Mdm. Mitty Chai


In my life, I have never seen any English lecturer as strict and hardworking as Mdm. Mitty Chai.

When she was teaching, smile eluded her. She was prim and rigid. Nothing could escape her all-knowing, penetrating eyes. She spoke with full authority. Each word she uttered rang like a decree. Nobody dared to mess up with her. She could detect any lapse of attention like a blood hound before you had a chance to cover it. Making grammatical errors was a mortal sin to her. She could not tolerate future teachers committing such offence. Hence, my classmates and I were constantly scolded for our error-riddled writing.To improve our English, she always drummed the rules of grammar into our heads. She took great pains to read and edit every single piece of our assignments before returning them to us.Her tireless effort was fructifying. We became more confident in writing after doing tons and tons of corrections.

The following are some of the things she frequently said when scolding us:

"I don't expect you to like me. I bark at you because I care for your well being. "

" I am a standard person. I see your grammatical errors as a disgrace to the teaching profession. Read more to improve your English!"

"Don't look at me with your sour, tired faces. Teachers must be a high-spirited, proactive lot."

" Never expect me to be lenient with you. Only strict teachers can produce quality students."

"You are not half as good as my ten-year-old daughter."

The remarks are tart, aren't they? But I remember them all my life. They make me more determined to improve my English.

Many trainee teachers cried on her farewell party. She hugged them and pecked their cheeks lovingly like a mother. Because of shyness, I neither hugged her nor shook her hand. I did not even say thank you to her. How rude I was!

I am not sure if Mdm. Mitty is still teaching. But she must have been in her early sixties now. I found her picture on Facebook last week and the two kids on her lap in the photograph above must be her grandchildren. I sent her a friend request but she has not accepted it yet.

Taking this opportunity, I would like to wish Mdm. Mitty Chai a Happy Teachers' Day. Thanks for having taught me for two years.I will send my well wishes to your Personal message on Facebook.

P.S: Mdm. Mitty Chai will surely frown if she reads this entry.

Comments

Al-Manar said…
That is the kind of teacher I see very few around, if any. She is unforgettable. You can be one.
May 18, 2011 at 6:39 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Creative Writing Workshop

Image
I attended a creative writing workshop in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah last Saturday. It was organized by Jude Day, president of Society of Performing Arts Kota Kinabalu Sabah(SPARKS), The invited speaker was Robert Raymer, a Sarawak-based American writer who is a lecturer of creative writing at Universiti Sarawak Malaysia. He is the author of 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited', 'Tropical Affairs', 'The Boy Who Shot Santa' and 'Spirit of Malaysia'. It only took me ten minutes to get to Wisma Anglican, the workshop venue from my hotel on shanks's pony. I felt honored to have met Mr. Robert Raymer in person.He exuded a quiet air of confidence and patience. I bought a copy of his 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited' and got it autographed by him. I was thrilled and could not help smiling from ear to ear. I picked up a lot of knowledge during the workshop. First, Robert Raymer expounded the essence of creative writing.Next, he showed us how to organiz...
Read more

Article on My Art Lessons

Image
The title is originally 'A Realisation As An Overaged Art Student' but it was changed to something cringeworthy. Many young children between the ages of six to fifteen hunched over the tables in the sitting room, sketching and painting.   At the age of forty-five, I was by far the oldest student, overweight, too, and somewhat shabby looking.   Sitting in an inconspicuous corner, under a freezing air conditioner, I surfed the Inter­net on my ipad to hide my discomfort. One by one, more kids poked their heads around the door, entered the house barefoot and took their seemingly pre-assigned positions in the sitting room. When Vaz, the elegant art teacher in her late fifties arrived, she frowned at where I was sitting. “This is not where you sit,” said the lecturer cum artist, while beckoning me to follow her into a little room beside her office.   She handed me a beginner kit and frowned again when I told her that I had forgotten to bring my coloured penc...
Read more

My Life as a Boarder at St. Patrick's

The first time I came to Kuching was in 1990. Failing to secure a place in government schools after the SPM, I enrolled in the sixth  form  at the now defunct school on Stampin Road, St. Patrick's. It was my first time away from the comfort of home, and I was staying in the school ’s  wooden boarding house, naturally fe eling  emotionally challenged. In the first few months of my stay, I was wrought with unmitigated homesickness, which sapped my confidence, energy, and optimism for life. My weight plunged, and it took a toll on my health. One time, I was so delirious with fever that the world was almost dead to me. My fellow boarders took turns looking after me, bringing me food, sponging my feverish forehead, and washing my sweat-soiled clothes. I finally came to my senses when a boy named Simon  warned me that if I continued letting my emotions control me, I would disappoint my parents. Like me, he had come all the way from Miri to study. He...
Read more