The teachers who made school matter

I once wandered into school without much idea of what lay ahead. Then I met you. Through you, I met my classmates, found knowledge, began to understand education, and eventually arrived at the life I have now.

The earlier years

I barely remember my first three years of primary school. The later years are clearer. There was a gentle, warm teacher, a brisk and decisive maths teacher I particularly liked, and a Chinese teacher I never quite warmed to at the time.

In middle school, I remember a formidable teacher who was very good at teaching, the maths teacher who stayed with us the longest, and another who gave a few of us extra help. These are the people who come back to me when I think of those years.

High school was more interesting still. When I first arrived, I felt incredibly lucky. My Chinese, maths, and English teachers all seemed good enough to teach the very top classes. Our chemistry teacher, who was also our class teacher, looked after me. Even with a substitute physics teacher, my results were quite good.

Then the teachers changed, and I went through a low period. I kept feeling that I couldn’t adjust. Over the next year, though, I grew used to the new teachers and came to like them too: the youthful energy of our English teacher, the way our physics teacher approached the class, and the care our chemistry teacher showed me, even though my chemistry somehow remained rather average.

The final year

In our last year, we had another new set of teachers. Each deserves a few words.

To my Chinese teacher: you were extraordinary. Thank you for being demanding, and for being someone I wanted to learn from. In trying to keep up with you, I developed a command of the language that was finally my own.

To the teacher whose unexpected ideas and endearing ways made us smile: those class activities helped us become friends. They also gave me something joyful to lean on when the final year grew exhausting.

To the gentle teacher I looked forward to seeing every morning: your kindness was a relief among all the pressure and helplessness. Remembering your voice and your smile still comforts me when I feel low.

To the teacher who tried to teach me punctuality: it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. But it will. I believe it will.

To the teacher who kept caring even when I was still attached to the previous two years: I’m sorry I took so long to move on. You didn’t give up on me. That helped me recover my confidence and keep going.

And to the teacher whose classes had always felt most natural to me: I thought we understood each other, though perhaps that was just my impression. I regretted not being in your class during the final year. Still, we were in the same year group, so I could see you around. That was enough.

This is what I remember when I think about my education. I remember you.