My Greatest Moment of ....Fear

My Greatest Moment of ....Fear
(Text-type: Personal Recount)

I have been trying to teach the kids to write with a 'voice', and somehow, to many, that seems to be a real challenge. A personal recount is something that is...well, personal, and if one is able to draw from one's own experiences, the thoughts and ideas will flow, and the writing becomes more meaningful.

So for those of you who have heard this story before, bear with me.
For those who have not, I hope you will be able to pick up one or two pointers.


S was my student. He was polite and earnest. I had a soft spot for him because he loved Literature, my pet subject. He was so fascinated by the character of Macbeth, and often questioned the motives for Macbeth's actions.

For some reason, S would memorise quotes from the well-known Shakespearean play, and was able to use them appropriately even in his daily conversations. I was impressed by his sensitivity and passion for the subject. Though his language use was rather weak, he made up with his shrewdness and perceptiveness.

Towards the preliminary exams, he became withdrawn. The once robust and cheerful disposition was replaced by a surly, temperamental one. I brushed it off, thinking that the pressure was getting to him. The quality of his written work had deteriorated too.

That morning, I walked up to class rather wearily. I was mentally preparing myself to give the students a piece of my mind about their attitude towards the exams. I felt the morale was low, but they needed a wake-up call badly. Someone had to jolt them out of their complacency.

I bumped into Edmund who was running down the stairs.
"Why are you walking around?" I demanded.

He was gasping like a fish, and was gestulating wildly. Of course I did not understand his charade. But my antenna was up, steeling myself for something unexpected. And when Edmund ran up again, I followed suit.

The class was chaotic. Somehow, the tables had been pushed to the wall nearest to the window. The metallic panes were removed from the grilles, and there were 4 gaping 'holes', like wide portals to the beyond.

A few girls were giggling nervously at another corner, while some boys passed remarks.

"Cher...he's a whacko" or "Siao already..."..."Can I push him?"

The 'him' in question was S. My heart was in my mouth as I watched in bewilderment, this strapping 17-year-old walking up and down the desks. He was precariously close to the open windows.

"Get down from there immediately!" I ordered. Even to me, it sounded like a squeak.

His attention fell on me.
"Ah...my lady..." he uttered, and bowed.

Huh? What on earth....?
"And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence." he muttered.

Whoa! That was deep. Did he really mean what he had said?
I moved a little closer, and instinctively, he withdrew. One leg was near the ledge.There was no room for wrong moves.

"S...Stop it...come down. NOW!" I ordered...quaking inside.

I turned to the monitor and asked him to get help. I somehow managed to beckon the class to keep quiet.

"Aiyah...he 'drama' one...waste time only." someone yelled.

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair!" S yelled in return.

I got a little closer, trembling as I approached him. There was almost a diabolical look in his eyes which did not quite meet mine. The humid weather carried a stench...perhaps eminating from him. This was not the child I thought I knew.

"There are daggers in men's smiles." he whispered theatrically.

I am not sure if I can clearly depict the extent of my fear then. It was eerie, watching this young man spew line after line of Shakespeare...and if I was to psycho-analyze his words, I felt as if he was trying to tell me a message.

"Come S...come down...please...I want to talk to you." I had to steel my nerves. It was not S I was talking to, for he seemed like a wounded animal who is trapped to a corner, and I feared for his life.

The only thing that has kept me sane all these years is my faith in God...and then too, I muttered whatever prayers I could remember. That was my hour of need...

"S...tell me what is wrong...Let me help you..." I inched even closer. In my mind, I was weighing the options I had. I knew that if he moved the other way, I would have to somehow grab him. Do I have the strength to do so? Will my reflexes be quick enough?

"Stars, hide your fires
Let not light see my black and deep desires." he continued softly.

"S...Macbeth was a man...He was not perfect...He makes mistakes...We all do." In desperation, I made wild guess as to what he was thinking. I didn't understand his fixation for Macbeth then, but I guess, in all the wild ramblings, there was something he wanted to say.

The whole classroom seemed to somehow detach itself from my consciousness. I was only aware of this troubled soul, and me...I had to do something.

"Lady Macbeth...she is bad...Bad..BAD!" he grew agitated.

"Shh....I know..but she did it because she loved her husband...She wanted him to be great."

Part of me kept wondering how on earth I could be carrying on a character analysis amid the craziness of the situation. Where on earth was the help I needed?

"She got what she deserved, remember?...she died...she was sorry." I carried on.

"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble...Fire burn..fire burn...!" he shrieked so loudly, that he triggered a chain of screams from the girls. The hairs on my nape felt as though they were standing on ends.

Blindly, I grabbed him. The yells and shrieks that followed seemed to go on endlessy around me, and I was not sure if I was the chief contributor too. Edmund was beside me, and he was desperately trying to stop the manic stuggles of a tortured soul.

At that moment, I put my hand's on S's shoulders as he was writhing on the floor. That was the first time I touched any student that way..and the wails gave way to heart-wrenching sobs. He was shaking involuntarily...and I felt so helpless and ineffective then...for I was not able to understand the needs of this child.

I remembered vaguely some teachers coming into the room, and taking him away. I think I was on the verge of a breakdown myself...and someone gently took me to another room, while the DM restored order. The release of all my pent-up fear came in the form of copious tears, while I was comforted by a motherly colleague who soothed my troubled mind. Dear God, what have I done?


***Some of you may know that this is only the first part of this story. Each time I write about this, or tell this story, I am haunted by the eyes I saw that day. But the learning point of this entry is this...when you write, you need to feel about it. Only then will your 'voice' be heard.