Maybe I’ll be born into a well to do family. Maybe my parents will be beautiful people, wearing themselves out to serve others. Maybe I’ll be the younger brother that the daughter of the family always wanted. My family will shower me with love and fulfill my every need. My sister will spend so much time with me, shaping my thoughts and behavior. My parents will allow me to learn a musical instrument, and I will delve deep into the world of music and come to enjoy music as a part of my life. They will teach me the rights and wrongs of the world, and to be kind to those less fortunate than I am, even going so far as to give me a name which symbolizes kindness and forgiveness. My parents will send me to a good school, as they know the importance of a good education.

I’ll grow up into a healthy boy and start to attend school, where I will make many new friends. I will come to like and dislike some teachers. Then, I will have my own group of friends and I will do everything with them; eating, playing games, studying, laughing, crying, and so much more. And then we’ll graduate from primary school, where we’ll be separated when enrolling in secondary school but I won’t cry one bit. I will continue on my secondary education, eventually forgetting some of my friends and meeting new ones who will come to replace them. I will make some rivals in school, and we will encourage each other to study hard and achieve good results in the exams. I will be entrusted with some leadership posts in clubs, and strive to make my club better than all the others. I will get my own brothers and sisters in school and we’ll be inseparable; staying over at each others' homes, going on holidays together, and spending our days happily together. Maybe one day I will have a fated encounter with a girl and start going out with her. I will have so much fun spending time with her, helping each other out, and eventually falling in love. Maybe I’ll get teased by my friends sometimes but we will just laugh it off.

Maybe I will represent my school in a competition. I will work very hard and make my school proud, even if I lost. Maybe I will represent my nation to another country, showing off our wonderful culture and hospitality to the world. Maybe some teachers will disagree with the way I do things and try to punish me. Maybe there will be teachers who will vouch for me too. Of course, there will be my group of friends who will have my back. In my final year of secondary school, maybe my friends and I will pull all-nighters together to study for the final exams. Maybe we will not get a chance to study much but joke with each other instead but none of us will come to regret that in the end. I might break down and cry on the last day of secondary school as I will eventually be separated from my alternate family, or maybe I will face that day with a smile on my face as I hug each of my friends and wish them all the best in their life. I will thank all my teachers for tolerating and teaching me for through my secondary school life. I will try to spend as much time as I can with my friends before they leave to continue their tertiary education.

Maybe my friends and I will all score with flying colours when the results are announced, maybe some of us might miss our targets and cry but no matter what happens we will still look forward and face the world. Eventually, all of us will go our separate ways and meet new people. Even so, I will still remember them for making my school life a joy. Maybe I will be the last person to enroll in a college where I will spend the next five or more years pursuing a degree or masters certificate. Maybe I will miss my friends terribly, or maybe I will find new friends to spend my time with.

Maybe I will become a world renowned doctor, travelling around the globe to save lives. Maybe I will be the most sought-after engineer, creating wonders and mega structures for the world to marvel at. Maybe I will be an officer in the army, risking my life to protect the country I love so much. No matter what I become, though, I will hold strong to my principles in life and become a good person like my parents want me to. I will work hard and get the recognition of my superiors. Eventually, I will be one of the leaders at my workplace. Maybe there will be some people who will try to pull me down or slander me but I will not hold a grunge against them. I will keep working honestly.

Maybe I will get engaged and married to my high school sweetheart after working for a few years. I will buy a beautiful house near my parents’ and we will live happily. I will become a father one day and I will teach my children to be kind and strong, to be sincere in their work, to be honest in their words and to persevere while in hardships. I will watch as they grow up to be magnificent people and meet great friends.

Some day, I will retire from my work. Maybe I will take up music then, composing songs only for my family to hear. Maybe I’ll join philanthropic societies, and volunteer to help others. Maybe I will publish books for the world to read, stories of my experiences or epics from the depths of my mind, where fantastic things happen. Eventually, I have to rely on my children to take care of me as age would have taken its toll on me. Maybe I will pass on with a smile on my face, leaving no regrets in the world. Yes, that seems about right. Maybe I will do that.

