Lonely at School

I am lonely at my school.  Gone are the days when I could enjoy conversing in English with the now retired Bintang-trained colleagues. The current crop of English teachers has a habit of speaking Malay, and sometimes Chinese, among themselves. My chance of speaking English is very little.

As an English teacher, I advocate the use of English in teaching-related discussions, but more often than not, my colleagues fall back on Malay when dealing with important matters.  My reminders always meet with a chorus of cold, sarcastic remarks. Given my early background as a non graduate teacher, they like to point out the so-called errors in my speech with a patronizing air, to which I ignore with a shrug of my shoulders.

'Let's ponder this matter before we proceed to the next agenda.'
'Ponder on, Mr Lo,' corrected a twenty-five year old teach for Malaysia graduate who is proud of her 8.0ielts score.

I wrote on the whiteboard:'My neighbour disliked her son talking to me lest my dirt should rub off on him.'
'No, Mr Lo,' said my mentor, a smile hovering on her lips. 'Take away should and add an -ed after rub.'

The principal sides with them all the time, for he finds them more efficient than a slowcoach like me. I dabble in freelance writing in my free time, but it does not improve my status among my colleagues, who are tireless in finding fault with my teaching, condemning my grammar as atrocious and casting doubts on the validity of my grading.

At one time, I wrote a sentence on the whiteboard, and a student complained about it to the head of the Language Department, who summoned me to her cubicle almost right away.

'Why did you construct the sentence without consulting me?' she censured me. 'Don't ever write anything you are not sure about in class.'

'I'm very sure that the sentence is correct,' I countered in my defence. 'There's nothing wrong with she is less disposed to risk-taking.'

'But disposed means throw away,' she hissed. 'It's totally awkward in that sentence.'

'Madam, I'm afraid you''re a little confused,' I explained. 'Dispose, when used with of, indeed means throw away. But if it ends with an-ed, and is used together with the infinitive- to, it carries a different meaning.'

'I know how grammar operates,'' she said, 'don't try to teach me.'

'Would you like to refer to the dictionary?'I suggested, indicating a thick dictionary on her desk.

'No, I know you're wrong,' she said, raising her forefinger to add emphasis. 'think properly before you teach or you'll find yourself being the target of angry parents.'

For the better part of July last year, the English teachers were involved in the writing of a workbook.  I discovered nearly sixty errors in the book and brought forth the matter in a meeting. I was trying to be tactful, but the panel took umbrage, and refused to change anything. In early August, despite my objection, the workbook was printed and all the students were made to buy a copy.  I was feeling bad for them because it was riddled with many grammatical errors. And to this moment, it still confuses me why no parent complains about it. Some of them are English teachers themselves, but why are they blind to all the unsightly errors? With my failure in calling for an overhaul editing, I have become even more unpopular at school, an abomination.  To add salt to the wound, the principal ticked me off for trying to complicate things.

Last week, during a staff meeting, the principal warned me against unprofessional marking. Nothing can describe how hurt I was and only God knows I have been marking with full integrity all these years.

I am angsty, beset by ostracism. Maybe getting a transfer is the only way to solve the problem.