"How do you make all your teachers love you?" I received this question on askfm recently, and it had me thinking.

Teachers have never liked me because I was their intellectually gifted straight-A student; or that saccharinely polite goody two shoes that sits quietly in the corner and smiles earnestly with blushed cheeks; or that perfect kid with impeccably neat handwriting and infallibly prompt assignments. In fact, I'm none of the above. Not because I'm a renegade recalcitrant, but I'm just not those things. I'm that bordering on average student who disrupts classes with incessant chatter, oscillates between flat-out takes-a-nap-in-class tired and hyperactively amused-at-every-little-thing, and laughs way too loudly.

But I do get along quite well with – most of – my teachers.

So, are teachers dense? Why would they like such a student?

Honestly, I don't know why. But this brings me way back to a precious lesson that much-younger-Vanessa taught herself. At a very early point in primary school, younger-Vanessa taught herself that every teacher has two selves: (I quote) the 'grumpy grown-up' and the 'hidden little child'.

The 'grumpy grown-up' was the one who wears grown-up clothes i.e. not the school uniform; the one who stands and yells at children seating in tiny chairs; the one who wields the red pen and points out the wrongs. While the 'hidden little child' was the character who laughs at jokes and tries to hide a smile when a student does something unintentionally silly; the one who wears a sleepy, sullen face on Monday mornings and heaves silent sighs when the day is turning out to be a train-wreck; the one who sits in the canteen with their cliques comprising of the same adults every recess. The catch is, as younger-Vanessa pointed out to herself, these two personas exist simultaneously in the same body. Of every single teacher.

In fact, she grew to realise, this was not just for teachers – but for all adults.

That was when younger-Vanessa taught herself: the trick to making peace with these elusive creatures – Teachers/Adults – is to appeal to their 'hidden little child', instead of trying hard to crack the 'grumpy grown-up'. And that was exactly what she did.

(Excuse the digression, some sort of relevance with surface soon.) Now, let's relook at the first list I mentioned earlier – straight A kids, well-behaved, conscientious. Younger-Vanessa taught herself that when such students were favoured by teachers, it was because they had earned the respect and liking of the 'grumpy grown-up' half. Why? 'Grumpy grown-ups' have a job that they have to complete – mess up the job, they mess up their tiny adult lives. So of course, why wouldn't they love that student who eases their responsibility, essentially making their lives a whole lot easier.

But that is superficial. Functional. It is different with the 'hidden little child'. Younger-Vanessa saw through the guises and pretence. She realised these 'hidden little child' figures were pretty much like any other child. These hidden facets of her teachers would rather defy their bed-times and wake up at noon and roll around doing nothing; play games and eat candy and push the blame; watch television all day and chat with friends and throw a tantrum when things just suck. Just as she felt at that age.

So, younger-Vanessa taught herself to identify the things that a kid – just like a 'hidden little child' – would need most:

1) comfort and a conducive social environment – as a kid at school, perhaps you dread having that bothersome teacher pick on you, or your peers deserting/bullying you. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher does not like the 'grumpy grown-up' selves of their bosses making their lives hell either; neither do they enjoy having the other 'hidden little child' selves in their colleagues playing passive-aggressive politics over departmental meetings)

2) validation and praise – good job on the effort you invested in conquering that tough maths question; well done, you deserve to be proud of that essay you spent hours perfecting. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher wants to know they have done something right too, that their well-intentioned "it's for your own good"s have achieved something more than a scowl on your face and a complaint from your parents.)

3) attention – imagine excitedly telling your friends you've discovered a new super-cool game, only to have them sneer and ignore you because they think their current toy is way cooler/the best in the world. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher is, likewise, trying to teach you something new and extremely interesting, but ends up receiving nothing but insolent disregard because their audience has a i'm-too-cool-for-this-useless-bs attitude.)

Comfort. Validation. Attention. The 3 key things that younger-Vanessa taught herself to address in order to connect with the 'hidden little child' in her teachers – in turn making her teachers like her.

So how does this carry through as an older student? I'd let you in on another secret of the trade. I've always joked with my friends that my trick to connecting with teachers is to be 'bad' at the beginning, and gradually become 'good'. Of course, that is a JOKE. But there is a certain amount of seriousness behind it (hear me out).

When I say be 'bad', I don't exactly mean wreak havoc and personify an education system's greatest nightmare. Instead, I mean, be real. Be exactly the person you are when you're not a student. By that, you have to demonstrate your virtues and strengths, as well as your 'bad' side, your weakness. Interestingly, you'd see that when you're wholly and uninhibitedly real, teachers – or people in general – will often see only the bad; or at least in the very beginning. And when this happens, the 'grumpy grown-up' figure in teachers will try to assert their authority and reign you in. Trust me, they will talk you down, they will threaten, they will even scream (sometimes) like a maniac, basically they will do all it takes within them to try to discipline you. To CHANGE you. But that is simply the 'grumpy grown-up's way of reacting to it. That is how they have trained themselves to react to "difficult children". (Younger-Vanessa learnt this through those primary school years where she was often made to sit next to some of the naughtiest boys.)