-Terence

Last week, my grandmother invited my family and I over to her house for dinner. I was excited to go there because my grandmother was an excellent chef at traditional cuisine. Besides that, whenever she invites us over instead of us going there without her invitation, she has probably prepared, or is preparing a truly luxurious meal and will go out of her way to make some of our favourite dishes. It was my luck, that night, that she decided to cook the traditional nasi lemak while adding her own twist to it, which was my favourite Malaysian dish.

When we arrived there, we were gracefully ushered inside by my grandmother's personal maid. The dishes and cups were all laid out neatly on the table and we were asked to wait a moment while the food was being prepared.

Shortly after that, the first dish was served. It was also the main food, nasi lemak. It was hand-made-home-prepared nasi lemak. It was the bona fide nasi lemak of nyonya origin. I can't begin to describe just how delicious it was. It was soft... yet chewy. It had a sweet smelling pandan fragrance. Even the steam that wafted from it screamed delicious. I sank my spoon into the rice, lifted it up and put it into my already watering mouth. I closed my eyes as I savoured the taste, texture and aroma. I chewed ever so slowly and my body tingled as I swallowed it. I had to exercise great willpower to prevent myself from taking another mouthful just yet, as more dishes were being served within moments.

Then, there were the customary anchovies. I mean, which nasi lemak is complete without them? They were crispy and crunchy, fried to a beautiful golden brown. Even as the plate was being laid down on the table, I could hear the crispy layer scraping each other and the sound of the sizzling oil, creating a most pleasing melody to all present at the table. I picked one up slowly, placed it between my incisors and bit down carefully. Half of it landed on my tongue, and immediately I could taste the slightly salty flavour of the fish as well as it's satisfying crunch as I chewed it more.

The next thing on the menu was the fried water convolvulus. In local language, the kangkung. It doesn't seem as impressive when called kangkung, does it? However, the taste is still the same, and so goes the saying "that which we call a rose would be just as sweet by any other name", or "that which we call a kangkung would be just as tasty by any other name", considering the situation. At any rate, they were simply delicious. They were crunchy, as they should be, and I don't know how or what my grandmother did to make them different from others, but they were very flavourful. Not to mention that they were not only extremely fresh, but they were right out of the frying pan to boot. These kangkung were the cream of the crop, the best I've eaten so far, that's for sure.

I caught a whiff of the next dish even before it came out of the kitchen. I shook with excitement from just the thought of it: my grandmother's famous specialty sambal. It could make me scream for water, yet I just can't help myself from pouring more on my rice or even eat it on it's own. It is that delicious. As an added bonus, there were king prawns added into it that time, not that I fancy those crustaceans very much. Of course, there were a lot of onions in the sambal, cooked to perfection: soft, yet still able to provide a bite. The sambal itself was the thing I loved most. It was unimaginably spicy, as always, slightly sweet and also a little salty. It had a beautiful red coloured surface owing to the oil on it. A perfect match for any meal. Having sambal as one of Malaysia's primary side dishes is one of the reasons why I love this country so much.

I heard the next dish being fried in the wok as I impatiently twiddled my thumbs while waiting. The scent of it only made me more hungry, as my patience slowly edged to its limit. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it was taken out of the kitchen. A plate full of fried chicken, cooked a la nyonya with all its spices. I felt like I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms from all the waiting. My hands were shivering and sweating, my eyes eyed the plate of chicken like how a predator would when waiting for its prey. I licked my lips as the dish was finally placed on the table. The chicken was still sizzling hot, so hot in fact that a small area above it became distorted. It was dark brown, with bits of garlic scattered on top of it. I took a piece of chicken and put it on my place. The moment my fork pierced the crispy skin, its juice oozed out. I couldn't wait any longer, and brought it to my mouth to be relished in all its glory.

I arranged the various food on my plate. It was a work of fine art; the rice in the middle, a large helping of the sambal to its left, some kangkung on top of it, just beside that were the anchovies and on the right was a piece of fried chicken. I was on cloud nine just thinking about how lucky I was to be able to eat food like these on a regular basis. I ate whatever was on my plate and then took seconds and more top-ups after that until every single dish was licked clean off their plates. I was not surprised that I could eat so much, since no matter how full I felt, once I poured another spoonful of sambal on my plate, everything seemed to go down just fine. Let's not count how many glasses of water I drank that night, too.

