Title: My First Day in Teachers Training College The moment Papa put the long-awaited letter from the

Teachers Training College into my hand, I knew that the brightness of my future depended on its contents. I had been denied admission into the college thrice and one more rejection would have crashed my confidence. My hands were shaking with anticipation as I tore open the envelope. I was scared by the possibility of seeing the phrase Regretfully we inform you that you are not accepted as a trainee teacher in the letter. It had taken me months to get over my sadness the last time I was turned down from the application. With bated breath, I unfolded the letter and read it. The first line of words that greeted me was: Please be informed that you have been accepted as a trainee teacher for the English course in the Teachers Training College. I could not believe my eyes and read the opening again. To my sheer relief, I did not misread the words. With a cry, I erupted into joy. My dream had come true. The acceptance convinced me that I had not been wrong in choosing the teaching profession as my vocation. Papa, I said in a burst of excitement. Maktab has accepted me as a trainee teacher! Praise the Lord, said Papa, making a sign of a cross. His eyes mirrored his fatherly pride. I wiped my eyes and said, Ya, all glory and honour be to Him. He has answered my prayers.

When should you register at Maktab? asked Papa, in a voice full of concern. 1

I read the letter again and found that all newly-accepted trainee teachers should register at the Teachers Training College on 1st July 1994, 8.00a.m to 5.00p.m. My head jerked up in shock. Wasn t today 1st July?

Papa, I asked. What s the time now?

It s 11.00a.m, answered papa. The registration is today, I gasped. And I have to report at Maktab immediately. Are you sure? asked Papa. I am! I shouted in a paroxysm of impatience.

I dashed into my bedroom and dug into the disorganized mess of my personal files. I ferreted out all the required documents and put them in a large envelope. Then, I left for the Teachers Training College in a taxi called by Papa. The registration of new trainee teachers took place in the assembly hall of the Teachers Training College. When I reached the college s gate in the taxi, wide stretches of well-mowed lawn hemmed in from side to side along the main driveway. The grand assembly hall rose among trees and shrubbery on the far end of the road. There were hostels several yards behind the hall. I wondered how it was like living a communal life with hundreds of fellow trainee teachers. On the way to the hall the taxi also passed by two large tennis courts. Were they of international standard? Would I have an opportunity to play tennis on any of them during my training in the college? My heart was brimming with joy. Everything boded well for me. I was sure there were a lot of fun and surprises in store for me in the college.

I snapped out of my reverie when the taxi slid to a halt in front of the assembly hall. After paying the fare, I walked out of the car and made my way towards the assembly hall. There was an inquiry counter on the left hand side of the entrance. A girl and a boy in smart blazers were sitting there, casually chatting with each other. I came up to the girl and asked her in English: Good morning, I am a new trainee teacher for the English course. May I know where I should register myself?

The girl grinned and said, Welcome to the Teachers Training College. Enter the hall and proceed to Counter PI which is on the right hand side.

Thank you, I said. As I was about to turn on my heel, the girl made me stop in my tracks with a question: Aren t you Lo Sin Yee?

Yes, I am, I said, baffled. How did you know my name? Can t you remember me? said the girl, switching to Chinese.

I scrutinized the girl s lean face, trying to recall where I had seen her. She had a short, wavy hairdo. Skimming over her thin eyebrows were slightly tousled side-swept bangs. Her slanted eyes had a mischievous glint to them. Her delicate nose and lips matched her oval face well. All of a sudden I detected some trace of familiarity on her face. Several years before the face had been a plumper one bordered by curly, shoulder-length hair. Though looking more mature and beautiful, she still carried the same air of cheerful ease.

Are you Kee Yu Hui? I asked. Yes, you are right, said the girl, turning to the boy next to her. Sin Yee is my school mate in St. Patrick. He s very good at Art.

The guy did not say a word, sizing me up from head to toes with a smile.

Nice to see you here, I said, feeling shy about Yu Hui s compliment. How long have you been in the college?

