The turning point…

More than a year passed. The stark campus has grown into a beautiful one, full of greenery, some plots of the original oil palm estate, left intact for aesthetic purposes. That was when he came to see me again.

“Whatever happened to your plans? Furthering your studies and everything? I remembered you came here, asking me to be your referee some time ago!” I said, offering the seat in front of me.

“Yes! But, there has been a change of plans!”

His face drooped for a while; silent, while I waited for his answer.

“I want to be a teacher. I love being a teacher. Especially teaching those small innocent boys. And a teacher is what I want to be! That is why I am here now. To ask you to be my referee. Am applying for a Teaching Certificate at a teaching institute. I hope you don’t mind!” at last, he said.

“Of course I don’t mind! Well! Well! It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?” I said.

“Long journey?” he asked.

“Yes! To suddenly find the thing that you really love doing! And to finally find your true self!” I said half-jokingly.

“It has been a hard one for me!’ he said, lowering his eyes.

“Look here! Listen to me! Wherever you go, remember to do good. And whatever you do, give it your best shot! Remember that!” I said, my eyes fixed on his face.

He nodded and uttered rather quietly, “I will try to remember that.”

Many months passed. I got a call. He said that he wanted to stop by my office.

“Thank you!” he said.

“Whatever for?” I asked puzzled.

“For believing in me and making me believe in myself.”

“You got the credit to yourself! Alhamdulillah! You got the place at the teaching college?” I asked.

“Yes! Thanks to your strong recommendations.”

“I was only doing my job.”

“Wanted to inform you earlier but you were not around."

“I must have been out of Malaysia at a conference somewhere or maybe on holiday. How many more months, then?”

“Only a few more! And I breezed through the interview for placement!” he said excitedly.

“Oh! Is that so?” I said, quite surprised.

“The moment I said I want to teach in primary schools, the panel all laughed and then when one of them said, “You got it!” I was quite puzzled!” he said full heartedly.

“Puzzled? Of course they want man teachers in primary schools! That is why! And that is the whole problem with our education system right now. Small boys need men that they can connect with as examples and to discipline them. You are one lucky specie!” I laughed too.

“Here is something for you. You are the first person I am giving this to, around here,” he said holding out a pale hued envelope.

“Wow! Mabruk! When is the date?” My eyes gleamed as I read the fragrant card from inside the envelope.

“In a few weeks time,” his face was full of happiness.

I marked the date in my diary. Would not want to miss this occasion, not even for a million ringgit…

That was nearly two years ago…(..to be continued..)

Remember your words that day?

About two years after that, I was busy handling correspondences with participants of an up and coming international conference that the department was organizing. We had just shifted to the new campus at Seberang Perai Selatan, a site which was formerly known as The Transkrian Oil Palm Estates.

Then, there was an incoming message in my handphone, “Need to see you today! Am on my way…”

“Sure! Will be at the ROVISP Secretariat Room, first floor,” I texted the reply.

A few hours later and there he was, with his sheepish smile, panting away.

“Yes *****! So! What can I do for you this time?” I said, turning slowly from the computer screen as he entered the office door.

“Let me take my breath first!” he said, pulling himself down on the chair at the gesture from my hand.

“You ran all the way?” said I jokingly.

He shook his head and bowed to the floor for a while.

I waited…

“Rode my bike. And thank you for waiting for me. I would like to ask you to be my referee,” he said after his pantings had quietened down.

“Good!” I said, taking hold of the pieces of paper that he handed in front of him.

Refereeing is one thing that I have gotten used to. Numerous pupils of mine have come back for letters of recommendations; for further studies, for job applications, for scholarships…I don’t mind. It is part of my job.

“You want to further your studies! Well and good!” I said with a happy note.

“Just in case, you see! I heard that some of the industries are relocating, mostly to China. Who knows?”

“What made you think that the company you are in might do the same thing?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“I have been downgraded from a engineer to a technical assistant’s post, just recently. My pay has been cut by quite a fraction. The management says that they needed to cut down costs,” he said.

“Is that so?” I said with a worried look now.

“It is all right, Ma’am! Remember your words that day? The thing that you said about survival and finding something to hold onto? I am managing just fine. Some of my friends have been given the boot! And I have been riding my bike, right after work everyday, going from one house to another, giving tuitions to little boys. I am beginning to enjoy the sessions too!” he said.

