Speech at Opening Dinner for 2013 TFM Fellows

The year is almost over, and what an eventful one it has been! Last night marked a new chapter for Teach For Malaysia as the new cohort of fellows (batch of 2013) began their training. This was the 'induction speech' I shared at the dinner. 

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Yang Amat Mulia Tengku Ali, Yang Berbahagia Tan Sri Abd. Ghafar, Tan Sri Dr Jemilah, Board of Trustees, guests of honour and the entire TFM Family. Good evening to all of you. 

My name is Abel Cheah and I’m a 2012 fellow. On behalf of all of us here, we congratulate you, the 2013 fellows, and warmly welcome you as the second Teach For Malaysia cohort.

When we, the 2012 cohort, sat in your seats this time last year, we had the same emotions as what you are probably feeling now. All of us knew why we signed up for this mission, but none us were fully prepared for everything we would soon face – and are still facing today.

Like you, we were apprehensive, anxious, excited, ecstatic -- and we had a very vague idea of what to expect, except that the journey would be long and hard, but immensely rewarding and inspiring.

Like you, we began our journey as strangers from a diversity of backgrounds who were united by a common cause -- but have today, the bond of a family (some of us will actually be real’ family’ after the Fellowship…)

Like you, we gave up something to commit to this mission -- including the comfort of our homes, the luxury of our jobs and the solace of being close to our families.

A year has now passed since we embarked on the journey you are starting today. And the question that is being asked is: how has it been for us? What have we experienced and done in the past year – that you will?

As an English teacher, I wrote down some verbs to answer this question. And because we’re still only a year into the fellowship, these action words are written in the present tense:

Learn at the Institute. Practice at Kem SKORlah. Sleep little. Prepare. Laugh heartily. Weep for our country. Step into school. Crawl back home. Squat with the students to learn about plants. Look into their faces as they tell their stories. Read about their broken homes and lofty dreams. Brace for 200 more days of school. Celebrate the small successes. Recover from the daily disappointments. Stay up working on the Kertas Kerja, Buku Kehadiran, Buku Program, PBS filling, exam paper setting and essay marking, etc. Stay back to teach in extra classes. Converse with the teachers in the staffroom about the latest kuih muih to order in town. Connect with business leaders and future partners.

Rest and reflect. Start over again, but this time, better.

Teach for the kid who works in the workshop every day after school. Teach for those boys who walk to your house every week to learn the difference between ‘is’ and ‘are’. Teach for that girl who is abused by her father, but who wants to be a teacher herself, someday.  Teach for your country. Teach for Malaysia.

2013 Fellows, once again we congratulate you and we know you’ll do a great job! All the best.

Liquid Paper

Pacing around the classroom to check on my students' guided essays, my eyes caught J staring into space, with his pen placed on his opened book.

"Have you finished, J? That's really fast!"

He smiled nervously as I inspected his work, immediately finding scores of mistakes in his 2 paragraphs. "If you're talking about one  building, it's 'a building', not 'a buildings'. Take out the 's' here, because we only use 's' for plural nouns, remember?"

After correcting a few other similar mistakes, I left him to change his errors, moving on to other students who were raising their hands for my attention. When I made a full round and came back to him, I saw him as I had left him before: staring into space, with his pen left on his opened book.

Disappointed, I asked him why he hadn't changed his mistakes, making it clear that I noticed his lack of effort. He stammered through his excuse, "Sir, I'm waiting to borrow M's liquid paper".

"Okay, borrow it quickly. I'll be back to check on you again in 2 minutes", I said, unconvinced.

*******

I didn't think much about this exchange of words until two days ago, when J walked up to me after class, with his journal in his hand. "Sir, can I give you my journal this week?", he said, barely audibly.

This was what it said:

Teachers hold so much influence, and this power could either be immeasurably destructive or immensely constructive. I can only pray that God breaks my heart for what breaks His.

*he has since been given a correction tape and told not to feel guilty for not having enough money

"I want, I can, I will"

1. A kid walks over from her home to attend my extra class and competes enthusiastically to answer questions, despite being sick.

2. Three new students hear about the same extra class, but wait at the wrong place. They then walk over to my house to ask why it was cancelled, and ask for another class to be scheduled.

3. A dude who thinks he's a taiko and curses at me because I won't let him sleep brings a new exercise book to school to get back on track and participates in the questions and answers in class for the first time.

I'm inspired by underprivileged kids who want to learn!

Chef Jon

This is "Chef Jon" (pic by Sawittri), demonstrating to my students how to make an egg sandwich. For over a week, I had built up some anticipation in this classroom by telling them that I'd be bringing in a guest to meet them someday, and on this day, I walked out of the classroom to call the 'guest' in -- and in came Chef Jon. His job: to teach my students how to write (cooking) instructions. Weeks before, "Rapper Jon" (he also looks uncannily like me) did a grammar rap for them, but the whole act failed when one student pointed out that he stole "Abel Cheah's" nametag. This time, the apron from the Mak Cik Kantin took care of that! 

