In this post, I wrote of how Peter Williams inspired me to write the book. Below is the letter I wrote to his partner and son upon his passing. To my mind, this would be the prologue of the memoir.

I have been lucky in life to have many good teachers, a few great ones, and fewer still inspirational ones. Even fewer are those, whom as a teacher myself now, I aspire to be. Peter Williams was one of those. Peter taught me in my honours year, but his impact echoes still. There are three things in particular that Peter did for us – his students – that I today as a teacher try my best to do also.

The first thing was literally the first thing on the first day of class. Peter welcomed us – his students – to the class. Most teachers do this, but his welcome was different. He welcomed us by assuring us that since we had made it this far, it meant we were good enough, smart enough, and hardworking enough, to be there in his class. And that those same traits meant that we were going to get through the class. As such, we should get on with our learning with him, not be anxious about getting through the class, or doubt our ability.

It was the first time in 16-17 years of formal education that a teacher that told me I was good enough to be in the class – that I would make it through if I trusted in myself. After class, there was a lot of discussion about that among the us – the students. What perhaps seems like a simple statement – a welcoming gesture – meant a lot to us. Perhaps it was the students from challenging backgrounds who felt that they did not belong, or felt like imposters that appreciated Peter’s gesture the most. But it touched us all. An acknowledgement that we had worked hard to get where we were, and that same attitude would get us through his course – a simple statement that assured so much.

From the welcome to the farewell – the second thing I learned from Peter.

End of semester farewells by teachers in my past were usually gracious farewells with invocations that we must continue to do well, how we confounded our teachers by doing better than expected, or how we must look forward to get ready for future challenges. Occasionally a few snide comments were thrown in for balance. Peter was the first teacher I had who thanked us for letting him teach us, and making it a pleasure for him. Thanked us – his students! He said that he learned from us. A man who we all thought was a genius and a truly remarkable man had learned from us. I felt very proud that I could have had something to offer him, and as did many in the class.

And there was no doubting his sincerity. That is the third thing I learned from him – treating students with respect and honesty.

Peter was very welcoming of questions in class. At times, some of us feel exasperated at the questions that were asked of him. ‘Its obvious’ or ‘Its in the readings’ we would think. But Peter answered those questions in detail, and with great patience. If he was frustrated, it did not show. The best was when someone asked a question that made him pause, or stroke his bristled chin. Those were questions you wanted to ask – the holy grail of questions. He answered them honestly, respectfully, and then invited your response. We were not condescended to, or brushed off – we were treated as equals. Most importantly, your thoughts on his answer was invited sincerely.

As a teacher, its taken me a few years to arrive at a place where I understand what Peter was doing, and even more years to have enough confidence to try to do what Peter did. While Peter is gone, impact on me, and through me on my students lives on as I try my best to the teacher Peter showed me I should be.

The book that I am working on began as an attempt to write about the my experience as a university lecturer entrusted to teach the next generation of our communities who are tasked with building our futures. As I approached my ten-years as a university lecturer, I felt strongly that the direction that education is headed in is doing a disservice to needs of those who have to deal with the coming challenges of climate change, growing local and global inequality, the increased technologisation of our everyday lives, and the such. As an industry, education itself faces many challenges, from the retreat of the state in funding education, an assault from the neo-liberal economic rationalists, as well as needing to recalibrate itself to meet the needs of a radically differently digital and just-in-time workforce.

When I did try to write that, it sounded like a polemic screed with a certain preachiness that I do not actually want to have. Perhaps its a task beyond my abilities, and craft.

Then one of best the teachers I have had – Peter Williams – passed away. I wanted to write to his wife and son about the impact Peter had on me. As I wrote the letter, it made me reflect on my teachers, and their importance (for better or worse). I realised then that that is what I needed to write.

Before I write about the future, I need to go back into my past to reflect on my education and its impact on the formation of my identity, my responsibility to my community and my understanding of citizenship. I need to reflect and understand my story, before I attempt  to tell there larger story. After all, that I fundamentally what I think is the overarching purpose of education.

So week 3 in Koh Lanta is coming to an end, and the writing is mostly going well, but there are ups and downs. One of the things I have been struggling with the structure and the ‘so what’ question. Thanks for Brian M, and Suzie Z who were kind enough to have Skype sessions for me to talk about my writing, I think I have a better handle on what I am doing.

So, I will share with you another excerpt from my writing. Please be mindful that this is a draft. Also a special shout out to Philippa B whose voice I hear ‘Sharanjeev’.

People call me Terry, and it is my name.

It is a call that I heed, an utterance I respond to unthinkingly. Semantic satiation is when a word is repeated often enough that it loses meaning to the listener – it is a sound to which elicits a pavlovian response of twisting bodies and disrupted attention to find the caller. It is  attention given uncritically, and generously because it has no meaning anymore.

My name is Sharanjeev, but nobody calls me that.

It is beautiful vibration that begins with ’sh’ – calling for silence asking for quiet and contemplation. Then ‘aran’ follows – the sound begins with ’ah’ – an acknowledgement and an appreciation of the quiet that came before it – and continues with ‘raan’ which brings the lips almost together, closing to the senses to the world – asking for reflection – before ‘jeev’ – asks for a meditative pause before opening the lips to let the world into the quiet.

My name is Sharanjeev, but I have never inhabited Sharanjeev.

I been busying writing so no blog posts. Sorry. Instead have a snippet of what I have been writing.

We were driving along one of the busiest roads in Singapore, when another car starting creeping into our lane. Stephen honked, but the other driver did not stop and hit Stephen’s car. It is expected that we should stop, inspect the damage, and exchange details. We stopped but the other car – instead of stopping – drove off.

So we gave chase, and the driver of the other car eventually pulled into the Sheraton Hotel driveway – some 2-3 kilometres away. Stephen told me to stay in the car – two of us Indians getting down – they might think we want to start something. So I stayed in the car. I see through the mirror Stephen talking to the guy and then suddenly, he reaches into the car and tries to pull the driver out through the window. The driver’s girlfriend gets out from the passenger side and runs to Stephen. I get out to make sure she does not attack him, and that the other passengers don’t also get out. In the resulting mess, the hotel bellboys and doorman have also rushed in to pull everyone apart.

Stephen is not the hot tempered type, quite the opposite. He is usually telling me to calm down. But he is seething at this time. I notice that there are two older people in the car’s backseat. They have not moved in the drama. Stephen is cursing angrily the whole time, and says to me – lets leave.

When we drive away, I ask him what happened – you told me to stay in the car and chill, next thing you are trying to pull the guy out the window – thats not like you – then his girlfriend got out – I had to get out – how come so jialat.

He said that when he asked the driver why he did not stop after the collision, the driver did not say he had not realised that he had hit someone. Instead the driver’s response was that he saw two Indian guys in the car, and thought we were drunk and might beat him up. So he drove away.

He hit another person’s car – saw we were indians – decided we must be drunk – so was afraid of us – so he drove away. This happened on one of the busiest roads in Singapore, during the late afternoon.

Thats the Singapore I grew up in — where a Chinese man with three other Chinese people in his car drives into another car which happens to have two Indians in it, and he is the one afraid. Because Indians are drunk and like to fight. To him, it seemed like a reasonable assumption to make.

Thats how he saw us. And we knew it. Thats why Stephen asked me to stay in the car. But then having that affirmed so bluntly is still hard to take.