I recently reactivated my Facebook account after a long hiatus. While scrolling, I noticed an unread message in my Messenger inbox from a former teacher, dated Oct 18, 2017.
The message was simple: a Deepavali greeting, addressed to me as “Dr” – I had just graduated from medical school – and signed off with the affectionate nickname he had always used for me: budak (child).
In that instant, memories came flooding back.
The truth is, I would never have become a medical doctor – let alone a psychiatrist in higher specialist training in the UK – without him.
There is a Tamil saying that places the most important figures in a person’s life in this order: mother, father, teacher, and only then God. For me, he firmly belongs on that list.
Few people can truly say they changed the trajectory of someone’s life. My teacher did. Whenever I return home, I visit him with a small gift, knowing that some debts, like freely given knowledge, can never be repaid.
When I was nine, my primary school Mathematics teacher called me stupid, a word that lingered for years and soured my relationship with the subject into secondary school.In Form Four, I failed my first Additional Mathematics monthly test. My father was disappointed and I felt truly lost. It was decided that I needed tuition.
My sleepy kampung had only two tuition centres: one rejected me outright, while the other, run by a teacher I would later call Sir, let me attend despite objections from students unwilling to accommodate me.
However, after one class some students objected; they did not want lessons conducted in a language I could understand.
Instead of turning me away, Sir said words I have never forgotten: “Budak, it is not right for me to say no to you when you want to learn. You have a right to learn.”
From then on, he tutored me in his free time. He initially refused payment but my mother insisted that teachers must be paid for the knowledge they impart, and in time he accepted a token fee.
One day, he told me with quiet certainty, “I will make sure you get an 'A' for Additional Mathematics in the SPM trials. You can do it. I know you can.” I did not believe him. From a score of 42, an "A" felt impossible. But no one had ever placed such trust in me before. Determined not to betray that faith, I worked harder than I ever had.
Then it happened. I scored 99% in the Johor state-level SPM Additional Mathematics trial. That single result changed everything. It gave me a confidence I had never known and told me, for the first time, that perhaps I was not stupid after all – that perhaps I could become someone.
Sir never takes credit. Whenever I thank him, he says I succeeded because I worked hard. But I know the truth: I succeeded because someone finally believed in me. He could not bear to turn away a student seeking help, and his faith changed the course of my future. Without him, I would never have cleared both Mathematics and Additional Mathematics in the SPM.
Every child – indeed, every human being – needs at least one person to say, “I believe in you.” For me, that person was Sir.
Today, as a psychiatrist, I see how words shape lives. My work often involves offering new, kinder words, and paying forward a gift that can never be repaid.
Thank you, Sir.
