirt, instead of in the hideous green uniform all prefects were cursed in - the uniform i had last donned only 2 years ago. that morning, however, i stepped into school not as a geeky, tomboy head prefect, but as a young, bashful replacement teacher.

sitting through assembly in front of the podium is an experience i do not want to go through again. 1200 pairs of bleary eyes were transfixed on me, the "new teacher", as if they could see right through my put-on strong face, right down to the nerves that were not holding up well at that moment. some cocked their heads at me, as if they could vaguely recognise my face, their glares reflecting an invisible finger that could not quite place itself on the lost occasion their pupils have laid themselves on me. it was eerily intimidating...i felt myself shiver as i sat down with the other teachers - people who were once my teachers and are now my colleagues.

i have not been in that school for 2 years. yet the annoucements at assembly brought me back to when i was standing with the prefects at the back of the rows, directly opposite to where i was seated on monday. the same notices were read: please hand in your co-curricular activities' forms. do not stand outside the gate. beware of dengue mosquitoes. the prayer asking Allah to forgive our parents, our teachers and ourselves was read in the same drone i remember from years ago. i felt a collective rolling of eyes as the principal of many names stepped up to the podium to deliver her mechanical speech in her squeal of a voice. the sigh of relief as she stepped down was even almost audible.

it all made me feel so...uncomfortable. secondary school was not a place i remembered fondly. those days of standing, wooden at assembly were not missed. in those old, yellow buildings, i first had a crush on a classmate and never fully recoved from the heartbreak of unrequited love. i discovered the true meaning of being back-stabbed, against the background music of patriotic songs and chalky literature. people came and walked the sands of friendship with me, without leaving a single footprint. those who did, often left wrong impressions, impressions that i long to wash away with the sea of time. just sitting there, watching the bored faces of the students, was enough to throw me back into the lines with them, opening the gates and allowing all i hated about secondary school to flood into my hardened heart again.

i forgot i was in a black skirt and not a green one, that morning. it took a jolt from my former add math teacher to bring me back to the present. scanning the fast-dispersing lines again, i initially felt pity for the 1200 nameless faces that passed me by. i pitied them for still living in the sheltered world of secondary school, caring for nothing except recess and, perhaps, good grades. i was once like them, but i had dreamed of something more. something that i have yet to find, 2 years on.

but then it hit me. it isn't them i should direct my pity to. it's to my own sorry arse. i left the noisy hallways with nothing but bitter memories. in the eyes of my students, i saw nothing but regrets they have yet to feel, betrayals they have yet to cry over, friendships they have yet to disintegrate with their insensitivity. i had hardly changed since i walked through those black gates for what i had thought would be the last time.

i say that i had dreamed of something more. it was all i had done. i dreamed. and dreamed...and did nothing to realise them.

underneath my neatly pressed striped shirt, i'm still wearing the trampled grass of secondary school.

lishun at 11:01 AM

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