The School That Gave Me a Chance

When I think about Changkat Changi Secondary School now, I do not first think about grades.

I think about doors.

And the teachers who opened them.

The first door opened when I was in Secondary One.

My form teacher appointed me as a prefect.

Even today, I do not know what she saw in me.

I had no leadership résumé.

No track record.

No evidence that I was ready for anything extraordinary.

I was simply a Secondary One student.

And someone decided:

Give him a chance.

At the time, I did not understand how significant that was.

Years later, you begin to see the corridor.

Mrs Loke taught me that confidence comes after preparation

In Secondary Two, Mrs Loke was my English teacher.

Each class had to send someone to share a story during morning assembly.

She asked everyone to write one.

I had no idea what to write.

So I opened a book about the history of Troy.

That became my story.

Somehow, I was selected to represent my class.

Then came the rehearsals.

Again.

And again.

And again.

For weeks, during English lessons, we stood and practised our stories.

By the time I reached the stage, I had told mine so many times that I barely needed the paper anymore.

I still remember the opening:

“Good morning Mr Goh, teachers and fellow friends. Today I will share with you a story. A story about the ancient city of Troy…”

Then I put the paper down.

And spoke.

At the time, I probably thought I had suddenly become confident.

Looking back, I understand it differently.

Confidence did not arrive first. Preparation did.

Preparation created enough freedom for me to stop reading and start communicating.

Mrs Loke later encouraged me to audition for the school musical.

I was not even from Drama CCA.

I went anyway.

Someone was absent, and I ended up standing in.

I basically became myself.

Apparently that worked.

Eventually, they created a role for me.

The Crazy Professor.

Mr Nahar still occasionally calls me that.

Perhaps that should have told me something. 😂

But another door had opened.

Miss Rabiah taught me that enterprise still needs principles

In Secondary Three, I took Principles of Accounting.

To me, accounting initially felt like a foreign language.

Miss Rabiah somehow made it practical.

That same year, our school entered an Entrepreneurship in Arts competition at

Ngee Ann Polytechnic.

We learned batik.

Mdm Fazidah taught us.

The school even brought in a batik artist.

We painted orchids.

Then came competition day.

Schools had booths.

We displayed our work.

Sold what we could.

And eventually, each team had to present.

Our team leader Hanafi and I went on stage.

I wrapped a piece of batik around myself like a sarong underneath my school trousers.

Hanafi held another piece of batik.

And I took the microphone.

No elaborate preparation.

No weeks of rehearsal this time.

Just speak.

When the runner-up was announced, we thought we had lost.

Then they announced the champion.

Changkat Changi Secondary School.

I still remember what it felt like hearing my school’s name called publicly.

Years later, what stays with me is not merely winning.

It is what Miss Rabiah was quietly teaching us.

Entrepreneurship was not just numbers.

It was creation.

Presentation.

Selling.

Responsibility.

And principles.

Miss Rabiah, you taught me entrepreneurship beyond Principles of Accounts.

You held me accountable to something I understand much more clearly today:

Enterprise still needs principles.

Mdm Fazidah taught me that dedication itself is an art form

Every Wednesday, there was Art CCA.

And then there were Saturdays too.

We came back to school.

She came back too.

Sometimes Mdm Fazidah would give me money and ask me to go to the canteen to buy cold bottled drinks for everyone.

At the time, these things felt ordinary.

Teachers were simply there.

School was simply open.

Activities simply happened.

Only when you grow older do you begin to understand what “simply happened” actually cost somebody.

Time.

Energy.

Patience.

Presence.

I once made an artwork that required us to put our initials on it.

Instead of signing my name, I wrote:

“I love mom.”

Years later, whenever I meet Mdm Fazidah, she still says it to me.

“I love mom.”

Of all the things a teacher could remember about a student, she remembered that.

Perhaps that is why I remember her.

And there was another moment.

I had been in Art Club since Secondary One.

One afternoon in Secondary Three, the club announced that Hanafi would become president.

He had only joined later.

I remember feeling disappointed.

Mdm Fazidah told me something along the lines of:

“There are better plans for you.”

I had absolutely no idea what she meant.

Then I rushed off to a Prefects’ meeting.

I was late.

Everyone was already there.

Mrs Pinto had waited for me.

And then she announced the student leadership appointments.