I have been here for two and a half years, she replied. I will be graduating end of this year. That s great! I said. I hope I ll have no problem to graduate.

You will, Yu Hui said. As long as you put your mind to it. Yu Hui, the guy cut in. What an arrogant friend you have. You are right, Yu Hui said. He flaunted his knowledge of English before speaking Chinese to me. You misunderstood me, I explained earnestly. I thought it was polite to speak in English. Besides, I did not recognize you in the first place. The two people exchanged glances and dissolved into laughter. Embarrassed, I took leave and hurried into the hall. There were many counters inside the assembly hall. In every one of them, a pair of mentor desks and a pair of mentee desks were positioned facing each other. I stopped at the English Counter. The mentors were an elegant Punjubi lady and a strictlooking Chinese lady.

Are you a trainee for English? asked the Punjubi lady. Yes, I said.

Give me your IC, demanded the Punjubi Lady.

I did as what I was told and she scanned over a list of names with my identity card in her hand. You are not in my class, declared the Punjubi lady, passing my identity card to her neighbour. You are in Madam. Mitty s.

Thanks. I moved over and stood in front of Madam Mitty, the Chinese lady. Looking at me icily over the rim of her glasses, she said, Show me your academic certificates.

I took out all my documents from my envelope and put them in a pile on Madam. Mitty s desk. Some were frayed at the edges. How disorganized you are, said Madam Mitty, browsing through my documents. You should have shown me one whole file, with every original certificate on one page and its photocopy on the other. I am sorry, I apologized. Not only that, said Madam Mitty, glaring at me. Your documents have not been certified yet. What a remiss on your part.

Sorry, I stammered. I did not read the calling letter properly. As a future teacher, said the lecturer, with emphasis in her voice. You ought to have read through the instructions in the letter properly. Today s occasion calls for good self discipline. Being observant to instructions is part of it. You are not even dressed properly.

You should wear a tie, a long sleeve shirt and a pair of slacks, explained the Punjubi lecturer.

I m sorry. I bowed my head in shame. I must have looked sloppy in a faded T-shirt and a pair of well-worn jogging pants. Where is your luggage? Madam Mitty asked.

I do not bring anything with me, I said.

Tapping her desk, Madam Mitty gave me a stern look and said, All new trainee teachers have to move into the hostels this evening. Don t you know that?!

The Punjabi lady shook her head and said, Mitty, what a mentee you ve got. Madam Mitty snorted, Ira, it seems that all bad ones come to me. I kept on saying sorry effusively, hoping to burrow into a hole to hide myself.

Now let s see what you got for English, said Madam Mitty, looking at my SPM certificate. What did he get? asked Madam Ira, there was a hint of contempt in her voice.

Only a C4, said Madam Mitty, smirking. It is poor by Malaysian standard. Not many of my mentees obtained an A1 and an A2. I am more fortunate, gloated Madam Ira. Most of my mentees scored an A1 and an A2 for their English. Alas! exclaimed Madam Mitty. Before teaching my mentees how to teach, I have to polish their English first. I felt very unfair to be labeled as poor. I had been voracious in reading after leaving school. I believed my current proficiency was much better than before.

Suddenly, Madam Mitty became quiet. Something in my certificate seemed to have arrested her attention. She smiled at me and said, You scored an A1 for your History. Why don t you change your option to History? Madam Ira nodded and said, Mitty is right. I think you can do a better job as a History teacher. Not many people can handle the teaching of English well. Madam Mitty added, With the switch, you will spare us one big trouble. I shook my head and said, No, thanks. Being an English teacher is my ultimate goal.