“All right then! Just leave these papers with me. I will post them to the Graduate Studies Institute, main campus, by tomorrow” I said with a sigh of relief.

We talked for quite a while, about old times. Especially, about how he nearly lost his focus during his undergraduate years when we were at the campus in Tronoh. That was years ago….

(to be continued...)

Troubled but determined…

He was doing his final year project under my supervision. How I had to practically run after him every few weeks to watch his progress. He seemed excited at first. Then along the way, he lost his confidence. I did not receive his progress report. My emails to him went unanswered. Then, I had to send word through his friends (whom I tried to identify while at the university cafeteria) that he had to see me. And urgently too!

A few days later, he came.

He sat on the chair, running his hands through his disheveled hair, his eyes downcast on the floor.

“How are you doing?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“I just don’t seem to get things in the right perspective,” he replied, wiping both his eyes with the tips of his thumbs.

“And what do you mean by that, may I ask?” I said, clasping both my hands and placing them on the table in front of me.

“I just don’t know. Everything seemed fine at first. Then, things just fell out of place. I just don’t seem to get things the way I wanted,“ he said, his eyes now red at the brims.

“For example?” I asked.

Silence again.

“Actually, I have a big problem, back home. I am feeling very confused and disoriented,” he said, shaking his head.

“Everybody has got problems. So do I. In these situations, it is not about how you are going to solve the problem but how to survive without losing focus and maximizing your full potential! Find some pieces of driftwood, that you can hold onto!” I said.

“It is just that, things are so bad and I feel so helpless!...I don’t know!” his hands were clasped firmly to the sides of the chair.

“Look here! Young man! The biggest problem that you are facing right now is that – you NEED to graduate! And listen to me! Do you really want to graduate?” I firmly put the question to him.

He nodded his head.

“Do you want to be an engineer?” I asked.

He nodded his head again.

“I am not convinced!” I retorted.

“Yes! Of course, I want to become an engineer!” he said out loud.

“Then put aside your problems. Or rather, forget about your problems for these few weeks and focus!”

He was silent.

“I want to see your progress report before next week!” I said.

“I need to print some of the pages in colour, but I don’t have a colour printer,” he muffled.

“Can’t you just print them at the shops?” I asked.

After a momentous silence, he lifted his head from the floor and said in a whisper, “I don’t have the means to pay.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, in the first place!” I mumbled.

I rummaged my fingers through my handbag, handed him some cash and he was gone. Not after I dismissed his profuse ‘thank yous’…

Sure enough, his progress report was in my pigeon hole at the end of the week. And it was a job well done!

A few days before his final year project submission, I was again full of anxiety.

“Have you seen *****?” I asked a familiar face whom I met while on my way down to the general office, to get my letters.

“He is around but…” the student said, pulling his face away in another direction.

“But what?” I asked.

“He is at it again. Down and in low spirits…”

“If you see him today, tell him I want to see him by the end of this week, okay?” I said.

Two days after that, he came, his face unshaven and gloomy.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I blurted out.

“I don’t know Ma'am! It is just that, I feel so troubled and very sad. I don’t even feel like going home during the long breaks.”

“Not again?” I said.

He turned his face to the floor.

“Your final year dissertation need to be in. I want to see what you have written so far. Bring whatever you have in three day’s time. Is that clear?” I demanded.

“All right, Ma'am!” he said, his eyes were full of sadness.

“Is that a promise?” I said.

He nodded.

I shook my head and said, “I want to listen to the words!”

“I promise!”

Three days later, he turned up in my office and we went through the dissertation together. His work was excellent though not really polished. And he was willing to make amendments according to my suggestions.

The day of viva came. I was very pleased with his performance during the project presentation. So was the co-examiner.

“You could have gotten an A if you had been punctual in handing in your progress reports and all! But then, I hope you will settle for an A-,” I quipped.

“I would be so very happy even if I had managed to get a B!” he said gleefully.

(This event took place many years ago, while the engineering campus was still at Tronoh….to be continued…)

What's that, Teacher?"

“What’s that, Teacher?” a question was shot in the air and caught on my ears, coming from cute little lips…

“You mean, that one?” said a man in his thirties, pointing his fingers to a cluster of tall brick towers in the distance, with the same brick walls encircling .

