Life & Love

This is a true story as related to me by a teacher of mine during my fourth year in secondary school. It was told to us as a means of motivation, as well as to reflect meaning in our respective lives.

Donald was in secondary four, an Asian student without any hope of passing his Cambridge exams. In fact, most of the teachers who had taught him were even surprised he had made it this far in secondary school. He had only one chance to sit for his Ordinary Level examinations since he had repeated his earlier levels twice, thus consuming the allowance of two years for a student to progress to the next level before he would be considered too old for his class. With barely 4 months to go to the Cambridge papers, Donald's scores in his various subjects were in the 15% percentile range. He was a lost cause as far as most of his teachers were concerned, especially when English was concerned. Without at least an average proficiency in English, how was he going to have any hope with the rest of the subjects?

Ever since he got to secondary four, Donald had admired Cindy. She was in the same class, a product of a wealthy family who ran a business empire in the region. She was not the best student, but surely good enough to secure her way to college and later university, and then perhaps join in the family business or manage some corporation. To him she was the prettiest thing he had seen, and he felt more lucky being in the same class with her than the fact that he had scraped through his secondary three examinations on second try and made it to secondary four. He had heard about her background through the grapevine – rich family, chauffeur-driven to school and back, and that every other male student fantasized a date with her. If there was one thing Donald was in tune with, it was the fact that if the better male students could only fantasize about her, he himself found it intimidating to do so, considering his reputation as the best of failures in school. He found himself a wreck each time she greeted or smiled at him politely whenever they bumped into one another, his nerves paralyzed from her overwhelming presence each time she walked past.

Mrs. Rodriguez was Donald's form teacher, a plump Eurasian woman who never gave a student anything more than 62 marks out of a 100 even if he was the best English subject student. Donald scored just 9 marks in her class for a test, and just once, when he scored 15 marks, everyone had teased him for scoring a distinction! Nevertheless, Donald liked her. He never felt hopeless in her presence like the other teachers made him feel. When they spoke to him, it was out of professional courtesy. But when Mrs. Rodriguez spoke to him, she was sincere, and treated him like she treated the best student in the class. He felt comfortable with her, and trusted her. She had invited him to join her after-school extra English tutorial-sessions, but he simply didn't attend. It was pointless. Had she been his teacher from secondary one, it might have made a difference. But at this juncture, with imminent failure staring him in the face, even if he miraculously passed his English language exams, he was bound for doom in the rest of the subjects. It was inevitable that after his Cambridge exams, he would join his father's rag-and-bone business, going from house to house collecting old used items to be recycled. Perhaps fate would even allow him the joy of coming by Cindy's house so he could say hi to her again.

The bell rang and Donald rushed up to Mrs. Rodriguez before she left the classroom.

"Mrs. Rodriguez? Can I talk for a few minute with you? Alone?" Donald uttered in his usual deficient English. She sensed nervousness as well as desperation in his voice, his eyes impatient.

"Sure Donald," she replied, laying her books back down on the table. Once the last student had walked out of the classroom to proceed for their lunch, Donald looked at her and tried hi best to articulate his question.

"Go ahead, you can ask me anything," the teacher encouraged.

"You know Cindy?" He asked in a sincere tone.

"Your classmate Cindy?"

"Yes."

"What about her?" She seemed to know which direction he was heading at with the question.

"I like her. I cannot stop think of her. I wish she is my girlfriend. I am sorry. Can you help me?"

"How?" In fact, the question startled her, not something she expected.

"What to do can make her like me?"

Mrs. Rodriguez paused. She had to find a proper way of answering him. She felt the sincerity in his voice, a desperation so intense. Not the usual boy-girl fling that went on in school. Perhaps this was puppy love. But she had to be honest. She believed in facing the facts and taking disappointment early to avoid prolonged anguish.

