Welcome to our world.

I remember being more excited than May when she first met Karl. I also remember being more excited than May when she said she was getting married. I also remembered being overly and overtly excited when May told me she was preggie.

Congrats to the both of you now! Proud parents of a new born baby boy!

I can say i am feeling like a proud uncle too :-)

Welcome to our world Kevin Ian Forshee! You couldn't be more loved by anyone else than your parents who brought you here. They've been waiting for you. :-) Welcome to our world.

Moving along... and doing fine.

Four weeks into my actual teaching career and life is crazy, busy and bitchy; but I am settling down into it, like I have settled down into my own cozy cubicle. I have more or less gotten into the rhythm of things.

Remember my previous post about feeling isolated? Well, who the hell gives a fucking hoot about it? I just need to learn to survive on my own. I got that from my ma and grandma’s temperament and my pa’s warring Manchurian genes. We’ve always been survivors and I’ll get through this one too.

Life is not all hardedge in school. There are the lovely boys whom I absolutely adore. I have started calling them “my boys” and a senior teacher reminded me when she commented that I talk about my students like a “proud father”. Yes, you would too if you see those boys, got to know them and be with them 8 hours a day. It’s not hard to fall in love with those kids.

That reminds me – an untrained teacher who had them for the past 6 months has left for NIE for the PGDE program. It’s “goodbye and good riddance” from me, I’d say. That fella made pretentiousness almost a virtuous artform. The first time he told me about the boys, he used derogative adjectives likes “idiot”, “irritant” and other colorful assortments and varieties. I was shocked. “He’s going to be a teacher?” I caught myself asking.

But that didn't prepare me for the next surprise. When we had a gathering with the boys and their mothers, he was so loving and caring towards them, it was a culture shock to me. I have no taste for people who ‘wayang’ (pretend). What’s worse, he went around giving the parents the impression that he is a trained teacher! Yuk! Ptooi...!

It was there and then when I decided to stay as far away from him as physically and mentally possible. I guess I made the message tangible.

A couple of days back, I learnt that he had been telling people about the “damages” I am doing to the kids and the work he has done on them. I didn't know whether to laugh at or get angry with this. It was ridiculous. Those remarks coming from a guy whose students have no idea or been given the wrong concepts of basic mathematical operations.

I guess it’s no surprise that on his last day, nobody said anything to him. No “good luck” or “goodbye”. They couldn’t even be bothered to get a cake for him from the supermarket just 5 minutes away, even though there was talk about it. That says a lot huh?
I guess a pretender like him can always make do with a pretend cake.

Oh since I talk about one pretender, I must make mention of his good friend who also has a penchant for pretending. It’s a she who is also a longhaired freak. Those in the know would know who I am talking about – 2.2 aka SCB (“seow char borh” or mad woman).

That untrained teacher is one of her “favourites” as we say, that’s how she is able to perceive him. Otherwise, she has this built-in set of blinkers before her eyes that filter all other human existence, at least in school, before her. She does not acknowledge your presence. I think it’s difficult to teach respect and courtesy to a school of boys when even the head does not practice, no?

These two wander the earth professing to be Christians. As usual, so what’s new?

Well, in the meantime, I am still moving along with the tide, sometimes against the flow, but I am learning. I am also picking gems along the way; some in the form of understanding colleagues others in the form of experience and advice. I am moving along.

I have also written a couple of children’s stories and adding more along the way. I have yet to complete the story of the adopted boy and his father (it’s a story for my son some years down the road). I fully intend to illustrate this December hols. Gotta stay focused.
After all, it’s for “my boys” that I am doing all these – nothing and no one else. Especially not for pretenders and mad people.

"I am Singaporean"

Hey, check this out! The "commemorative" "I am Singaporean" t-shirt from mrbrown and Mr Miyagi!

Insular. Isolar. Encapsular.

It’s 7:30 p.m. on a Monday evening.

I am sitting by myself in a long empty staff room in school, facing the laptop, listening to the MP3s playing through my Bose speakers.

Feeling lonely. Extremely lonely.

I feel like I am under tremendous stress. I feel like I’ve been expected to run and fly even before I can toddle or even crawl. I haven’t felt much genuine lifesavers or even witnesses around... everyone is just passing by, caught in their own individual sense of forlorn and distraught, I suppose. In a sea of ocean liners and cruise ships, who is to notice a tug boat hooting by, being tossed by the tide and waves, lost in the froth of their after waves and backwashes...?

I feel alone and lonely.

Being the only one from a cohort of thousands to be posted to a school isn’t helping my sense solitude. Actually, it does help... it increases my sense of isolation. A poet once said that no man is an island; everyone is connected in a sea of humanity. Is that true? I have yet to see genuine humanity. Like I said, everyone is caught up in their silent misery and the closest thing I have experienced as compassion was a singular line, “you have my sympathy”, a wry grin and then... gone.