Nash would be Head Prefect.

Then:

“The Vice-Head Prefect for this year is… Zayd.”

Everyone looked at me.

Some laughed.

I laughed too.

I had walked into that room disappointed because I had not become Art Club president.

Minutes later, I had been given an entirely different responsibility.

Maybe that was what Mdm Fazidah meant.

Not “better” as in more important.

Just another door.

Another direction.

Another responsibility I had not yet seen.

Mdm Fazidah, with all my heart, you have my admiration and love.

You taught me Art.

But perhaps more importantly:

You showed me that dedication itself is an art form.

Mrs Pinto taught me that leadership is often practised before it is recognised

For three years, Mrs Pinto trusted me with something extremely unglamorous.

Class tags.

I had to arrive at school around 6:30 or 6:35 in the morning to lay them out.

No stage.

No applause.

No title involved.

Just:

Be there.

Do it properly.

Do it again tomorrow.

Looking back, perhaps that was leadership training too.

Before someone gives you responsibility in public, they often watch what you do with responsibility when nobody cares.

Mrs Pinto gave me many chances.

In Secondary Three, I attended Outward Bound Singapore as a student leader.

That same period, I entered a student leadership T-shirt design competition for an East Cluster Student Leaders Workshop.

My design was selected.

I remember walking onto the stage and seeing student leaders from different schools wearing something I had designed.

Again, I did not have language for any of this yet.

Creativity.

Influence.

Experience.

Leadership.

I was simply being exposed to possibilities.

Then, in Secondary Four, Mrs Pinto nominated me for another OBS programme.

I remember saying to her:

“I already went to OBS last year as a student leader. Why should I go again?”

There was a long pause.

I cannot remember what she said after that.

But I remember the silence.

I resisted going.

It was during the Hari Raya period too.

She even called me on my mobile over the weekend to persuade me.

I still said no.

The next day, Mr Nahar said:

“Why did you say that lah?”

At the time, I saw repetition.

Today, I wonder whether Mrs Pinto saw progression.

Perhaps the first time, I was there to participate.

Perhaps the second time, she saw something else I was not yet mature enough to recognise.

Sometimes another person recognises our readiness before we recognise it ourselves.

A nomination is not merely an administrative act.

Someone is attaching their judgement to your name.

Someone is saying:

I think this person can carry something.

That is trust.

A school does not only teach subjects

When I look back now, I realise Changkat Changi did something profound for me.

It did not wait until I was polished.

It did not wait until I had proven everything.

It gave chances to the unfinished version of me.

A Secondary One student became a prefect.

A Secondary Two student stood on an assembly stage and discovered his voice.

A boy outside Drama CCA became The Crazy Professor.

An accounting student learned entrepreneurship through batik.

An Art Club member who thought one door had closed walked into another room and became Vice-Head Prefect.

A student was sent to OBS.

Entrusted with morning responsibilities.

Allowed to design.

Allowed to present.

Allowed to lead.

Allowed to discover.

None of these moments seemed monumental when they happened.

That is perhaps the strange thing about influence.

The person changing your life may simply think they are doing their job.

The teacher opening a door may never know how many other doors you later walk through because of it.

Teachers shape possibility

We often say teachers educate.

Of course they do.

But education is larger than transferring knowledge.

A teacher can create an experience through which a student encounters a different version of themselves.

A speaker.

A leader.

An artist.

An entrepreneur.

A performer.

A person capable of responsibility.

Sometimes a teacher sees something.

Sometimes they are simply willing to give someone enough room to find out.

And perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts any young person can receive.

Not certainty about who they will become.

A chance to find out.

To my teachers at Changkat Changi Secondary School, thank you.

To the teacher who made me a prefect before I had done anything to deserve the title.

To Mrs Loke, who taught me that confidence could be rehearsed into existence.

To Miss Rabiah, who showed me that enterprise still needed principles.

To Mdm Fazidah, whose Saturdays taught me more about dedication than I understood at the time.

To Mrs Pinto, who kept trusting me with responsibility, even when I did not always understand why.

And to every teacher whose influence I may only recognise years from now.

Happy Teachers’ Day.

You taught us subjects.

But sometimes, without knowing it,

you also introduced us to ourselves.

And Changkat Changi Secondary School —

you were the school that gave me a chance.