Teacher's Day has come and gone, and now I still can't believe I spent the day scouring my Lifespan Psychology notes. Hey if you wanna cancel on somebody, it'd better be worth it. At least it was all not for nought, I assure you.
A thought came to me just now. To be lost in love is certainly a mind-boggling, hair-losing experience. What more can a woman ask for in a man, that he would protect her smile? If the simplest answer is usually the right one, then obviously there is no reason for anyone to say "I will go through hell and brimstone for you", because technically, nobody can. And remember, Shakespeare doesn't like your emo poems.
On the subject of smiles, I had a teacher who brought it up.
If there is anything this country is known for, it'd be the strict testing standards, our fiercely-guarded meritocracy, and increasingly constipated, sexless, baby-less lives. Born and bred into the rat race, every milestone in our Singaporean lives is seemingly marked by an exam. PSLE, N levels, O levels, A levels, Final Year Paper, Final Year Project, Internship. If you were in secondary school, you'd be living four years of your life for four weeks of exams.
Is four years really worth that much? Are our little lives worth only a chockful of exams? What do those people at Cambridge care about when it concerns your humanity?
The truth stings like acid, and churns like alkali forced down your throat.
For some of us who haven't thought of it this way, or are successfully conditioned, or graciously numbed, it probably wouldn't bother you so much.
Maybe that is why, with the dwelling of the truth, wrought with the "hell and brimstone" of teenage years, we sometimes forget how to smile, because we know we can't escape it. That is why most people would say "don't think too much". True, because conflict without resolution brings no peace. Then again, people think in the first place for obvious reasons. So before you use that phrase, do say something worth pondering about to turn the situation around. It works better that way. Besides, too much bleach makes John a blank zombie.
Back to the teacher. Think of my brain juice dripping through a strainer. Yum. Okay you get the idea. That happened during the English prepatory oral exam.
(Now that I look back, there is no experience that beats bombing Claire's presentation) Honestly, getting an A on that exam is of no importance to me now. It was what she said after the exam that turned my life around.
(This is why you should always ask your teachers for feedback and advice, that is if, they don't secretly hate your guts) Apparently, losing your smile is an equally unpalatable experience for your oral examiners. "It makes you come off as cold, steely, unwelcoming and scary". All JSS students ought to kiss my feet. I scared Mdm Priya.
She's got a point. Where did that smile go? Why didn't anyone notice it was gone? Did they forget?
If she had never noticed, or cared enough to notice, or was sane enough to notice, there would not have been a better hand (of cards), or playing style for me.
I have no doubt that she's the prime example of a psychologist/psychiatrist/doctor/teacher. For that line of work, it's not just all the studying and mugging for years you gotta do. There's the question of character and aptitude. If you don't care enough, you're not observant enough, that's not going to make you very good at your job. What gives you the right to say "How do you feel about that?"
Uh yeah, of course right after that she started the talk about finding an identity, which is obviously very important if I don't want to slip into maladjusment in adulthood. Go Erikson and all your crises.
A note. This is why I'm apprehensive of my
*lovely* cousin Lucia (not Geraldine!) taking Psychology in Uni. Oh Santa Lucia, you couldn't look at us the same since secondary school. We are not of noble birth, unworthy and lacking in a CHIJ accent. Even if you always did the best in school, you're probably the last person I want telling me to tell you about my repressed memories. Here, I've unrepressed this one.
So yes, people don't like their doctors to be contradictory. When a doctor is contradictory, it's like having heart problems, and he prescribes flu meds. My mum used to yell at this opthalmologist who couldn't decide whether he wanted to proceed with an eye surgery for me. There came a fine young man, his confidence making up for his lack of experience (sounds like Obama) and said, "Ma'am, let's do this". The surgery was a success and today he is an advisor to Mount Elizabeth Hospital.
Happy belated Teacher's Day. Especially you, Mdm Priya. If there was anything I could give you, it would be to pass on the code of honour as a psychology student. Y'know, to someone who needs his or her smile back, way into the distant future.