Rolling her eyes, Madam Mitty returned me my certificates and said, Now go home and get a Grade A government officer to certify your documents. Then come back here and pass everything to me. With a heavy heart I took a bus home. Papa could not believe his ears when I told him about my negligence. After changing into proper attire and packing my clothes into a luggage bag, Papa took me to the office of a government officer friend. I had all my documents certified there. Then, I took a taxi back to the Teachers Training College. Having submitted my documents to Madam Mitty, I proceeded to the Chinese Community Counter to sign up as a Chinese Club member. There were two girls at the counter. One was petite and the other tall. They gave me a form to fill. It did not take me long to fill in my particulars. The petite girl read my form and said, According to what you have filled, you like singing.

Yes, I said, mustering a smile. Entertain us by singing a song, requested the other girl.

I blushed and mumbled my reluctance. 7

Come on, coaxed the tall girl. You are going to be trained as a teacher. Don t feel shy to sing in public. May Ping is right, said the petite girl. You should do your seniors bidding. Sing us a song.

Having no choice, I cleared my throat and sang a Chinese folk song. I m traveling on a skiff across the wide sea, The azure sky and the turquoise waters are my friends, With the aid of the gentle wind I rowed my boat Towards the merging point of the sky and the sea The seagulls fly above me, singing me a song of courage My spirit is soaring high among the clouds All my worries disappear beneath the undulating sea

The two girls clapped their hands, cheering, Bravo, bravo! A smattering of clapping also rose from the neighbouring counters.

Raising her thumb, the tall girl said, You have a rich, powerful voice. The petite girl nodded and said, Madam Chong Pek Lin will be glad to have you as a new choir member.

Thank you, I said, grinning from ear to ear. It was the first time I felt happy in the college today. I bade the girls goodbye and lugged my bag in the direction of the warden office. It was housed in the corner of the administration block. Half way along the roofed corridor, I was waylaid by a fat Chinese girl and three Iban boys. Their malicious faces gave me bad vibes. 8

There he is, The fat girl said in Malay, pointing her finger at me. The cocky one! Where do you think you are going? said one short boy, blocking my way.

I m going to collect my room key, I said. Can you let me pass?

Wow! The short guy exclaimed theatrically. See how arrogant he is. A dark guy said, He looks down on us, holding himself high and mighty.

Their noise attracted quite a number of students to rubberneck at us. Composing myself, I asked, What do you want from me?

The short guy bellowed, Maktab is such a noble place. It is not for a cocky person like you! The girl said, We are all your seniors. You should respect us! Bearing down on me, a beady-eyed guy said, You bastard, don t you know that it is polite to call us senior brothers and senior sister?

I staggered backwards and said, Leave me alone, please. My plea was met with jeers and catcalls.

Ha, look at that coward, said the fat girl, with asperity. Groveling shamelessly to us like a sissy. The short guy growled, Who are we? Where is our greeting!?

Trying very hard to keep my body from shaking, I said, Good afternoon, senior brothers and senior sister. Kneel down now! commanded the short guy. 9

I hesitated. Many people were goading me to comply.

If you don t, sneered the fat termagant. We won t let you go. I could feel my ego disintegrating. One by one, I kneeled down at their feet. It appeased my tormentors. All the onlookers roared with uncouth laughter. Among them were Kee Yu Hui and a few lecturers. They were thrilled by how the four people bullied me into submission. Why were they doing this to me? Weren t they all teachers and future teachers?

When I had got my room key, I rushed into the hostel and was relieved to find that I was the only occupant of my room. My roommate had not registered himself in the college. I selfishly hoped that he would not turn up. After unpacking my things, I had barely an hour to rest and to take a shower. I stripped to my underwear and walked into the shower room with a towel wrapped around my waist. What with many slim, small-boned and athletic-built boys taking a shower here, a strong sense of bashfulness washed over me. I unwittingly sucked in my stomach to make it less paunchy. It took me nearly fifteen minutes to get into a shower stall. I scrubbed myself as soon as possible. Then, I washed my clothes. In a race against time, I only used a little washing powder. Too much of it would make rinsing time-consuming and difficult. I pegged all my washed clothes on the congested drying lines outside. I managed to catch a shuteye in the comfort of my room before queuing outside the hostel for dinner. While marching to the dining hall with all the other new trainee teachers, we were harassed by many barracking seniors. With the previous harrowing experience fresh on my mind, I greeted all of them subserviently. Some trainees had to submit themselves to the demand of sniffing shoes and slippers. The seniors told us that they were orientating us for our betterment. However, I thought they did all this to sate their craving

