by You Jin
Ai, the boy was probably having another bout of exam-phobia.
To be honest, my first impression of Yao Zu had been extremely positive. Tall and slender, with long legs that were held straight and close together, he was not a talkative student. His serene eyes always demonstrated undivided attention when he was listening to me in class. When I wasn’t speaking, however, his eyes would betray his preoccupation with other thoughts. Due to his mature and calm demeanour, he stood out amongst the group of hyperactive, boisterous students. Hence he was the logical choice for class monitor when the students elected their class committee members.
Methodical in everything he did, he performed all his tasks well, and often volunteered for work that wasn’t required of him. What I appreciated most was his serious and diligent approach to his studies. His homework, for instance, was flawless and he presented detailed and convincing arguments to analytical questions, fully demonstrating the clarity of his thinking.
It seemed logical that such a student would come out on top in tests and exams. Reality, however, showed that I couldn’t have been more mistaken.
In April the school held an important common test. He did terribly, failing every one of the three required and three elective subjects.
Surprised rather than upset, I asked him to see me in the staff room. He hung his head without speaking. When I asked him what was wrong, he refused to talk about it and apologised profusely.
“I’m so sorry, Madam Tham. I’ll do better next time.”
I called his home and asked his mother to come and see me. She was in her forties, but looked much older. Her age did not manifest itself superficially in the form of wrinkles, but in her worn-out expression. It was a sad sight to behold. With a pair of lifeless eyes, her face was like a pit after the meaty fruit around it had been sucked dry. Yet she startled me when she opened her mouth, for she rambled on and on incoherently.
“With Yao Zu in this state, you have no idea how much pain it would bring his father. I’m utterly worthless and it makes no difference whether I’m alive or dead. Sometimes I wish I could switch places with his father. I tell Yao Zu all the time to study hard. If he doesn’t, he’ll disappoint his father. But now, what’s the use of studying hard? His father’s gone. I’m so useless I can’t even take care of a child.”
Yao Zu was quiet the whole time, watching his mother with a tender, concerned gaze.
“When did your father pass away, Yao Zu?” I turned to ask him.
“Last year.”
“Due to an illness?”
He shook his head. “An airplane crash. He was on a business trip to Indonesia.”
I did recall hearing about a plane flying to Singapore from Indonesia that had crashed into a river. Who would have thought that his father would be one of the victims? Maybe his mother had aged so drastically because she had yet to recover from the heartrending grief. Perhaps Yao Zu had been so deeply affected that he was having trouble concentrating during his exams. What I could not understand was, why would such an outstanding student perform so poorly only during tests and exams? His recent test scores were so appalling, they couldn’t simply be attributed to emotional distress or anxiety.
I tried talking to him several times after that day, but he clammed up like a walnut. He was impossible to pry open, except for a repeated promise: “I’ll work hard, Madam Tham, I will.”
No matter how hard he worked, however, he still came up short during tests and exams.
Illness in the heart can only be treated from the inside. There had to be a dark shadow deep inside him, but how could I root out the demon that had taken hold of his heart if he refused to open up?
2
Not long after that, an opportunity presented itself. A renowned magazine was sponsoring an essay contest for all the students in the country. It had a creative topic: “The Shadow of a Snake in a Cup: On My Fears.”
This was a reference to a classical Chinese literary allusion. A person who is afraid of snakes is likely to mistake the shadow of an archery bow in a cup for a snake.
I did my best to urge my students to participate.
“Writing is sometimes more effective than therapy,” I suggested meaningfully. “If you can write frankly about your fears, that means you are able to confront your problems head-on. A person who can face problems calmly can often lance festering internal sores, and find solutions to problems that have been lurking for a long time.” Then I ended on a lighter note. “The contest comes with a hefty cash prize. See what an incredible bargain it is—by speaking honestly about your fears, you can receive a monetary reward.”
Everyone but Yao Zu laughed. He remained expressionless.
More than a week passed, and by then quite a few students had turned in their essays. But Yao Zu had not made a move, so I switched tactics and forced him into doing so.
“Everyone, I’ve decided that you all have to submit an essay for the competition,” I announced in class. “In ten days, not a day later.”
Yao Zu waited until the last day to hand in his essay. His expression was solemn.
“I have a request, Madam Tham.”
I nodded for him to go on.
“This essay is for your eyes only,” he said, dead serious. “I don’t want to submit it to the contest.”
I agreed to his request. As soon as I reached the staff room, I began to read his essay. It was long and the writing was sloppy, a clear sign of his inner turmoil. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read on. What a tormented child.
One long section of the essay went like this:
“The plane crash not only snatched away my father’s life but on a certain level, took my mother’s along with it. And mine, of course. My mother is no longer the woman who once wore a smile all the time. She’s become moody and agitated. One minute she’ll nag me to study hard to comfort my father’s spirit in heaven and the next she’ll be dismissive of hard work, since it can’t bring my father back. Everything in life is pointless, including life itself, which is transient and an illusion. She’ll be saying all this to me and begin to cry bitterly. There is never a peaceful moment at home. My emotional response to a mother like this is complex. Sometimes I want to cover my ears and escape from her; sometimes I feel like running away from home; sometimes I want to just grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she wakes up and walks out of her dark world to live again; but most of the time, I watch quietly and let her vent. The person we both loved so deeply is gone, and now I’m all she has, so I must be a strong support for her. I can’t hurt her. I can’t, I simply can’t. My mother is different now and so am I. I’m no longer the same confident person I once was. In the past, I always believed I would have everything under my control so long as I was well prepared. But look at my father, he was a man who knew what to do and had everything planned out, and yet, he had no control over his own life. The day before he left for his trip, he smiled and said to me, “We’ll all go to Taiwan over the December school holidays.” But in an instant, that lively person vanished like flying dust and dying ashes, leaving no trace behind. We had a major exam a month after my father died. When I opened the exam booklet, for some unknown reason, I saw balls of raging fire roiling and rolling all over the page. My mind was a blank and all I wanted to do was run away, run to some far-off place. I struggled to finish the exam, but I was exhausted from terror. I’d always gotten the best exam results in the past, but this time I barely passed. Now, even after entering secondary school, the terror continues to pursue me like a demon. I’m afraid. I’m really afraid that my life is over.”