National Unity with 3B

In the dark, dank classroom of 3B, I stood in the middle of two lines of students whose shadows had blocked out the rays of the morning sun. We were doing an activity called "Cross the Line", and it was my third Civics lesson with them. It was only 2 weeks ago when the school timetable changed again; I walked into the class for the first time this year and introduced myself to them as the brother of a girl who shares the same age as them. I wondered, then, if that fact intrigued them as much as it caught me. During that first class, they requested that I teach them English instead of 'boring Civics'. Encouraged by their love for the language, I told them I'd try to do both as their new teacher.

I understood their dislike for Civics – it’s not a ‘main subject’ -- and in the bigger scheme of things, not as important as English. Still, I relished the change of teaching something different, something less ‘academic’. Today’s lesson on national unity was going to involve an activity inspired by the movie “Freedom Writers”, and I wondered how everything would pan out eventually, as I stood in the centre of the classroom, under the gaze of 35 pairs of young eyes.

"For today's Civics lesson, we will play a simple activity called ‘Cross the Line’. There are only two rules to this activity: firstly, that you must be honest to yourself, and secondly, that you must remain absolutely silent and respectful towards the others who are obeying the first rule."

I warned them that the activity would get increasingly challenging as it went on, but assured them that nothing was going to compel them into responding to the statements except for their own honesty. I told them that this activity had a purpose, and that we would talk about the lesson of the day at the end of it.

And so, we began.

As I read the statements, pockets of students made their exodus from one end of the classroom to the other, crossing an imaginary line at the centre. There were beaming faces, cheeky smiles and muffled whispers. The statements were neutral at first, and my students had no problems owning up to them by ‘crossing over’.

 "I have two parents"

Everyone rushed through the rows of tables and chairs to reach the other end.

"Sometimes, I hate coming to school"

A few boys gleefully ran across the classroom.

But soon, the statements became a little more difficult.

"I've seen fights that happened before my eyes"

"I've witnessed a friend being bullied terribly"

And they became more personal.

"I’ve been bullied”

"I've been betrayed by someone I trusted"
"I've seen my mother cry"

There were less people crossing the imaginary line now, as were the smiles.  I felt a lump in my throat as I braced myself for the next few statements: 

"It's difficult at home, because we don't have enough money"

A pause – and then about 20 students moved.

"I've watched a loved one die"

5 shocking students paced across the room, as their classmates looked on.

Suddenly, I realized that no one was smiling anymore. An unusual hush had fallen upon the same classroom that been so accustomed to being the place of teenage jests and loud chattering.

I cleared my throat and told the students that the next statement would be difficult to say and even more difficult to admit to, but there was no compulsion to cross the line if they felt uncomfortable to do so. And then, I read it:

"I've been abused"

A moment of hesitation elapsed. Then a girl, with pain all over her face, took a small step towards the other end of the room. A handful of other students followed her and broke away from their lines, walking silently. Never had I fully realized how far away my home was from this place, till then.

I instructed them to return to their seats, and as the students moved away from the windows, the classroom seemed brighter than before. How did a topic like national unity relate to what we had just done? How could one of the vaguest, most politically-contested terms in our national discourse possibly be taught to a group of 15 year-old students, whose solemn faces betrayed their own individual stories of pain and loss?

How could I prove to them that despite what our parents, teachers and media have been showing to us, we are truly the same: a people? That beyond the politics of race and colour, the different cultural norms we were born into and the diverse mind-sets we were raised to hold, we are simply and merely humans in need of each other and a Creator, and nothing much more? And that because we are inherently the same – broken – we should be a little more humble about who we are and what we deserve?

I couldn’t. And so, Pain became the teacher for the day, reminding us that we aren’t so different after all, that despite the innumerable variations between us, we have more to gain by being united and empathetic -- than being comfortable in our own isolated shells of familiarity and apathy. That’s where national unity starts: looking beyond our own walls of differences and serving others.

Maybe Civics isn’t going to be so ‘boring’ after all.

On an extremely exhausting day

On an extremely exhausting day,

Two students stood at my gate.

"Hello sir, we are here for the class!"

Their voices, glad, despite the wait.

"Didn't you hear, it's cancelled?", I said,

Masking my exhaustion with a smile.

Ten hours of teaching and meetings,

And now, this, to break my evening lull?

But the kids had walked here, my heart reasoned,

To learn English, like I told them to.

And so I left them to learn on their own,

Instructing them to read the book through.

"Knock on my door, if you need any help",

I returned to my room, seeking rest.

But just as I laid my head to the bed,

I heard the voices of my young guests.

Left to themselves, they began reading aloud,

Correcting each other, starting over.

Their voices soared above the weight of the day

Pried open, my eyes began to water.

The teacher's job does not end after school

It's not limited by its menial pay

This I learnt, as I abandoned my rest to read

With two students, on an extremely exhausting day.

Conversations

[translated]

"Why are you always sleepy in class, M?"

"Work, sir"

"What work? "

"I have to tend to the farm, fix the motorcycle, do the chores…"

"And your parents? What do they do?"

"My mother is always busy working."

"And your father?"

"He died last month"

************

"With your partners right now, I want all of you to practice using the word "angry" by saying, "I am angry because…." Use your own reasons."

"Cikgu, apa itu 'bercerai' dalam Bahasa Inggeris?"

"Bercerai? Kalau untuk boyfriend dan girlfriend, kita guna "break-up". I am angry because I broke up…?"

"No, sir. Bercerai"

""Divorce". What is your sentence?"

"I am angry because my parents divorced yesterday night".