I got a few cheeky texts and IMs today, to the tune of wishing me “Selamat Hari Guru”. I know what you all wanted me to scream.. you wanted me to say, “Tapi aku bukan cikgu!!” kan .. kan… kan. Which in a way is true. I don’t see myself as a ‘cikgu’, but not because I am a snob (yes, I am one really, cultured, manicured and pedicured, but not in this context) and I think of the profession as one being beneath me. Au contraire, I think I am not privileged enough to consider myself as one, because really, all I do is turn up at the lecture theaters for 2 hours a week, deliver prepared material and set exam questions I myself can’t remember how to answer. The rest of the time, I am either reading up for a research project, or finishing a paper which, in the infinite wisdom of others in my SBP generation, I have left to the very last possible minute to do so. I am more a student than a teacher, a research than a lecturer, a slacker than a worker. I am not worthy of the title cikgu, because I don’t devote nearly as enough time as I should to educate. I merely deliver.

Although I did say to a friend earlier, maybe they should call the day “Hari Pendidik” so it could encapsulate everyone else who’s job spec fits the gamut of definitions that encompass the phrase, ‘to teach’. But I think I take that back. I think teachers, i.e. those who work day in, day out, determining the shape of the nation’s future for pay that is never commensurate with the effort, blood, sweat, tears and most of all, love that they pour into their career, deserve a day of their own. One day, out of 365, to commemorate the people without whom, corny or not, let’s face it, even the best of us would not be here. Okay, so there are lousy teachers, and believe you me, I’ve had my share of those sadistic enough their mere name sends shudders down my spine even today. But let’s not let them eclipse that one kind soul or maybe three, who took time out to see to it that recalcitrant, defiant, obstinate teenagers not unlike the ones we all were were steered with a firm but gentle hand.

Me, I hardly teach. I mean, I don’t nurture and I don’t care. Not like the ones who got me here. I hate it when people say, those who can’t, teach. Or that teaching is a second-rate job for people who can’t get jobs elsewhere. It takes a lot of sacrifice, a lot of guts and a lot of selflessness to become a teacher. On par, if not equal to, jobs that pay ten times as much in the corporate sector.

Me? Teacher? I am not worthy.

Selamat Hari Guru, Sir

*****

You’re so inside in my head I don’t know how to get rid of you anymore. So just stay there, and keep me company. Duduk diam-diam, okay, teman aku buat kerja lagi bagus.

*****

On the one had Denmark had the offensive Muhammad cartoons. On the other they have Asmaa Abdol-Hamid. One wonders how our sexist MPs would fare, if we had her with Nurul Izzah alongside Fong Po Kuan in parliament.

Best bit: “Some Muslims don’t think it’s right for a female to act like this [contest for a parliament seat]. They go to my father and tell him, get her married, get her married,” she laughs. Heh.