Clutching Yao Zu’s essay, I felt like I was seeing a helpless soul sobbing in pain. He didn’t know that he was suffering from psychological trauma, and was struggling vainly and all alone in a dark abyss. Sadly his mother was in worse shape than he was, and she had no intention of seeking professional help.
I had a long talk with him the next day and stressed the importance of therapy for both mother and son. With help from
the school, I arranged for him to meet with a therapist once a week and suggested that he send his mother to a hospital for formal therapy.
A few weeks later, I checked on him. He said with a smile that his mother had been taking anti-depressants and had accepted her therapist’s suggestion to volunteer at a nursing home. Now that she had expanded her circle of daily life, there were fewer chances for her to be preoccupied with all sorts of wild thoughts, and as a result, she was no longer as incoherent as before.
Now that his mother was getting better, I assumed that the son would also make real progress. When I asked the resident therapist, I was surprised to learn that she was having trouble entering Yao Zu’s inner world, since he was so reluctant to talk. On those rare occasions when he did speak, he was flawlessly polite and brimming with confidence, the opposite of someone in need of psychological help.
I was not fooled, however; Yao Zu had problems. I was sure of that. His problems would show up as soon as he entered an exam room. But what could I do to help rid him of the demon in his heart?
3
I happened upon a documentary film one day.
It was about training elephants in a circus. The trainer tied a baby elephant to a big, thick post. The elephant struggled with all its might, but could not move an inch. Then the trainer tied it to a smaller post, and still the elephant could not break free. A few days later, the trainer used a much smaller post, and again the elephant tried, to no avail. As time went on, the elephant came to the conclusion that it could never break free from the wooden post or anything resembling one. Once such reasoning had formed in its head, it would never try to break free again because of its previous repeated failures—even though by now it had grown into an elephant strong enough to break free. In other words, it gave up on itself. By this time, even a small post was sufficient to subdue an adult elephant. Thus, without much trouble, the trainer could control an animal that weighed several tonnes and make it perform all sorts of difficult tasks without meeting any resistance.
My mind raced after I watched the documentary. The elephant feared a post simply because of a dark shadow in its mind. Although the shadow itself possessed no real power, it was potent enough to wear away the animal’s courage, to the point where humans could enslave it for the rest of its life. What terrified and worried Yao Zu most was a similarly shadowy illusion. He was being helplessly eaten away by habitual fear. It almost seemed as though the film had been shot specifically for him.
After countless phone calls, I finally got hold of a copy of the film from a friend. The exams were only a week away, so I handed it to Yao Zu the next day.
“Watch this carefully, Yao Zu,” I said prudently. “Watch it more than once. You’ll find it very helpful.”
He returned the film a few days later, looking like it had made an impact on him. I was comforted by the happy impression that thought-provoking pictures and stories sometimes work better on an intelligent person than straightforward didacticism.
When I saw cold sweat pouring down his pale face in the examination hall, however, I felt my heart plummet. After much hesitation, I made up my mind and walked up to the chief invigilator.
“The student over there,” I said in a low voice, pointing to Yao Zu, “is having an anxiety attack. I’d like to take him outside for some fresh air.”
One look told the invigilator that something was wrong. He nodded, giving his permission. I strode over and gently rapped on the boy’s desk. He looked up at me.
“Come with me, Yao Zu,” I whispered.
Putting down his pen, he followed me outside, where we were surrounded by the sight of cool and pleasing greenery. Slender bamboo stood in a corner of the campus.
We walked over and I pointed at an unusually long, thin bamboo pole.
“Use your imagination, Yao Zu. Imagine that you are a powerful elephant. A tiny bamboo pole like this is no match for you. Go on, break free from it. You can do it. I know you can.”
He stood there quietly for a while before finally saying, “I’d like to return to the exam hall, Madam Tham.”
We went back inside and I walked off as soon as he sat down. When I turned to look a moment later, he was wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Taiwan’s Living Psychology magazine for publishing the original collection of short stories reflecting the issues facing Singapore’s youth.
My gratitude also goes to Edmund Wee, the founder of Epigram Books, for publishing Teaching Cats to Jump Hoops and for allowing these short stories to take on a different voice in a different language, to Dr. Chua Chee Lay for his valuable insights and opinions, and finally to my daughter, Jacinta Lim Ke Jun, for her time and effort spent on reading and suggesting improvements to the manuscript.
OTHER BOOKS IN THE CULTURAL MEDALLION SERIES
Flowers at Dawn by Singai Ma Elangkannan
Penghulu by Suratman Markasan
Under the Bed, Confusion by Wong Meng Voon
The Earnest Mask by Xi Ni Er