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to humiliate others. You can t shape a noble character through bullying. Anything done out of spite causes hatred. One rule in the dining hall dictated that everyone should enter the building barefooted. So, a motley confusion of slippers, sandals, flip-flops and shoes was left outside the sliding doors. We lined up waiting for the kitchen hands to scoop rice and dishes onto our trays. The spicy aroma of curried chicken filled the entire hall. My stomach went rumbling with hunger.

When I reached the food distribution counter, a male kitchen hand put some rice, a sliver of chopped chicken thigh and some mustard greens on my tray. I protested, Why did the girl before me get a larger chunk of chicken?

The male kitchen hand said, You are so big. You don t have to eat that much. It s not fair, I groaned.

Stop complaining, said the man. I can give you more mustard greens. With that he scooped a generous amount of mustard greens onto my tray. The vegetable looked yellowish and limp. I hated to be fobbed off in that manner.

Boys and girls had to dine in separate territories. Any one seen sitting with girls would be admonished and relocated to a different table. Our seniors also warned us against sitting according to our own racial groups. Hence, each table consisted of multi-racial trainees. Having exchanged greetings with the boys at my table, I shoved some mustard greens into my mouth with the urgency of hunger. However, I almost vomited the vegetable out. It was not only overcooked but greasy, salty and gritty with sand. There was also a touch of unpleasant metallic taste to the leaves. Halfway chewing, something cracked in my

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mouth. I spat it out and saw a tiny, broken snail. It made me so ill with disgust that I decided to stop eating the dish. I tasted the chicken but was disappointed by its blandness. My tongue also repelled the morsel of meat on the bone because it had no succulence and firmness at all. How I missed my Papa s cooking. There was a similar look of dismay on other trainee s faces. A peeved Melanao boy remarked that the whole meal was like animal feed. Some boys at our table gave him an affirmative nod. I sighed in utter disappointment. I had never expected that food was that atrocious in the dining hall. Pecking at the rice, I was almost overwhelmed by a strong impulse to cry. I kept the emotion in check when a senior glared at me and said, Why are you eating like that? Quickly, I gulped down as much rice as possible until he walked away inspecting others. After eating, we queued up to throw leftovers and wash our trays. Like me, most of the trainees consigned the mustard greens to garbage bins. Many kitchen hands shook their heads and berated us for being too picky about food. When I came out of the dining hall, darkness had descended and it almost consumed all the last rays of the twilight. My enthusiasm for life in the college was reduced to a flicker. I was desperate for the warmth of my home. There was an assembly for all new trainee teachers at 7 p.m. that night. We sat according to our majors. When the master of the ceremony announced the arrival of the dean with her entourage of lecturers, we rose and gave them welcoming claps. The dean, Puan Zakiah Haji Omar, looked dignified in her light purple Malay traditional headscarf and gown. She was my former principal at SMK Lutong, the school I had attended for six years before going to St. Patrick. Known for her strictness and charisma, she was one of the most influential figures in Sarawak s world of education. I was glad to be her student again. After a brief prayer session, Puan Zakiah was invited to give a speech. She began with positive, encouraging words: All praise and glory be to Allah the Almighty for the presence of three hundred new trainee teachers in this evening assembly. Welcome to the family of Maktab Perguruan Sarawak. You are all the future teachers we are proud of. At that very instant, 12

clapping erupted throughout the hall. When it subsided, the dean went on saying that there was nothing as noble as being a teacher because his or her mission in the world was to educate the younger generation to be future leaders. We are all servants of Allah, said the dean through her well-articulated voice. We help Him to counsel the trouble-hearted and direct the disorientated ones to the right path. Puan Zakiah also advised us to respect the