I stood outside a lively theme park and waited for my girlfriend. I was there about twenty minutes earlier than the appointed time but that didn’t matter. I was really looking forward to tonight. A few minutes later, I saw her walking towards me and frowning. “Oh, come on! Let me be the early one for once,” she said jokingly before winking at me. She strolled over to my side and held my hand. “Shall we?” she said and I did a slight bow before leading her inside.

My girlfriend and I went for a date together. We strolled around the amusement park and talked jovially with each other. We sat on many rides together like the roller coasters and the thrill houses. I even won a doll for her. I wished that time would have just stopped then and there, having her smiling face right beside mine as we ate ice cream, sat down on a bench and looked at the night sky. As time passed and slowly edged into midnight, I suggested we go on the Ferris wheel for our last ride before calling it a night and going back.

We entered the gondola of the Ferris wheel in silence. We both knew what it meant when I said ‘our last ride’, for I was going overseas the next day to further my studies and I didn’t know how long it would be before I could see her again. She sat down beside me and gripped my hand tightly. She leaned her head on my shoulder and she started sobbing silently. I caressed her hair gently, wishing more than ever for time to freeze. “I wish we could always be together,” she mumbled. We sat in cold silence except for her occasional weep as the capsule started to move up slowly. We were alone in the gondola and I had a strong urge to just break down into tears myself.

Just as we were at the apex of the Ferris wheel there was a strong jerk and a loud snapping sound. The gondola stopped moving and swayed in place. I peeped outside and regretted doing so. We were falling down; rather, the whole Ferris wheel was falling down sideways. A sudden feeling of vertigo overtook me and I brought my gaze away from the outside. I hugged my companion tightly and braced for impact. Within seconds, we crashed into a nearby tower and we stopped falling for a while. It seemed like we were safe for the time being. We were afraid; both of us were shivering. The Ferris wheel could crash at any moment and it would take at least a few hours for help to reach us since we were at the highest point.

Suddenly I just felt very nostalgic. I started talking to her about how we met, about all the time we spent together, and about the small things we shared. I could feel a tear sliding down the side of my face. My voice quivered as I spoke. She listened to me as I talked for what seemed like hours. I needed to be strong, for she was already in tears herself. “Don’t say that,” she choked through her tears. “We’ll survive this together, right?”

I could only nod my head as there was another loud jerk again. There was simply no way for us to escape. Staying inside would lead us to our doom, jumping out would also lead us to our doom. I saw the lights from the fire and rescue team; they were nearby. The Ferris wheel shook violently again this time and for the last time I hugged her. We began to slowly accelerate downwards, aided by gravity and the weight of the ride. “Now we’ll always be together,” she said again suddenly. We were finally falling down.

“Hang on kids! We’re coming!” shouted one of the fire and rescue personnel. Suddenly my whole body sprang to life again. Within a second, I picked my girlfriend up in my arms, much to her surprise. She was as light as a feather to me. “I’m sorry,” I said. I kicked open the door with my leg and jumped out. At the furthest distance, I tossed her with all my strength to the man who was trying to rescue us. He managed to catch her. I saw her eyes widen as she screamed my name. The distance between us grew as I was plummeting downwards. I was free falling down a 14-storey high Ferris wheel and the chance of my survival from the fall was completely nil. I was quite at peace, as I could only look up to see the fire and rescue personnel holding her back from jumping down after me.

I started to shout, “I’m sorry. I really wish we could be together forever. I really do. Thank you for spending all those times with me. You really brought back colour and meaning to my life again. I love-“

My brain perceived me hitting the ground. My voice was cut off mid-sentence as I felt my whole body become limp; or rather I couldn’t feel my body at all. Red colour overtook my vision, and I couldn’t see anything anymore. The last thing I saw with my mind’s eye was the smiling face of my girlfriend. Then, everything went black.

