Cast From The Herd: Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia
M. Bakri Musa
Excerpt # 97: Will We Ever Meet Again?
Soon it was the last day of school and I still had one paper to go, my favorite, Chemistry. The boys at my dorm were already busy packing, excited to go home for the long holidays. As I stood there watching them, I remembered their first day and the many months that we had shared together since. I was proud of them; their intelligence sparkled. I remembered comforting more than a few when they were homesick. I assured them that I too was, even though I left home at a much older age.
There were the twins Salleh and Sallim. It was difficult to tell them apart; hence they had more than their share of practical jokes. I remember comforting another boy, a product of a mixed marriage, who was obsessed that he did not look Malay enough. Then there was the boy forever teased for being my presumed favorite. The fact was he always scored tops in his class and thus merited my frequent recognition of him during Friday inspections.
I remember an aloof boy; he was smart and felt belittled if not downright disdainful of my silly little games of recognizing academic achievers. He did not wish to participate, deeming them below him. One day I received word that he had excelled in his test, and that Friday before dorm inspection I duly recognized him, making an extra fuss. He beamed and thereafter warmed up to me.
Then there was the chirpy boy, sharp with his rebuttals. He was also from a mixed marriage. One day his father came to visit him. He could not speak any English and his Malay was the ‘bazaar’ variety, but he was so proud of his boy that he wanted to meet me, his son’s prefect. I praised his son, but the boy was uncomfortable in his father’s presence. Poor kid!
My dorm also had its share of talented athletes. Rusli Yahya was so good that he made the school’s varsity (senior) rugby team after his first year, an unheard of achievement!
Soon I would have to say goodbye to these bright kids. They had been such a major part of my life during these past twelve months. I was their mentor, counselor, big brother, and, yes, role model, except that I was useless at sports. I kept thinking what my earlier classmates said at our farewell party at my old school in Kuala Pilah two years before: Will we ever meet again?
I was grateful to have been made prefect and thus the opportunity to know these bright boys, as well as those promising sparks in the science stream of the Fourth and Fifth Forms. My younger brother Adzman would later join that Prep School Class of 1962 at Form Four. Through him I kept abreast of the achievements of these students. They were spectacular, and gave me hope for the future of Malay College. They changed my initial warped view of the institution. Now with these smart kids Malay College would never again have to depend on ‘outsiders’ like me to fill its empty Sixth Form slots. There will be none; instead the challenge would be to expand for more spaces.
Looking back, had Malay College continued on with its then new policy, that is, admittance strictly through merit and emphasis on STEM, the college, Malays, and Malaysia would have changed dramatically by today, and for the better. Instead, after a decade of spectacular successes, the now all-native leaders of MCKK decided in their collective wisdom that it was no longer necessary to emphasize STEM or English. Thus instead of becoming a feeder school for the leading universities of the world as MCKK’s peers elsewhere in the region are doing, Malay College today is but another nondescript residential school. Its students have to go elsewhere to matriculate. Even when it belatedly introduced the International Baccalaureate Program over a decade ago, even today it is still not the top choice for many bright young Malay boys. That spectacular success of my Prep School Class of 1962 remains but a splash-in-the-pan performance for MCKK, never to be repeated. What a tragedy!
That night, my last in Kuala Kangsar, alone in my cubicle and now an empty dorm, I was weighed down with sadness. My two years at Malay College was coming to an end, and alas too fast. They were the best. I may have started on a sour note, but in the end I was grateful for all the experiences and opportunities that Malay College had afforded me.
Next: Excerpt # 98: The Novice Teacher
