Welcome 2013....

MY GRANDMOTHER

The frail old woman seated in the wheelchair slowly looks up when she hears approaching footsteps. I look at the deeply wrinkled face and search for some signs of recognition but fail to do so. She, on her part, looks at me blankly and after a few seconds continues doing what she had been doing earlier – looking at her gnarled fingers and toying with the gold band on her third finger. Sighing in disappointment, I wonder what is on her mind. It pains my heart to know what Alzheimer’s disease and arthritis have done to this feeble woman.


Grandmother has not always been like this. She used to be an energetic woman who had much love to share with those around her, be they her children, grandchildren or daughters-in law. My mother, her eldest son’s wife, had not a negative word to say about grandma who had welcomed her into their home. In fact, mum always says that she is blessed to have a mother-in-law and not a monster-in-law.


Married at the tender age of 14 to a labourer, she had been a loyal and supportive wife. Grandfather, when he was alive, would sometimes regale us with stories from his past. He would fondly tell us that he was a lucky man to have married grandma although the circumstances under which they got married were not so joyous. Grandma had been the village beauty but when the Japanese invaded Malaya, my great grandfather, grandma’s father, decided that marriage was the only solution to save her from the clutches of the rampaging Japanese soldiers who went around raping and abducting young girls. “We did not marry for love, but survival. Yet we are happy, unlike many young couples these days who split even before the honeymoon is over!” Grandma always looked shy and demure when grandpa was in his story-telling moods.


Blessed with three sons, they worked hard to bring up their boys. Grandpa and grandma, who were both illiterate, made sure that their sons got the education they deserved so that their lives would be different. Despite his meagre salary, grandfather was able to send his sons to school and later to university. He did this by working overtime and taking on other menial tasks. Grandma did her share by washing and ironing clothes for a rich “taukey” and his family.


All three sons got married in due time and lived with grandpa and grandma in a double storey house my dad bought soon after becoming the managing director of a local telco. After grandpa’s demise, however, my two uncles moved out due to work commitments. grandma continued to live with us as she could not bear to part with me, her first grandson.


I am fortunate as I have many fond memories of my grandmother. She babysat me when my mum went to work. She accompanied me to school every morning during my primary school years. She made sure I had my meals, cajoling me when I was reluctant to eat. She was there to share my happiness and sorrow.


All this started to change when she had arthritis. It hurt me because there was nothing I could do to ease her suffering although she put on a brave front despite the excruciating pain she suffered when family members were present.


Six years ago, grandmother started showing signs of Alzheimer’s Disease. At first, she forgot the little things – what she was doing, where she had put her glasses etc. Slowly the disease took its toll. Now, she has forgotten everything. She cannot recognise her sons and their wives; worse still, she cannot remember me. It pains me to see a woman who had once been a bundle of energy reduced to this.


I slowly move towards her, bend down and take her hands in mine, hoping that somehow, in the deep recesses of her faded memory, she can remember me. She looks up at me in childlike innocence and smiles, not out of recognition but in the way one would at strangers who show the slightest bit of caring. I know I have lost her forever.

Write an essay ending with “… with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.”

It was the wettest December I had ever experienced. The torrential rains had ruined my holiday plans as floods continued to wreak havoc in several states. I had pleaded with dad to allow me to go to the east coast with my friends but he had been unyielding. The thought of having to stay indoors for the next two weeks was not only depressing but also unbearable. Television did not excite me anymore. I was fed up of watching the same old movies on cable television. Even the other channels had nothing exciting to offer. Finally, I decided to go into the attic to retrieve some books which I had not read for a long time.

The attic was surprisingly clean – a sign that mum had finally completed the chore that she had kept putting off. I looked around and noticed a teak chest that I had never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me and I walked towards it. I lifted the lid slowly and was pleasantly surprised to see a variety of things in it – all of them reminders of my childhood. I looked nostalgically at the clothes I had worn as a child and the toys I had played with. ‘Bobo’ the teddy bear, which I had slept with until I was ten, had been dry-cleaned and kept in a box which also contained the first Mother’s Day card I had made myself. I was not prepared for what I saw next. Lying at the bottom of the cardboard box was an old black and white photograph of a young woman. I stared at it incredulously. It was as if I was looking at a female version of myself. All sorts of questions and dreadful thoughts flooded my mind. I held the photograph tightly in my hand and dashed out of the attic, only to bump into my mother.

“Mum….who is this?” I asked in a quivering voice.