-Terence

A house, many people could define this as a roof over your head and a comfortable environment to survive in. However, I believe that there is more to a house than just the physical things that make it up. I lived in a house for most of my childhood and looking back I can say I had good memories there, but I had to move when I was in my early teenage years. I had to move because my parents rented that house and the owners were selling it. Then we rented another house, where we only lived for a year, yet, again we had to move because the owners said they were selling that house too. So finally we moved into a trailer, where I have lived ever since then.

Living here has not been the best time. I mean for me, who has been so used to living in a house, it was quite an adjustment. So looking back at my childhood yes, I have moved a lot and now living in a trailer. However, it is not about what you live in, whether it be a townhouse, condo, a motel, a hotel, an igloo, or even a trailer. What matters is the love inside the house, which is what makes it a home. When people say,"I'm going to my house," they say,"I'm going to the structure that was built for me," but when people say,"I'm going to my home," that means they are going to a place where they are loved and know they are welcomed with open arms.

You see, having a house is one thing but without the people in it who love and care for one another, it is just a house with doors, windows, paints and a big roof over your heads. So, having this place called home rather than just a house, is a good opportunity for my family to grow and continue to be there for each other. It is an opportunity for my little brother and sisters to have a place they can call home. A place where they will remember and smile when they look back and being able to recall the fun and sweet memories they had. This meant so much to my family and to me, a house we can finally call home. I knew that when they move to somewhere else, their lives will never be the same again but it is not just them who will be affected. I am too, and I look forward to spending time in our home together and making many more memories to come. Now that is what a place I would like to call home !

It all started when my friends and I decided to organize a get-together at a hill resort during the school holidays. We met up at the state’s bus station and got on the bus that we chartered to take us to our destination early in the morning. The journey there, which took about 3 hours or so, was uneventful as nothing particularly interesting happened. When we arrived, the first thing we did was check into a hotel and dropped off our luggage there. My friends, being the thrill seekers that they were, immediately ran to the outdoor theme park and sat on some of the rides there. As for me, I sat out of most of the attractions as I wasn’t too fond of such things. I opted to sit near the roller coasters that my friends sat on instead and followed them around. They were not very happy about this, or maybe they just felt bad because I wasn’t joining them in their fun. So, they asked me to at least join them in a, supposedly, kiddy ride, a very mild ride that they assured I would enjoy. Since I too felt bad for not indulging in their wants for the whole trip so far, I hesitantly agreed and they quickly pulled me over to where the ride was. They brought me into a dimly lit tunnel where I could barely make out the last half of the words on a signboard which read, “… Mine Train”.

The queue for that particular ride was longer than any I’ve seen before. While waiting for our turn, my friends and I talked amongst ourselves about anything that came to our minds. It’s really easy, being friends and all. The words just come naturally. However, this time, I felt as if the conversation was artificial and I was further convinced of this when I noticed that my friends were exchanging glances from time to time and refused to meet my gaze. My attention was drawn away from them when I heard some screams in the distance. I expressed my concern about the screams to my friends but they only said it was a normal thing, that “everyone screams in a roller coaster ride”. At that particular moment, I just felt like walking away from them because I caught on to what they were planning, yet I couldn’t make my escape because we were surrounded by a lot of people and I couldn’t push through them.

About 10 minutes later, it was almost our turn to get on the ride. All the screaming made the waiting so much worse. In fact, I had already become a nervous wreck long before I could see the carriages of the roller coaster. I had the urge to make a beeline to the exit gate since it was only a railing away and I could easily jump over it but my friends knew me all too well; they had long since grabbed both my arms and prevented me from running away. I struggled in vain as they continued to maintain a vice-like grip on my arms and dragged me, against my will, to the ride. They forced me down on a seat and made sure I stayed there by strapping me in tightly. As a second line of defence, one of my friends even sat down beside me to make sure I didn’t escape… or maybe they were just afraid I might do something crazy. Whatever the reason, it made me feel slightly safer, to have someone I know sitting beside me.

The sound of metal gears clinking against each other indicated that the ride was going to move. We ascended right out of the tunnel, and only then did I realize just how high up we were. Did I mention I was acrophobic? By the time we reached the apex of the roller coaster, I was already white-faced and shaking all over. Ironically, I cursed myself for trusting my friends earlier and for not running away while I still could. As if to emphasize my despair, the ride stopped for a moment so I could only helplessly stare downwards from where I was.