I feel lonely. Extremely lonely.

I am attending a so-called investiture tomorrow. It is a supposed official event. But it feels like such a hassle. It was so difficult for me to apply for absence from work to attend what was deemed mandatory. In ironic contrast, the others from the PGDE program were urged to apply for absence to attend the ceremony. Any sort of absence would be granted. But when I, a graduate from the degree program tried to apply, a myriad of questions were asked. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt applying for a short period of absence. I wonder why.

But do I need to? Really?

In this busy life filled with a busy-ness of everyday nothingness, there seems so much isolation. It feels so insular.

I feel encapsulated. Let me crawl into my foetal retreat of embryonic security.

There must be a new adjective for this...

Ok, I've heard of crazy. But this is really pushing the envelope... it's just plain creepy...

With Honours...

I had been away.

I was away in a surreal place, living in a state resembling a sort of semi-comatose. While trying to figure out where exactly I was, I went away.

Surrealism began a month ago, with the release of my exam results. These were critical scores – they were the final scores of my final semester. Once I’ve cleared them, I will graduate... and should all things go well, with Honours too.

What greeted me was a sentence I was unfamiliar with...

“You are advised to consult your Dean”

With that, I began a month long dramatic adventure worthy of Hollywood proportions.

---

6th June 2006

The results were out.

It was reflected on my transcript that I had scored an 'F' grade for a minor module. So minor that it was only an elective. But what was more unbelievable was that I could actually fail it.

How do you fail a module about morals and as a solitary assignment, asks you to “write about anything about morals...”? The concept was impossibility to me; someone must have made a mistake while entering the score into the computer system, or given the right grade to the wrong person... a million plausible reasons swirled in my head. But I was confident that I must not have failed the module. Who fails a module that allows one to write about anything discussed?

I tried to make as many phone calls to as many related people as possible. They were all unavailable “because it's the holidays...”. Well, so much for the “advised to consult your dean” part...

I decided to wait till the next day to go down to campus and meet with the people personally.

Dr. Wong tried to assure me that it must have been a administrative error... but all the while, I felt a supernatural calm, I was even able to go for my mum's birthday dinner and a few days later, a buffet dinner with my friends, casually conversing and laughing like it was all no big deal...

---

7th June 2006

8:30 a.m. and I was already down at the campus.

But all the deans and lecturers were not around “because it's the holidays...”. I was recommended to file an appeal with regards to my results.

After paying $10.50 for processing appeal, I went over to the foundations programs office to try and find out as much as I possibly can, all the while still convinced and confident that it was all an administrative error.

“No, I have checked our system; there was no error in the recording of the results...”.

If that was the case, it means that the problem lies somewhere closer to the marker of my assignment. But he could not be found “because it's the holidays...”. I was also told that for most appeals, things never work out and the chances are very low.

“I advise you to prepare for the worse... you may have to retake the whole semester and bear the full fees...” Reality sank in. I need to apply for loans and bursaries if that were the case. Where's the student liaison...?

The lady at the office was very kind and provided me all the possible loans I could consider... that was also where I met Professor G. What a relief! Finally! A dean is around!!

I knocked on his door... “Sir...?”

Professor G was most encouraging. After looking at my essay and my past transcripts with A's and B's swimming in them, he commented...

“You write well...”

“The situation is ridiculous...!”

“You have a strong case... and you have all the evidence to back you up...”

He wrote a personal reference note to the other relevant authorities.

A couple of the Deans Professor G wrote to emailed me, asking me to be patient and the best person to answer my queries on the marks and marking, if I have any, was the lecturer for the module.

But he wasn't around “because it's the holidays...”

---

The next couple of weeks...

“Oh, he is not around because he has gone on leave, but he will back on these days...”

In spite of the information from the secretary, I called everyday. Even on days when he should be on leave. But no one picked up the phone; even on days when he should be in the office.

---

19th June 2006

Finally, the lecturer picked up the phone. But it was a very strange and distant person on the other line. It was a voice a pole apart from the fanatic ranting and raving anti-government sentiments and passionately imploring the class to judge the local government's deed and abuse of power based on the concept of “absolute morality”.

“Sir, I was just wondering what happened to my grades...”

“I understand that you have filed an appeal... you are now dealing with an institution...” the comment was delivered with a voice and tone was like steel in the middle of winter. “You cannot just call up an institution to ask questions and demand answers...”

I wasn't aware that I was “demanding”. I was also unfamiliar with the man on the other line who suddenly became reticent, so different from the fanatic I've seen in class.

I tried to drag the conversation and finally he slipped... “It was difficult to grade your paper because your essay did not fulfill the requirements of the course...”

Huh? What requirements? I have never seen it; there was never a black and white. The only instructions I got (as attested and concurred by my classmates in the same module) was a verbal instruction to “write about anything on morals...”