From the look on her face, I knew it was a question she did not want to answer. Quietly, she held my hand and led me towards the study where dad had been working all morning. She knocked on the door once before opening it. Dad looked up, and his expression of annoyance disappeared when he saw the photograph in my hand.

What I heard that day is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. The woman in the photograph was my mother, my biological mother — Lily Lee.

“Son, Lily loved you very much; just as much as Janet here loves you.”

Dad’s use of the past tense made me uncomfortable. It took a great deal of effort on his part to narrate the painful past.

My biological mother was six months pregnant when the incident happened. She had been walking towards her office when a motorcyclist came from behind and grabbed her handbag before speeding off. As a result of the sudden assault, she had lost her balance and fallen on the kerb. The head injuries she had sustained had a devastating effect on her health. The only option was to perform surgery, but due to her condition, this option was risky. The doctors had wanted to terminate her pregnancy to save her life but she had refused. A month later she fell into a coma. Although the doctors had given up hope, Lily continued to live, though in a comatose state. It was as if she was not giving up on life till her baby was born. When the doctors deemed it safe, they performed an emergency C-section. Lily breathed her last the moment I was born into this world.

Dad sobbed softly as he finished relating the heart-wrenching story. All sorts of emotions consumed me. I was sad, confused and angry. Was I adopted? What about my father? Who was he? Had he abandoned me? After a while, I braved myself and stated what I thought was obvious.

“So, that means you are not my real parents. I am adopted!”

“No, son. You are not adopted. I am your father. Lily was my first wife. She made me promise her that I would marry her younger sister, Janet, so that you would not grow up motherless.”

The sense of relief that I felt at that moment was indescribable. I looked at mum and I saw the pain and anguish in her eyes, as though she was anticipating rejection. Quickly, she looked down.
Slowly, I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I went down on my knees and held her hands in mine. Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of rejection.

“Mum, I know I am only seventeen but I am more mature than you think. You might not have given birth to me but you are and will always be my mother.” I comforted her as much as I comforted myself.

She looked up slowly, her eyes searching my face for sincerity. Then with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.

MY FAVOURITE TEACHER
(By  Jinxiang.... TQ)

Every average student would have been taught by at least forty different teachers before entering university. We might have different views towards different teachers respectively, whether it was hatred because he had caned us, or loving because she did take good care of us. If we are to point out our favourite teacher, there won't be any absolute answer since everyone has his own perspective towards the teacher's characteristics that favor them. Well, I pay my tribute to my tuition teacher, Mr. Peter Lim.

Mr. Peter had been teaching me since I was in form two. He is indeed the most hardworking tuition teacher I've ever seen. Unlike other teachers who photostat the grammar exercises from some reference books, Mr. Peter used his own hands to type all the exercises, not by using computer but the classic typing machine. He would intersperse several small pictures within the notes given to make it looked interesting. Another great example is that he would examine every word and the sentence of essays written by his students carefully. He would spend his time telling us our mistakes one by one when he was giving back our essay books. My school teacher was totally different - she marked our essays by underlining the sentences without correcting it, leaving puzzlement among us.

I was pleased by Mr. Peter's unique teaching style, his class would never get bored because he always raised his volume to maximum accompanied by various facial expressions while teaching. Sometime he would share his anecdotes to delight the class. Being a retired school teacher, he was experienced in educating his students as well as handling disciplinary cases. At the same time, he was a indulged reader showing concern towards the general global issues besides having different hobbies such as mountain climbing, jungle trekking, fishing, cooking etc. He had developed certain philosophies about life and always reminded us to be noble, moderate and accept anything that had happened in order to stay happy.

He never raised the monthly tuition fee, it was cheap, only RM25 per month in comparison to the average monthly fee needed to pay for other similar tuition lessons which were normally in the range of RM30 to RM50. He told us having teaching as his satisfying job, it doesn't matter to think over how much he could earn :)

I cherish the moment he was still teaching me. I should have made full use of the time to absorb his teachings and attain proficiency in English to meet his expectation. By the time we left him to take SPM, he had decided to stop teaching temporarily for a year to rest after teaching diligently for decades.

