Confronting a Monster

Shivering in fear, I took the latest math test from my teacher’s hands and peeked meekly at the score. The number ‘20,’ written neatly in red across the front page of my paper, stared boldly back at me. I sighed. At least it was not a zero.

My most feared subject

I was in primary four at Santa Maria elementary school in Jakarta. My struggle with numbers was painfully real and had become an all-consuming trepidation. My parents hired numerous tutors who came to our house daily.  They tried many ways to teach me. They told me to memorize formulae, taught me various ways to approach problem sums and buried me under mountains of additional practice.

My elementary school in Jakarta (https://santamaria.sch.id)

It was no use. I kept failing each test and my self-esteem was at its lowest. When it was time for the report card to be issued, I knew that the only subject that was written in red (meaning that I failed it), was math. I excelled in everything else – from religion to Indonesian civics. I was also a good writer, earning top marks in my Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian) compositions. Math, however, was always a problem. I could not comprehend what was being taught in class and I was deathly afraid of my teacher, a strict woman who certainly did not have time to explain every concept that I was confused about.

I kept a diary at that time, pouring my sadness into it. At one point, I was so ashamed of my math grades that I wrote I was going to leave home so that my parents would not be disappointed in me. Eventually, the little black book fell into my mother’s hands and she quietly discussed with my father what would be the best solution for me.

One evening, after dinner, my parents asked me to stay at the dining table while my siblings were excused. “Aimee,” my father began. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were struggling so much with math?” “Well,” I replied, my eyes downcast. “You saw my report card grades. I was scared that I was going to disappoint you…” At that moment, my father looked at my mother and his eyes fell upon me again. “Aimee, what do you think about going to school in Singapore?” My head shot up in surprise and I exclaimed, “Really? I can go to Singapore? I can go to school there?”

My heart leaped as I was excited about moving to Singapore. I thought about our neighbors’ children, who had been attending primary school in Singapore for a year. They were the coolest children in our neighborhood, telling us tales about learning English and Mandarin while interacting with Singaporean teachers and classmates. Most of all, my interest was piqued when they told me, “Math there is so much easier! I am getting the best scores!”

My parents smiled back at me and my mother said, “Yes, you can go there, but you will have to repeat primary four since you started the academic year in July whereas they begin school in January. You also have to learn how to be independent because you will be staying with a Singaporean family. We cannot leave our work here, so you will have to live in Singapore on your own.” I was barely listening to my mother after she said “Yes,” already imagining how I would excel in math in my new school and leave for Singapore as soon as possible.

Time flew by and it was December. My mother came with me and settled me in with my new guardians, Uncle James and Auntie Amelia – a policeman and his wife.  They had three girls, who were all brilliant. Their oldest, Marion, was finishing up her degree in Business Administration at the National University of Singapore (NUS) and became my English tutor. Their second daughter, Adeline, had recently entered NUS on a full government scholarship. She was undoubtedly the smartest girl I had ever met in my life. I caught on early that NUS was the most prestigious institution in Singapore which accepted only the crème de la crème of the entire population. Their youngest, Caroline, was a tennis athlete and in her third year at Singapore Chinese Girls’ School (SCGS).  Despite being an athlete, she still managed to excel in her studies by burning the midnight oil. I was in absolute awe of all the girls. They were my role models.

The first week after my mother left was horrible. I was terribly homesick as I could not call Indonesia often because of the astronomical international fees. My younger sister, Lily, said that she would send me a letter as soon as I left for Singapore, but her letter had not arrived. What was worse about the whole situation was I did not know how to communicate in English beyond saying “Thank you” and “Goodbye.” I had to ask the family the English word for everything by pointing to an item. “Spectacles,” they said, when I gestured to Uncle James’s reading glasses.

English, to me, was foreign but fascinating. It did not require me to memorize strokes or learn the tones of thousands of characters such as Mandarin. My parents wisely recommended that I took Malay, a language very similar to Indonesian, as my second language in school, rather than burdening me with learning a difficult language such as Mandarin. They prioritized my immersion in English and reasoned that I could still take private lessons in Mandarin if I wanted to pursue the subject.

One weekend, the week before I was about to enter my new school, I saw Caroline reading a comic book called Archie’Comics. Back in Indonesia, I was an avid reader of Donald Duck – comic strips based on the original Disney character that had been translated into Indonesian. I asked Angela if I could borrow her book, as she had stacks of them in her room. She shrugged and said, “Yeah…just get them from my room, but you have to return them as soon as you’re finished.”