"Donald," she started calmly, "Cindy is from a very wealthy family. She is very rich. She is also a nice girl and a good student. Both of you are very young. When Cindy goes to college, she will work hard to get to university. One day, her family will want her to marry a man just like her or even better so he can take care of her. Just like your father and mother will want you to marry a wife just like you to take care of you. There are many girls out there you will meet. I am sure you understand what I am saying. Even I won't be able to marry someone from that type of a family. That's life. I am very sure you will definitely meet a girl you really love one day, someone even more prettier and whom you can talk to and who will understand you. You have four months to your 'O' Levels, and you know how hard you have to work. Even if you fail, it's not the end of the world. I am sorry, I have to be honest with you. My advice to you is to think of your exams and give it your best shot."

Donald managed to nod in acknowledgement, but deep inside he wanted to cry. "Thank you Mrs. Rodriguez," was all he could mutter as the teacher got up, took her books to leave. Little did Donald know that as Mrs. Rodriguez walked out of the class, she too felt like crying, seeing how a student without hope had the gift to express his feelings without inhibition. She really hoped she had handled that episode well, and could not bear to see the sad look on her students face. Yes, he was the poorest performer in the entire level, but she had like him. He was always sincere, more so than even the educated rich ones who were guaranteed a place in life to rule others. Donald was different, he was intense. He never tried to be anyone else other than himself.

Almost a decade later, she was teaching in a new school – Presbyterian Boys School. Little remained in her memory of her previous students from Donald's class. The curriculum had changed, and she remained adamant in her belief that a student who was poor in English would be poor in the other subjects too, since all the subjects, except the second language, was taught in English, using English textbooks. Age was taking its toll on her and she went home each day exhausted, and looked forward to a good meal and her own daughters Natasha and Samantha who were in Secondary three and four respectively. Her husband was a teacher too in another Christian school. They often competed with one another in the number of students that did well in their respective classes. She accomplished better than him for two years running now.

Then during dinner one evening the phone call came. The maid told her a foreigner was on the phone asking for her. So she excused herself from the table as Samantha quipped, "Mummy's boyfriend from overseas and Daddy's jealous!" She teased her father, who was curious about the caller. "Oh shut up and eat!" He told her, and they laughed.

"Hello?" Mrs. Rodriguez said as she held the receiver to her ear.

"Mrs. Rodriguez? Is that you?" An English accent voice answered at the other end.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Don't you remember me?"

"I am sorry I don't. Are you calling from overseas?"

"Not at all. I am back in Singapore now. For good."

"That's nice; but I am afraid that unless you give me your name, I am unable to recall or recognize you. And I am having dinner now." She said, wondering if this was a prank played on her by some of her peers.

"Mrs. Rodriguez, this is Donald; Donald Loh from Dunman Secondary School. Class of 1973. Do you recall?"

"Donald? Well Donald, I must say it's nice of you to call, but I really am at a lost as to who you are, because its been a very long time and I have taught a lot of students since. Please excuse me. But I take it that you have gone overseas for your studies and now back in Singapore to start your working life?"

"Yes, you're right ma'am. She was from a very wealthy family, and I was the lost cause in school, and I approached you about her, seeking your counsel on my liking for her. I really had no hope at all then. But now I am back. I have obtained my doctorate in neurological science. I am due to start work with the government's research institute on bio-medical technology next month."

Staring at the whitewashed wall in front of her, the fuzziness of memory suddenly cleared as the images returned. Yes, Donald, the expressive one, 9 marks out of a 100 for English, and interested in his beautiful classmate Cindy. Son of a rag-and-bone family. Three or four years ago she had received an invitation card to cindy's wedding at the Westin ballroom. She married a lawyer of average success. Not what everyone was expecting since she was supposed to marry rich. Last she heard Cindy was due to have her second child.

"My God! Donald Loh! I don't know what to say! It's a wonderful surprise to hear from you! Praise God! But I hope you do not mind me asking, how on earth did you do it?"

