The Headmaster Who Made Me Fall In Love with English
who inspired me to learn English
Prior to Primary Six, learning English had never been easy for me. English was the only subject taught in a foreign tongue, so it was a living nightmare for nearly every pupil since for many of us it was our third language, rarely, if ever, spoken at home or among friends. Unfortunately, whoever taught us had the habit of following what had been prescribed in the textbooks, to the letter—so utterly predictable and boring that even when singing the language, we were glued to our seats, mechan ical ly clapping our hands or waving our arms. The confident ones could say the words out loud, while the rest of us mumbled or mouthed them voicelessly.
Our lessons were mostly characterized by reading aloud and filling in-the-blanks. I enjoyed reading aloud; however, due to my soft, nearly inaudible voice, those with louder, clearer voice were always chosen. I would watch them read with envy, hoping that one day I would be as confident and cool as them. At home, to compensate for my lack of opportunities, my mum made it a point that I read a few paragraphs in English every day. The consistency of doing this made me quite passable in reading. Some times, I could even detect errors in my teacher’s pronunciation. Despite feeling com pelled to cor rect the teacher, the fear of incurring his or her wrath made me swallow my words. A few top students, nevertheless, openly giggled at the slightest slip, making the teacher red in the face.
Beyond examination periods, we almost never wrote a full-length composition. Despite my acceptable level of reading skills, I came short on writing like so many others, if not every single one of us! With our limited range of grammar and vocabu lary, it took us a great deal of struggle to come up with what seemed like a string of incoherent words. Every time the exercise books were returned to us, a large red tick could be seen across each page. Whether or not the sentences were syntactically ac ceptable was a complete mystery to us. Every time we were told to do corrections, we had not the foggiest idea what to correct or how to proceed. Instead we neatly copied the same sentences, glaring mistakes and all, and received a remark such as ‘seen’ or ‘corrected’ from the teacher. I felt lucky that I got away with it, but at the same time, I felt cheated out of properly learning the written language.
In Primary Six, Mr. Hong Boon Xiang, a new headmaster, changed our English world. A native of Bintulu, he was proficient in English, so he was able to make learning more authentic and fun for us. Despite his strict and firm appearance, the headmaster was very expressive when telling us a story, an activity our previous teachers seemed to frown upon or avoided altogether.
To improve our reading, Mr. Hong made it compulsory for each of us to read a passage every day, either from the textbook or from a storybook. Mum, who had the habit of standing outside my class and listening to the teach ing of English, was impressed by the headmaster’s excellent pronunciation. She often told the other parents how she enjoyed his teaching style.
Once everything in a chapter had been covered in the textbook, Mr. Hong often devised his own lessons and played language games with us, providing us with plenty of opportunities to converse in English with each other. Suddenly, everybody loved the language, eager for what was in store for us in the next lesson. A meticulous marker, Mr. Hong took pains to correct each and every error in our exercise books. Unlike previous teachers, he made sure that we understood what had been corrected. Nor did he leave anyone out in reading aloud.
One day, when it was my turn to read, Mr. Hong patiently stood by my side, paying attention to every inflection of my pronunciation and acknowledging it with the regular utterance of a nasalized ‘Mmm’. Enjoying the encouragement, I read louder and loud er with growing confidence. From that moment onwards, I was always asked to read. During one reading test, he surprised me by giving me a massive score of ninety-eight, surpassing those of all the top students. While giving us feedback, Mr. Hong com mended me for being able to enunciate beautifully in a well-articulated voice.
One afternoon, following the headmaster’s advice and encouragement, I borrowed a storybook, ‘Sinbad the Sailor’ at the school library. It was the first English book I had personally borrowed for myself! Excited, I returned home and read every single page aloud. Loving the story so much, I copied verbatim every line from the book, reading it over and over until I could memorize the entire story.
Without Mr. Hong, my love for English books may never have blossomed. Every time I borrow or buy a new book, the kind, patient face of Mr. Hong appears in my mind. From a shy, confused learner of English, I became transformed into a confident and enthusiastic student—all thanks to Mr. Hong.
To this day, as an English teacher preparing my own lessons and after having many of my articles published in English, I can still remember how my former head master taught the language and it always fills my heart with gratitude.
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