Some people say that, just before dying, we are able to see our most cherished memories again. As time seemed to stop at the turning point of the roller coaster, I could practically see all the images of me in the past. I saw myself, aged four, playing a computer for the first time. Then, there was me again, eating a chicken chop all on my own. Finally, I saw myself with my friends, all of us wearing coats with ties in another country, smiling from ear to ear. Sadly, I was not able to fully enjoy those recollections of myself as we plunged, almost vertically downwards, at very alarming speeds.

The very first thing I did was close my eyes and grip the bar in front of my seat with all my might. However, I felt dizzy with my eyes closed and was forced to open them within a few seconds of their closing. Then, I saw the most amazing sight. My friends in front of me raised their arms in the air and were laughing like jackals and were facing me, as if they were not even on a roller coaster. Heck, they were even talking like normal to each other while I was holding on to my dear life. I was pretty sure they were trying to tell me something, but I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I started to scream at the top of my lungs. Even I was surprised that I could shout so loudly. I screamed, I bawled, I yelled, I screeched, I shrieked, I yodeled, and I did anything else that the English language had that was a synonym of ‘shout’. I was taken for the ride of my life, in every literal manner.

I wasn’t sure what really happened on the roller coaster. I closed my eyes sometimes, and when they weren’t closed, I was screaming my lungs out till they were. In fact, I was probably the only person screaming as everyone else was too shocked to scream themselves. The ride brought me up, down, left, right, circles, loops, and more. All this while, my friends in front of me had their hands raised and were laughing their hearts out, probably because of me. Their bodies swayed according to the motion of the carriage, left, right, left, right, but they didn’t seem to care.

It felt as if an eon had passed, but the ride finally ended when it slowed down and I couldn’t scream any longer. Although it only took a few minutes, maybe even less, I believed that the sound energy I produced within that time frame was bigger in magnitude than what I had released in the past few months. When the ride finally stopped, everyone got out except for me. My hands, cold and clammy, were glued to the safety bar in front of me and refused to listen to my brain. My friend who sat beside me had to pry my hand off the bar finger-by-finger and even so, I still couldn’t get out properly. My legs were shaking and I had trouble standing up. I was sure that, after seeing how shaken I was, I saw a few other would-be passengers simply walking away to the exit gate instead of sitting on the ride that they queued up for for more than 10 minutes. I didn’t go on anymore thrill rides after that one. I merely sat nearby and enjoyed the weather.

After it was all said and done, however, I think that that was a good experience overall. Some of my friends repeatedly apologized to me, while some of them continued to poke fun at me even until now. In all actuality, even I can just laugh it off. Maybe, just maybe, I could muster the confidence to sit that kind of ride another time when we plan another get-together. Regardless, I am glad that I did do something interesting there and I’m sure that that memory will stick with us for a long time to come.

-Terence

I was born into a Baba-Nyonya family, otherwise known as Peranakan family. As a child, I never understood how lucky I was to be a part of such a family, being able to enjoy both the cultures and cuisines of Malays and Chinese. You see, the Peranakan community has been in Malaysia since the 15th century, and originally immigrated from China. We have assimilated many customs in the Nusantara (Malaysia and Indonesia) and have become part of the local communities. As such, many of our customs are based on Malay and Chinese origins. The cuisines, for one, uses many spices found only in this region.

The language that the Baba-Nyonya community uses is far different from the normal, accepted, from-the-book Malay. Sadly, I never really understood it and thus never really learnt it. It is a dying language, and its contemporary use is mainly limited to members of the older generation. A mix of English-Malay has now replaced this as the main language spoken amongst the younger generation, with English being more widely used and a few Malay words slotted in between.

Touching on clothing style, there isn't a distinct attire for the Babas(Men) to wear. However, the Nyonyas'(Women) clothes is very similiar to the Native Malays. For example, their clothing consists of a long dress, a batik skirt, gold brooches and beaded slippers.