"I slogged it out for the four months to my 'O' Levels. I managed to get through, just beyond a pass. Then I did my 'A' Levels privately at the British Council, and scored distinctions in all my subjects. I applied for a scholarship at Oxford; they were impressed and gave it to me. So I went. I had to work though, for my meals and other bare necessities. Till I got my PhD."

"Donald, I am really at a loss for words to express how I feel. I am so happy for you boy. Sorry, you're still the boy in my class," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks and suddenly she realized the amount of time that had lapsed since she taught that class.

"Mrs. Rodriguez?" Donald could hear the sniffling sounds.

"Yes...sorry...I am here. I can't help but cry," she said.

"That's ok, ma'am. But I want you to know I have you to thank for. If it wasn't for the advice you gave me, I would not have done it all so that I can now go and meet Cindy to ask for her hand in marriage. You were right all along, I had to be realistic. If I wanted Cindy, I had to be successful. Well, I am not a businessman, but I am sure I can provide her with a good life. I am going to be head of the research department I was telling you about."

Silence. She could not believe what she had just heard. It could not be true. He did it all over a classmate in secondary four? Over what she had told him then? It was puppy love, infatuation, that was all. Was he mad? Was this a joke nature had played on her...or him? How could this be possible?

"Donald, Cindy is..." she could not proceed.

"Yes?"

No way she could bring herself to tell him. She just could not. She had to end the conversation. She had to tell him to call her back in a day or two. She prayed nothing of this was true.

"Donald, I'll tell you what, I'll finish my dinner first, and then look for Cindy's address. If you could leave me a number I could call you back at, I'll do so in awhile if you don't mind. I really want to talk to you."

"Sure Mrs. Rodriguez, please, I am sorry to have interrupted your dinner. Anyway, I do have Cindy's address, so you need not bother about it, but thanks anyway. I'll wait for your call."

Donald gave his number and she wrote it down, not knowing if she would indeed call him back till she figured out a way through all this.

She could not figure it out. She did not call him back that night.

Two days later, she sat down at the dining table, a crisp copy of the Straits Times before her as she poured herself a cup pf coffee. She would leave for school in 15 minutes. She picked the cup in her hand, and unfolded the newspaper in her other, looking at the front page. She took a sip. And another.

"Prime Minister encourages a greener cleaner Singapore" read the headlines, with a photo of Lee Kuan Yew with a shovel in the garden of a housing estate. Big deal, she thought to herself. Ask him to do this for a living and he'll sue. She flipped the page. Sipped more coffee. Foreign news summary on the left page. Then she looked at the right page. Her fingers trembled. They couldn't hold, and the cup fell with a clang onto the table, hot coffee streaming down the edge as she quickly jumped up from her chair. The photo of Donald Loh glared at her. He seemed to be looking at her. He wore spectacles, silver rimmed ones. His eyes were as expressive as ever. He seemed to hurt. The heading next to the photo read:

"Oxford trained Professor commits suicide"

She continued reading.

Neurological Professor Donald Loh, recently back from Oxford after attaining his doctorate, was found dead at the foot of the block of flats where he was residing. Designated to head the Department of Neurological research at the Bio-Medical Institute, the Professor was believed to have committed suicide after discovering that the love of his life whose hand he was seeking in marriage since his secondary school education, had married and is due to have her second child. The Professor had won a prestigious award in England following his dissertational thesis on the subject of neurological implants, earning him a top notch spot with Singapore's increasingly recognized Bio-Medical Institute of Research and Technology (BIRT). The Professor, 27 years of age, was hailed as a talented future leader in the rare specialty of neuro-science.

She couldn't go on. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she sobbed. She dropped back on the coffee-soaked dining chair, releasing the newspaper from her hand.

This story was told to us when I was in Secondary Four, Presbyterian Boys School. The teacher that told us this story during English-Literature Class: Mrs. Rodriguez. I was her best English student. And the highest score I had in English under her was 62 out of a 100.

The World is a comedy to those who think and a tragedy to those who feel.

- Horace Walpole