My Most Embarrassing Situation

(from : http://englishforallsmkbenut.blogspot.com/p/spm-sample-of-essays-continuous-writing.html)

Everyone has been embarrassed at one time or another. It is that moment in time when you wish the earth would open up and swallow you. The anxiety and discomfort felt during that time which may only last a few seconds feels like time has stood still.
I remember so well when I had my most embarrassing moment. I was in Form 4 and it was during the school recess. The minute the bell rang for recess, I rushed to the toilet because I had been controlling my urges since class started. I didn’t want to miss class because the lesson taught that morning was to include tips for the forthcoming examination.
Without realising, I had rushed to the girls’ toilet. The prolonged control and an upset stomach made worse by two glasses of cold milk in the morning made me grunt and groan in what I thought in what I thought was the privacy of the cubicle. I thought I heard giggling outside and wondered why the giggles sounded unusually near. A few minutes later I came out the cubicle and discovered my horror that I had entered the girls’ toilet. To make matters worse, the few girls standing outside didn’t even turn away when I came out. Instead they looked down at me, then only they turned quickly away. Horror of horrors, I had forgotten to zip up! No beetroot could have matched the colour of my face at this point in time!
They news of my predicament spread like wild fire throughout school. I was truly the talk of the town. I felt like I could either walk around feeling perpetually self-conscious and embarrassed or I could turn the situation round, perhaps even to my advantage. I remembered my mother’s words that ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’. So I decided to make fun of myself, to laugh at myself too. It works. Everyone got bored after a while and nobody teased me after that.
It was indeed an eye-opening experience for me. I have learnt that when people laugh at you, you should laugh along. You must not take yourself seriously. Learn to look at yourself through other people’s eyes and you will realise that most of the time when they laugh at you, they just want to have some fun. They mean no harm. If you can make people laugh, it’s like bringing sunshine into their lives and as someone said, ‘those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.’

421 words

CONTINUOUS: NARRATIVE WRITING – With a starting phrase

Write a story starting with: “The widow had to work hard to bring up her little son alone...”

The widow had to work hard to bring up her little son alone. This was after her husband’s early death. She and her son lived in a wooden house. It was a small house with only one bedroom and a kitchen.
Mariam wanted Sam to study hard to get good result. So she would not let Sam help her do any household chores or wash his own clothes. The years flew by. Sam sat for his SPM examination and pass with flying colours.
His mother was very happy. She went round telling her friends, “My Sam will be leaving for the city to study in a college. He will become a Manager one day. I’ll move to live with him in the city. Then, my struggle is worth it.”
So Mariam continued to work hard to send money to Sam who was studying a business degree. For Mariam, it was a tough life. Meanwhile, Sam kept on phoning home to ask for more money. Mariam even had to borrow from her neighbours and friends to send her son the money.
Three years Sam stopped calling home. He did not even let his mother where he was. When she phoned the faculty, they told her that he had graduated and left for job. However, they could not her more. Mariam was baffled. Where was Sam? She was so sure he would come back and fetch her for city. So, she started to pack some of her bags and boxes.
Three months later, there was still no news or call from Sam. One day, Mariam’s niece, Kate, came to talk to her about Sam. She told her aunt, “Auntie, a friend of mine met Sam in a bank. He’s the branch manager. This is his address.”
Early in the morning, Mariam took the first bus to the city. At the bus station, she took a taxi and showed the taxi driver the bank address. On the way there, she told the driver about Sam and what a filial son he was.
The driver stopped his taxi in front of a tall building. She got out of the taxi and smiled at him happily. This was the moment she was going to meet Sam. She imagined him showing surprise and delight at meeting his mother. Inside the building, a security guard asked her who she was looking for. She told the guard Sam’s name.
The bank staff saw an old lady holding a worn-out handbag. They were wondering, “Who is this woman? Why is she asking for our manager?”
Meanwhile, Sam pretended he did not know his mother. Feeling disgusted and ashamed, he asked the security guard to ask her to leave. Mariam was shocked to hear that! She looked Sam in a disappointed feeling ever, and ran out of the bank.
Back in her house, Mariam cried the whole night. She cried and cried till she had no more tears. The next morning, she was sitting by the window with Sam’s photo on her lap. She saw him walking towards their house. Soon she was shouting and crying, “My Sam is back! My Sam is back!”
Sam ran towards her and hugged Mariam as he never let go. He was so sorry and regretted the way he behaved. His colleagues were the one who made him realized his big mistakes neglected his mother.
The neighbours heard her. They too shouted and cheered, feeling happy for her.

574 words.