I immediately realize that there is a slippery slope to this... I wrote to all my friends in the same class to confirm my memory and also to the dean about this issue. I even talked with one of his ex-student who took the same module...

“Yah, there was no black and white...”

“Yah, he doesn't give “F's”... unless what was written was contradictory to or against what he perceives as his 'truths'...”

We even recalled an occasion where he revealed that he doesn't believe in giving “F's” and allowed a student to resubmit an essay, which might otherwise have failed.

After all these were discussed and revealed, my alarm bells were going off everywhere...

---

28th June 2006

9:30 a.m. on the day of the appeal.

I sat with the deans to discuss about the outcome of the appeal.

The deans laid out the cards:

• Though there was no “black and white”, I appeared to be the only one who wrote on a topic that was “out of the circle”.

• Even without written instructions, there must have been sufficient guidance for any attentive student to pick up on since all the others had written on similar topics.

I laid out mine:

• The constant slew of anti-government comments and drumming the concept of using an “absolute morality” to judge the local government who had “abused their authority” overwhelmed any other ideas the lecturer was trying to share. I was thus influenced to believe that the lecturer was trying to talk about the concept of a universal or absolute morality, a judgment or yardstick that can be applied and used everywhere on earth to justify or condemn all and any people and ideas.

• Though others may have written similar essays, they could have asked the lecturer for comments and advice. I never did, since the topic was open and full of potential and avenues for me.

• My essay was based on the topics he discussed in class; I had taken photos of his transparencies and made notes on them.

---

At the meeting, they chose to close ranks; to back up the lecturer who marked my essay.

“I am sorry we have to bear such news to you, but circumstances made it difficult to revoke the first decision...”

We talked about the possibility to just re-submit the paper without attending the lectures. I also voiced my concern that if it is to be a re-submission, the “F” grade would still remain...

“Yes, it would be so... but a re-submission is a very good offer considering the circumstances...”

They needed to discuss further on the issue and I would be inform of the decision very soon.

“Oh... please leave a copy of all the documents you had presented today, it might prove useful...”

I left them photocopies of my online conversations, my email correspondences, photographs and notes of the slides. Then I stood up, shook their hands and thanked them wholeheartedly.

10:30 a.m. riding on a taxi on the way back to school.

I was quiet the whole journey, trying to let the reality that I am REALLY not going to graduate with my friends. But I was still feeling surreally calm - there was a strange knowledge that everything is going to be fine.

11:30 a.m. on the phone with the sub-dean.

“I have good news for you. In view of the new evidences, we have decided to reconsider your paper...” I was speechless.

That day, on many occasions during classes, I found myself tearing uncontrollably. But I had to blink them away quickly; I didn't want upset the boys in my class, in case they spotted my tears.

---

30th June 2006

“Mr. Pang, I am glad to inform you that your grades have been revised and that you have graduated with Honours...”

---

For all my friends and all the professors who showed their confidence and faith in me in various ways; for comforting me with words and assurances; for believing in me with their prayers and well wishes - I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I don't want to degrade an ounce of my utmost gratitude to all of you by trying to describe or quantify it with my limited command of the already limited English language and vocabulary; but please know that I am truly grateful from the bottom of my heart. I am graduating with Honours and with my honour intact...

... and I'll see you at the convocation with our gowns and mortar board on.

Harriet's Quilt

	This story is a general work of fiction in 7 parts inspired by a reading of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Although the main characters are fictitious much of this story is based on actual historical figures and events. Reader’s discretion is suggested.
	HARRIET'S QUILT - Epilogue

---

T

he burnished evening sun had crept its way into the kitchen. Streaming its way into Harriet’s kitchen, the light washed everything it laid on in a gold and amber glow. Harriet had begun on the trim of the quilt. Artfully and deftly, she lifted a hemmed ribbon of deep brown and begins setting it around the quilt. She surrounded the quilt and the winding tale it carried within a border of deep brown tone, setting it firmly in with strong stitches.

It was a long process of stitching and threading that went on through the evening. We sat in the quiet company of each other in the kitchen while the sun slowly crept off into the horizon and left with us in a glimmering twilight. Harriet had exhausted her words weaving her story of the quilt, of Jim and herself. It was in the quiescence of the dusk that she completed the work of trimming the quilt.

She looked at me an’ smiled as she bit off the final thread that locked the stitches in and laid it on the table. I couldn’t help but grab the quilt with her hands and held it up to admire. The tapestry of a tale embroidered within the patches of colored fabric, of flowing blue rivers, railroad tracks, green plantations and woods and swirls of red was breathtaking.

In the midst of admiration, I caught a glimpse of Harriet’s hands next to mine. In the half-light of the kitchen I could only see the outline and form of our hands but couldn’t tell any difference between them that held the quilt up. It was only that hers felt more calloused than mine – wrought and roughened by a history of experiences.