My favourite part, the food. Many of the Baba-Nyonya foods are based around Chinese cooking techniques and Malay ingredients. As such, most of the foods are generally spicy and uses many herbs. Ingredients encompasses coconut milk, laksa leaves, pandan leaves, belacan(belachan), tamarind juice, lemongrass, ginger, star anises, cinnamon sticks and so on. Another special ingredient is the cincaluk; a special species of small prawns with a very, very strong taste and smell. Many Nyonya dishes take a long time to prepare, and as such taste the best when served at home. You can't say you've tried proper Nyonya food like Buah Keluak, Pong teh, Babi masak cuka, babi asam, itek tim, and so on until you've actually been to a Baba-Nyonya family and eaten at their house. Those stuff at the shops? Poor, poor renditions with profit in mind, cutting costs and corners while also cutting the taste. Many tourists have been cheated, actually, into eating these second grade dishes and leaving to think they've actually tasted the real Baba-Nyonya specialities. I'm very lucky, because both my mother and my grandmother are masters at Baba-Nyonya dishes, and I've grown up with such dishes as an almost everyday thing. The thousands of tastes that the cuisines have make me always want to eat more, and whenever there's some curry around, oh boy, the rice just won't be enough.

All good things come to an end, though. The Peranakan culture is slowly dying out with marriages between the Peranakan and mainstream Chinese or Malay becoming more and more common. Many of the younger generation Peranakans do not learn to speak Baba-Nyonya Malay anymore and thus also do not carry out various cultural rituals mainly due to government policies such as "Malay as the National Language" in Malaysia, and since Peranakans are considered as Chinese politically, the Mother Tongue Policy in Singapore also contributes to the dilution of this culture. But who am I to blame? I, as a pure Baba, have not put in any effort at all to carry on this colourful culture to the next generation.

TRIIIING! TRIIING! I woke up with a start and hit the snooze button on my alarm clock. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the table calendar that was placed beside my bed. 3 January 2000. I immediately jumped out of bed with a wide grin that was etched on my chubby face. I went into the bathroom and took a warm and soothing shower, brushed my teeth and combed my hair as nearly as my mother had taught me to do. After all that, I quickly got dressed in my brand new school uniform which consisted of a school badge that was sewn on the pocket of a crisp and smart white shirt, a pair of dark blue short pants and also a pair of white socks. When everything was done, I ran down the stairs happily to meet my parents and little brother who was sitting at the dining table having a slice of toast that was smothered in jam and butter.

"Wah, boy, so eager to go to school?" my father said as he smiled at me. I nodded in approval and took a seat beside my brother who was poking a finger at his breakfast.
"Haha, of course he is. It's his very first day in school. The start of a brand new life in his childhood days," my mother added.
"Come on, boy. You wouldn't want to be late for school on your first day, would you?" my father asked as he took the car keys and put on his coat. I quickly gobbled up my breakfast and located my school back that was placed beside the shoe rack. I noticed a pair of little white shoes too. After putting them on, I raced to the car while carrying my bag and almost tripped on my dog's tail. The surprised animal got up and barked as if to say ,"Hey! Watch it!". I patted my dog and told him to be good as I would not come home until school was finished. He licked my hand sadly and whimpered when he saw me getting into the car. I closed the door and could not wait to start the journey for school. A few minutes later, my mother and brother walked over and wished me good-bye and told me to enjoy myself. I nodded and after that, my father slowly reversed the car out of the house and then, we were on our way.

"Here, boy. Take this money in case you want to buy some snacks or you might want to call us," my father said while holding out a 50-sen coin. I accepted the money gratefully and thanked him for it. While listening to the music that was playing on the radio, I could not help but think of the things that I would experience when I was there. 15 minutes later, I saw a huge signboard that was placed in front of a big building. 'S.K. St. Francis' it read.

"Go on now. That's your school. See all the children there? They are of the same age as you. Come on," my father told me as he gave me a little push. I took my bag and stepped out of the car nervously. A male teacher, fierce-looking and holding an unbelievable long cane, came to me and said ,"Boy, are you a Standard 1 student?". I nodded my head meekly as a sign of approval. "Go over there and wait for the rest," he said and pointed out the spot with his cane. Mr. Ee Gim Siong, a teacher that I will never forget in my life. I walked sheepishly to the big crowd of children. Some were crying, some were running around but most of them seemed to be excited and happy at the same time to be in school. Suddenly, a bell rang loudly and those who were crying, cried louder. I saw all of the students rush to the stage and lined up, two by two, according to their class. I heard the headmaster announce.