                                                                     A FRIEND

“What happened?” I could hear myself asking this question over and over again. As I slowly regained consciousness, I found myself in hospital. The past flashed through my mind. I realized with horror what must have happened.
Ismail and I are the best of friends who have lived in the same neighbourhood for umpteen years. In school, we have always joined the same sport – cross-country. The two of us never failed to jog every morning in the park. We especially liked jogging along the path by the big river.
One fine morning, we went jogging by the river as usual. We were jogging slowly as we talked about the coming inter-school cross-country competition. I said, “Peter is bound to be one of the two to be chosen to represent our school. I wonder which one of us will be the other lucky person”.
Ismail suddenly stopped jogging and looked uncomfortable. His voice faltered as he spoke, “Karim, I don’t want to keep it from you any longer. Mr. Lim has already told me that Peter and I were chosen.”
My face dropped. All my wild dreams of being the inter-school cross-country champion were shattered. If only I had practised more often, if only … if only Ismail were not such a good runner.
I was so overwhelmed with disappointment that when Ismail came over to comfort me, I pushed him away roughly. He lost his balance and grabbed at me for support. We screamed as we both fell into the river. The next thing I remember was being in hospital. Friends and relatives who came visit me later told me that they knew. Ismail had saved, risking his own life as he was not strong swimmer. His knees were injured while trying to save me.
I felt exceedingly ashamed of myself. I had put Ismail’s life in danger through my unreasonable, childish behavior. Yet, he had saved me. As a result of his knee injury, Ismail would not be able to represent the cross-country race. This made me feel worse than ever. I have, since that incident, resolved to make it all up to him in whatever way I can. I will try my best to be true friend to him as he has been to me.

BEGIN YOUR ESSAY WITH ........"I felt faint. I could not believe what I was hearing. I wanted to die. The news was unbelievable."

"I felt faint. I could not believe what I was hearing. I wanted to die. The news was unbelievable."

The alarming school bell rang meaning the end of another tedious and exhausting day of school. I made my way home taking all the possible shortcuts. As I was a few yards away, I heard a crowd’s chattering and a familiar voice like my dad’s. I started walking faster.

I squeezed my way through the crowd. I noticed a body lying on the floor covered with a white, blood stained sheet. I started shouting at my dad not noticing his handcuffed hands.

“What’s happening?” I screamed
“Nothing it is just a misunderstanding dear” He answered hesitatingly
“What Is?”

I was then taken aside by two police men. They told me everything.

 “Your mum is…… dead” said the tall one.

The word “dead” echoed in my head. I could not believe what I was hearing. My poor beloved mum’s soul was under the sheet. My dad murdered her. I dared not to lift the sheet. But then I did and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek.

She was taken to hospital by an ambulance, and as for my dad, he was taken to the police station for further investigations. How could he? I will never forgive him.

I was left all on my own. No one to look after me. I was taken in to social care until my aunt comes.

“We have informed your aunt Betty of what has happened.” Said the social worker.

“She had a shock and so she needs to recover so she will come to get you after a few days.”


 It was obvious that I will never be able to live with my dad. He is a murderer. I will never forget and forgive what he had done to her, however I never thought that the day will come and he will murder her.

After a few days the social worker told me to get ready. She said my relative Tea Sea Ting will be coming to get me to live with her. Then I remembered. Aunt Tea Sea Ting! She was the woman that I hated in the whole universe. It was absolutely impossible for me to live with her. She is a cruel cold hearted woman. She used to think that I was very much spoilt that’s why I never got any or birthday present from her. She also said once that I had no manners and was an absolute disgrace to the family. Living with an aunt like that is complicated.

She lives in northern Johore and I live in the east. I was always happy to think that she was far way and that I will never see her again.

The car parked right outside her bungalow. My hands started shaking with fear. As I came out of the car she gave me a “you will regret it” face. I entered the house and then she showed me my room. She was gentle with me at that moment since the social worker was there. However when the social worker left, she started picking on me. It was like I was living in hell. She would say that it was my fault that my dad killed my mum and that when I grow I will be like him. A murderer.

“It is in your blood” she said one day.

My life started to be complicated. I started to wet the bed from fear and nightmares of my mum. That led to more complications since she would get the chance to pick on me. I had to leave my school from east Johore and go to a dump near hers. School and home lives were hell.

The thought of me never seeing my mum ever again was heartbreaking, but the thought of living with Aunt Tea Sea Ting all my life was like rain without clouds same as me without my mum.

My Life Is Always Going To Stay Complicated.

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                 HAPPY  READING.........................