Got this from the Malaysian Insider. A good piece of writing.

OCT 29 — I won’t forget. “Boys, everyone in this class can become prime minister except Praba.” You think at 16 you have figured out how to be, well, bullet-proof but then these things happen to you.

Sorry teacher I missed the part in the national curriculum which insists all Fourth Form history teachers have to tell the only student in the class who is not constitutionally Malay that he has unstated limits — and better bloody well accept them.

But then again they were changing the curriculum by the year, as they were history itself (yes, yes a mild pun for the boys and girls at the PWTC).

Going back to my batch reunion over the weekend at the old school hall does make one nostalgic even for the bitter episodes, the ones I fondly refer to as “hurt lessons”. Because you see, all 16-year-olds are as fragile as thin sheets of ice in an old refrigerator.

So the verbal bashing I took from my teacher for two years was a toughening-up exercise. You either learn to put up with the discomforts and get what you can from the situation, or you walk out.

I don’t walk out, ever.

My parents sacrificed plenty so that I got opportunities no one in my bloodline previously had, so no Universiti Malaya BA honours holder was about to throw me off my game.

For you see Cikgu M___ was a brilliant teacher. She had a way of engaging the disinterested and a passion which was clearly above her psychological demons.

She was just warped, that is all. And I do think my persistency in receiving her mental blows without complaint unnerved her. I was her personal piñata as I also served as president of the Historical Society — which she advised.

My prized pearls from her? Number one, her allegory of servants: Even if your servant lives in your home, labours to make the home better for all and is the reason for your wellbeing, don’t forget a servant is still a servant. No amount of contribution turns a servant into master.

Second, her version of managing expectations; I finished second in her subject, but my exam paper was filled with cross-outs and re-markings. If you add the original marks together, I would have finished first. Being silly, I asked her why the marking down. Cikgu M___ said she did not want me to be overconfident for my SPM. So I had to give up the book prize for the subject so that I won’t underestimate things in life.

You can be rest assured Cikgu, lesson learnt.

The two years tattooed on me that very clever people can be sold on absolutely absurd ideas, and more so in extension sell them unashamedly.

The real bit about the whole thing, for me at least, is that how the 26 boys in my class reacted to her always undermining my demographics — and not me — and underlining that I am to die separate from my classmates.

Over the two years, my classmates were spectacular. The only colour in the class was the eight sports house colours we had. They stood by me and I am indebted to them then, as I am today.

The Malaysia we live in is only getting more convoluted by the day. It does not help that we are desperately short of statesmen — citizens who rise above the petty and give themselves up for those they do not know, but believe in.

So for every example I might produce of why this country works with the people presently in them, it will be met by 99 examples of where the country has failed so many good people.

I am sure, however, everyone has their own “hurt lessons” only Malaysia can dish out. Which is why I theorise Malaysians are such resilient creatures. For most who live under a feudal system built primarily to sustain itself irrespective of human cost, survivors are like life-long war veterans.

Which is why I tell the people abroad in mirth that the general Malaysian is likely to outlive cockroaches in a nuclear fallout.

Too much has happened in this country for us to just wake up and forget about it. But mind you, if it is going to be a blame game then none of us are going to get any work done before 2050.

They say love is just chemicals. Which would render hurt as chemicals too. If it is all just a bunch of feelings, can we not rise above it?

I’ve had to rise above Cikgu M___

A couple of years back I was invited back to the school to give a motivation talk to the Fourth Formers. I arrived and waited just beside the side entrance to the hall as they were about to introduce me.

As I turned to pick my pack, looking down at me was Cikgu M____. And she goes, “Too big headed to say hello to your old teacher?”

It was quite a Seinfeld meet Jack Nicholson moment. Between a wise crack and how she rather not “handle the truth” .

I smiled and said I have not. She gave me an education, and some more — and how I was raised teachers come just after your parents.

So she tried to mess me up, and my feelings will always be mixed about her. So be it.

Reginald Dwight’s lyricist sums it best: “I’m still standing, better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.”

That I am. Thanks cikgu.

Years ago, I watched this Madonna movie entitled, "Desperately Seeking Susan".

I'm reminded of that movie because that is how I feel these days. Desperately Seeking God.

I know You won't disappoint me.

"More than one's ministry, God seeks our love. His great commandment is that we love Him, ultimately, with all our mind, all our heart, and all our soul and strength. If we love Him, we will fulfill all He requires of us (see John 14:15). And it is as we love Him that He orchestrates all things to work together for our good (see Rom. 8:28).

Beloved, loving God is not hard. We can fulfill any assignment - auto mechanic or housewife, doctor or college student - and still give great pleasure to our heavenly Father. We do not need ministry titles to love the Lord. Indeed, God measures the value of our lives by the depth of our love. This is what He requires of every true God seeker: to love Him where we are at". Francis Frangipane