"Good morning, fellow students. It's the start of a new year. Be prepared for another year of fun, joy and unfortunately, sadness. Now, may we sing a few patriotic songs before we leave for classes?" He gave a signal to another teacher and music started playing. We sang the national anthem, the state's anthem and the school's anthem. After that, we recited an oath and then, the headmaster dismissed us and allowed us to return to our classrooms. The Standard 1 students were required to stay back in front of the stage as they announced which class we would be placed in. After hearing a few names.
"Isaiah Tan Chung Zhen, 1 Putih," I heard a teacher say. I walked over to a row of students and sat with them. After everyone was placed in their respective classes, we headed to a small classroom that was situated beside the school's tiny garden. The form teacher, Pn. Saras, came in and took our attendance. I raised my little hand when I heard my name and when everyone's name was recorded, the teacher started her lesson. It was a Bahasa Melayu lesson and we learned how to construct sentences and also how to spell. When her period was over, another teacher walked in. Before she came in, we wished Pn. Saras and greeted the next teacher. Pn Tan, our Mathematics teacher. A teacher who would not stand any nonsense but was kind in every way a person could think of. She taught us how to add and subtract and later, gave us our very first homework. As both teachers had a double period, we had recess after Mathematics so when Pn. Tan had to leave, we quickly thanked her and scrambled our of class. I took my sandwiches that were made by my mother and sat under a tree. I observed the other kids quietly when suddenly, my classmate walked up to me and sat beside me.
"Had fun during Maths?" he asked
"Yeah. You?"
"Same as you," he replied. "What's your name?" he continued.
"Isaiah. Isaiah Tan," I answered.
"How do you pronounce that?"
"I-zay-uh," I replied.
"Oh, sorry for being ride but I've never heard of that name before. By the way, I'm Dwayne. Nice to meet you," he said as he held out his hand to shake mine. I took it and we both became friends. After chatting for a while, we heard the bell ring again and we immediately ran to the stage and took our placed. A teacher stood on the stage and told a few of the remaining students who were in the canteen to hurry up and when he said a few things, he looked the prefects to lead us back to our classroom. Everyone was still excited even after recess was over and it was very noisy. The helpless prefect even had to shout to keep us quiet but to no avail. Our next subject teacher walked in and told us to settle down and prepare for the next lesson which was English. We learned how to spell as we did in Bahasa Melayu and had a dictation test to see how good our listening skills were. I was overjoyed to know that I had scored full marks in that test and received a pat on the back by that teacher. Pn Chang. Another teacher who would not tolerate nonsense but had a good sense of humour. English was also a double period so finally, school was coming to an end. Next was Pendidikan Moral. We greeted him and when we were about to sit, he suddenly shouted loudly.
"YOU!" he pointed at a small boy who was sitting by the door. The boy immediately broke into tears and started crying in his seat.
"Goodness, you guys can't take a joke?" he said as he walked over to the boy and started to comfort him, telling the boy that it was meant to be a joke. The whole class started laughing and in the end, the boy started to laugh between his sobs. After an exhilarating 30 minutes of Pendidikan Moral, it was time to go home. The bell rang and after everyone had thanked the teacher, we quickly grabbed our bags and waited patiently for our parents to arrive and bring us back home. I caught sight of my parents who were smiling at me while waiting at the school gate. Before I left, I wished Dwayne a good day and also told him that I hope to see him again. He thanked me and shook my hands once more. After all that, I got into my father's car and smiled to myself.
"So, how was school?" my mother asked.
" It was fantastic," I replied.
" A full day in school and all you can tell us is just three words?" my father questioned me.
"Oh, alright. Let me tell you ALL of it," I sighed. As I told them everything, they laughed when it was funny and when I had finished telling them everything, we had already reached home. After taking my lunch and my bath, I fell onto my bed and smiled again. Thinking of my new friends and also my first day in school.