Something about the children and everything else, made me stopped in my tracks. I just had to listen to the teacher’s explanation. My family and I were taking a walk beside the Thames, venturing from the Tower Bridge and we were approaching the Tower of London.

Then, there was laughter… the children running, their steps changing to small steps right after these words from their teacher, “Walk in pairs, please! And hold your partner’s hands. Don’t run! Have you forgotten what I said earlier?”

The sweet faces nodded sheepishly.

“We will be going in now! There are going to be a lot of people around. So, please remember my words, okay?” said the teacher, shaking his head, hands on hips.

I smiled a long smile.

At a corner near to the exit, a group of children were sitting on benches and the curbs, enjoying their packed sandwiches and drinks. Yet another group were hunched on the grass, their fingers holding crayons and coloured pensils, their faces intent on the white sheets spread in front of them.

This is how children are exposed to the subject of history in this part of the world. Since small, they were instilled with this type of learning, spurring inquisitiveness and the love for quest of knowledge through experiential learning. Not through spoon-feeding and boring sessions in the classroom.

Through discussions with a number of parents who have had the privilege of having their children going through their early years in school in this part of the world, I could gather a few things.

“Our children just love school. They are ever so excited here…they insist to be at school even when they are sick!”

I was in Chester, a medieval city, a short distance from Manchester early last year. At the excavation site of the Romans (only just recently discovered, i.e. in the year 2006), I bumped into a group of small children, dressed up in Roman costumes, in pieces here and there. One of the teachers was a man, all dressed up, complete with a bright red cape. He also took the liberty to act out a short skit, depicting a comical Roman emperor. Of course, the children (especially the boys) were squealing with laughter. It was January, I had three layers of clothing, including a thick jacket and gloves covering my fingers. The teacher had his legs bare to the mercy of the cold winds…

I salute the teacher, for his selfless efforts and dedication. In this western part of the world, there are still men who love teaching and being around small children. I do wonder… Do we still have such men back here in Malaysia?

A Very Special Day!

08.08.08 – a very significant date, with very special numbers…

And a very special day to our little one…for Nuha Insyirah bt. Mohd. Khalil Izwan is 3 today!

You have brought laughter, tenderness and happiness to all of us…Especially to Tok Wan and Neena…you have made us understand the meaning of blissfulness...instances that sometimes words cannot describe...

May Allah guide you and protect you all through your lifetime…May you grow up to become a fine Muslimah one day…Amin…

Special writing workshop for Raudhatus Sakinah...

My head was still swimming…trying to make sense of day and night…the time loss or gain, travelling from west to east. But then again…a promise is still a promise.

Saturday, the 26th. of July, I got myself ready to conduct a special writing session for occupants of Raudhatus Sakinah (Penang Branch).

Eager faces awaited me, greeting me with salams and anticipating an enjoyable session as I promised them in one of my prior visits at their abode. They were all seated cosily in a seminar room at one of the schools of the Engineering Campus, Universiti Sains Malaysia, Nibong Tebal.

As the day commenced, pen encircled on fingers quivered, white sheets whined and writhed under nibs, full of scribbles…Then as minds start to thaw, tears welled up in those faces as one by one, each read their respective creative pieces. As much as I tried to control my tears, some still managed to hang on to my lashes. Right after reading each one of their writings, some of the participants just dropped back onto their chairs, in between sobs and cowered their faces on their desks, drenching the surfaces with their tears…

Writing is a form of therapy, an avenue to vent out ones’s anger, frustration or regrets over past misdeeds…expressing repentance to God and especially so to their parents who must have gone through such tremendous emotional upheaval in this tribulation. Also to carve into their hearts, the expectations and hope for their future, to strive and overcome whatever obstacles that may lie ahead…

I once came across an article – children who were victims of the Tsunami years ago, were encouraged to overcome their grief and post Tsunami trauma through drawings and paintings…likewise, I had hoped that this writing workshop would function as the same, to these young hearts..

At the end, I had expressed my aspiration to have a book published, a collection of writings from the occupants as well as the wardens and manager of RS…God willing. This collection would hopefully serve as a reminder to all the other young people out there...who are still unaware of the pitfalls, nooks and corners in treading life in this world. Life is not a straight line…may this book be a guidance and a beacon of light for others…

May Allah accept this little effort...Amin.

PS. A word of thanks to the manager of Raudhatus Sakinah (Penang Branch), Mrs. Inayah Isa for the collection of images...