I learned English by devouring Archie Comics (archiecomics.com)

I was elated. I started reading one Archie Comics and was immediately drawn into their world. I got to know the beautiful and wealthy Veronica and Betty, the kind blonde. I was also amused by the antics of Jughead, Archie’s best friend. I was hooked. At first, I needed the dictionary every time I came across a word I did not know. After the first five books, however, I was on a roll, devouring 10 books that weekend. My eleven-year-old self did not realize that I was learning English at an exponential speed. I only knew that I was hooked on Archie Comics and I wanted to read all of Caroline’s collection.

Alas, the weekend was over and I began a new chapter of my life by becoming a student at Swiss Cottage Primary School (SCPS) on Bukit Timah Road.  Like me, there were several Indonesian students who had enrolled in the school and taking Malay instead of Mandarin. The only Indonesians who took Mandarin were the ones who had started school since primary one. We all understood that Mandarin was not the priority then – mastering English was, since all of our subjects were in English.

Swiss Cottage Primary School on Bukit Timah Road in the 1980s (SCPS alumni Facebook page)

As expected, because my understanding of English was rudimentary, I could not comprehend most of the questions being asked during the tests. Nonetheless, to my utter delight, what my neighbors told me was true – mathematics and science were so much easier than in Indonesia. What we learned in Indonesia was at least two grades higher than what we were learning in Singapore. Although I still had points taken off in problem sums, I received perfect scores in mental sums and all of the other quizzes and examinations. My confidence grew and I wrote happily back to my family regarding my test scores. I imagined my parents sighing in relief when they read my letters, knowing that they made the right decision by sending me to Singapore. My scores in science also rose as my command of English improved.

After I had finished reading all of Caroline’s comic book collection, I moved on to children’s books by Enid Blyton. On Saturdays, Auntie Amelia took me to a second-hand bookstore at Far East Plaza, where I could borrow books for a fee. I was surprised that such places existed. I had always bought new books. However, I happily borrowed books from my pocket money and looked forward to my visits when I could borrow another Mallory Towers novel or something from The Three Investigators series. When my parents came to Singapore to visit me, I would ask for ‘luxuries’ such as new books from Times bookstore at Centrepoint mall. Up to this day, the first book I bought, Roald Dahl’s The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, is one of my prized possessions. Even though the book’s pages are yellow due to old age, I still recall how simultaneously appalled and enthralled I was with the stories in the book.

As my collection grew, I was known as the girl who went everywhere with a book, taking a copy with me to dinners and reading it when the adults were still talking after their meals. “A true bookworm,” my friends would say. I even subscribed to the Bookworm magazine, which featured reviews of children’s books and short essays written by primary school students. As I read the essays with envy, marveling at the “big” words the young authors used such as “serendipity” or “flabbergasted,” I wistfully wished that I could get my work published one day.

At the end of the school year, the normally average student in Indonesia received an academic award in Singapore. Apparently, I was “the most improved” student in my class, having made significant improvement in my studies. I remember Ms. Kwek, my English teacher, beaming and congratulating me as I received my certificate for the Best in Progress award in bewilderment. “I knew you could do it, Aimee. Look how far you have come.” Still in shock, I shook my head and thanked her. I could hardly believe it. My first academic award. 

I learned that Singapore was a meritocracy and a good student was rewarded by being placed in special classes. By primary six, I earned a place in the second-best class – 6N2. The ‘N’ stood for ‘Normal’ stream, which meant that students could finish their elementary education in six years, culminating in the ultra-competitive PSLE (Primary School Leaving Examination). This examination determined the fate of students as their scores decided where they would attend secondary school. As you can imagine, it was highly stressful. We were placed in additional after school classes and had to come in on Saturday mornings. At home, some of us were drilled by private tutors while others attended group tutorials at one of the many centers dotting the island state.

After sitting for the examinations towards the end of primary six, I went back to Indonesia to spend my December holiday with my family. Like any 12-year-old, I played with my siblings and cousins and forgot all about the PSLE until my parents received a call from my school.

“Congratulations!” Mrs. Goh, my teacher said. “Your daughter scored 2A*s in English and Malay, and 2As in mathematics and science. Her overall score put her in the top 10% of all students who took the PSLE this year!”

My parents were elated and I was ecstatic. I could not believe that I did so well on the examinations. As I was not in Singapore to receive my certificate and results, my teacher told us that I could stop by the school when I returned to the country.

*This story continues in part 2: Taming the Monster