lecturers. They are highly qualified educators who are concerned about your well being, said she. They drill and guide you to be qualified teachers with their expertise. Respect them by giving them full cooperation. Madam Mitty and Madam Ira sat in the front row on the stage, looking incomparably distinguished with the air they exuded. A lot of lecturers seemed to be blas about the whole thing. They must have attended too many occasions like this. When the dean s speech was over, she walked down the aisle and left the hall with the lecturers in her wake. Elated and motivated, I looked forward to the next session with high expectations. However, the bad treatment we received from 9.00 to 11.00 p.m. dampened my spirit. The prefects forced us to stand and to cup our hands behind our ears throughout the speeches of the head male prefect and the head girl prefect. By posturing yourselves in this manner, you will be more alert and attentive, said the head boy prefect. Standing was alright but cupping our hands behind our ears for nearly two hours gave us extreme pain in the shoulders and elbows. If we lowered our arms under the strain of tiredness, other prefects would quickly come over and animadvert upon us as disgracefully slack . I wondered if the seniors themselves were able to hold to the posture as long as we did. As far as my observation is concerned, continued Hamzah, the sanctimonious head male prefect. Many of you are cocky. What you don t know is that there are many people who are more capable than you are in the college. Hence, we will conduct hazing on you. Our main objective is to purge you of all undesirable qualities in the first week of your training in the college. I grimaced at the words hazing and purge . 13

They caused a feeling of inexorable doom to well up from the pit of my stomach. Hamzah was spot on with his observation, said Siti, the head girl prefect. Hazing is a rite of passage for all freshmen to go through. The seniors, be they prefects or ordinary trainees have the rights to discipline you. None of you can question our authority because we have been empowered by the dean to instill the values of obedience and humbleness in you. You have to obey us, whether you like it or not! The firmness in her voice intensified my anxiety. It was apparent that every Tom, Dick and Harry could haze us. What madness! Couldn t the dean see that irresponsible seniors might abuse and usurp the power? I had had an awful encounter with some fiendish seniors earlier in the afternoon and their so-called corrective action had nothing edifying at all. Was hazing a trend to discipline freshmen in all Malaysian colleges and universities? Did it serve educational purposes?

On our way back to the hostel after the assembly, a knot of raucous ruffians let fly a torrent of abuse at us. They called us knuckleheads, twits, prigs, wimps, motherridden kids and the like. A few unfortunate trainees were pushed down by some boys. Despite bristling with rage, they dared not fight back in fear of incurring more wraths upon themselves. I could not help muttering execrations. The senior trainees had gone overboard. Their manhandling of the poor trainees was a flagrant disregard for rules in the college.

All of us were told to sleep at 12 p.m. However, the senior prefects were bent on making the night a hellish one. We were awakened several times in ungodly hours by some insolent seniors who ran along the corridors, sounding loud hailer sirens and banging our doors. They ordered us to gather outside the hostel and do silly calisthenics such as pushups and hopping in the cold of the night.

At 3a.m, the head male prefect promised to grant us an uninterrupted peaceful slumber. He told us to wake up before seven the next morning. There would be a

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mass aerobic on the basketball court before breakfast. I heaved a sigh of relief and schlepped back to my room. Before turning in, I said a prayer to God: Lord, I am tired and overwrought. I have experienced the whole gamut of emotions today. I can t bear all this humiliating beasting. My life is now like a walk along a trail full of thorns and snares. I am too weak to seek justice for myself. People trample on me at will, treating me like dirt. Be the master of my thoughts and actions, O Lord. I have just crossed the threshold of the teaching profession and I don t want to quit and disappoint my parents. Give me a steely determination and a persevering heart to complete my threeyear-training here. Unto you I submit my whole-self. Amen.

END

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