Over time, they will discover it's ineffectual. At this point, two things can happen: they will give up on you; or, the 'grumpy grown-up' figure will give up on you. When the latter happens, this is when the 'hidden little child' in them gradually surfaces. The 'hidden little child' sees what the 'grumpy grown-up' fails to; it sees the 'good' in the real you. Drawn to the genuinity displayed, this is when the 'hidden little child' allows bonds to be forged – sans pretence. At this point, the 'grumpy grown-up' suddenly does a second-take: hey wait, perhaps this kid isn't as bad as I thought, perhaps I managed to change them. The truth, you merely managed to connect your 'hidden little child' with theirs. Which is so much more valuable, and so much more important.

'Hidden little children' – just like all children – build bonds. They build bridges. Because bridges are beautiful, simple, and strong. Because their innocence entitles them to selflessness; the selflessness to share a portion of themselves with another individual.

'Grumpy grown-ups' – or adults who have effectively suppressed or abandoned their inner 'hidden little child' – build themselves. Life has moulded them to mould themselves. To continually build steps and scaffoldings and platforms in order to construct an unassailable path to the top, to success; to continually build up walls and fences around themselves to keep others out, to keep themselves in.

In retrospect, older-Vanessa realises the 'hidden little child' and 'grumpy grown-up' characters her younger-self identified could simply have represented an adult's private/personal and public/professional selves. So you see, the 'hidden little child' is pretty much just the actual, living Person behind the persona of the Teacher.

From a very young age, this has thus helped me to see my teachers as people – instead of mere mindless machines. It is what prompts me to greet my teachers when I enter a class, and thank them when I leave. It is why I enjoy listening to their personal anecdotes and cracking obnoxious inside jokes with them because I like the presence of the person more than the hollow shell of their occupational role. I participate in class and try to remain engaged because we all know the disgusting feeling of attempting to hold a conversation with an awkward/disinterested person who keeps killing it. Asking how my teachers are doing or enquiring about their weekend or checking in when they look under the weather then comes naturally to me, because that is how I treat people around me. I like holding conversations with teachers not because I enjoy being a frivolous sycophantic character, but because they can actually be quite interesting people. And some of the best pick-me-ups I've had are the random mutual commiserations through stressful periods that I share with teachers along corridors, who prior that exchange did not even know I existed.

So how do I make all my teachers like me? It's a sacred art, my friend.

[Hypothetically embarrassing plot-twist: my teachers hate me. HAHA.]

I’ve always been somewhat ambivalent towards the idea of Teachers’ Day. It’s that ONE special day every year where you make/buy a card, buy a ton of chocolate by bulk and proclaim from the rooftops that you are unspeakably indebted and grateful to this other human being, whom you (for slightly more than a perfect 24hrs) swear has utterly changed you for the better; whom you declare you absolutely love with all your heart. Yes, it's all perfectly heart-warming and meaningful – but why then does it appear almost like a mere token gesture in retrospect?

Of course, cynicism aside, it is incredibly beautiful to see the outpouring of love and appreciation from students to their teachers on this special day. Indeed, I am ever so grateful to the tutors and mentors I’ve met (especially in ACSI).

Beyond intricately planned lessons and painstaking commitment, I realised the teachers who have left the greatest impact on me all shared one thing in common: they were all wholly, unapologetically, and unabashedly themselves – even when standing in front of a class of restless, hypercritical adolescents. These teachers were the ones who knew how to laugh at themselves; the ones who abandoned pretence the moment they assumed the role of The Teacher, and openly demonstrated their strengths, and weaknesses; the ones who invested themselves completely into their content, and unconditionally cared for each and every one of their students (even the difficult ones). This element of genuinity and realness is what facilitates the connections that catalyses and sustains boundless learning and teaching.

In these two years, the teachers I’ve encountered have undeniably played an instrumental role in my IB life. I don't know how I would have surmounted CASEETOKIA (all that coursework!) without the tutelage, emotional support, and endless encouragement by my teachers!

They say we are defined as much by our experiences, as we are by the people that nurtured us. And I'd believe it's true. So be it teachers’ day – or any other day – I am beyond grateful to be blessed with the guidance and care of such amazing individuals! Thank you for believing in me, even when I found it difficult to believe in myself.

-

IB special mentions:

To Mr Ben Chan, thank you for constantly reminding me that however listless I am, there is only just a LITTLE bit left to go – and that I’m a queen that can do anything. The perfect balance you strike between nonsensical humour and effective/crystal-clear tutelage is god-sent. Quantum would have (literally) been impossible without you!

To Ms Diana Chng, thank you for showing me that although life is cruel and life may suck, but it’s still okay. And that with confidence and poise and the right pair of killer heels, you are set to rule the world. Thank you for being a role-model and for the ever-insightful advice to what may seem as adolescent angst.

AND To Ms Doreen Ang (my dear EE supervisor!), thank you for pushing me to aim so much higher than I could ever imagine; for giving me the courage to push academic boundaries and to just write; for continually assuaging my unwarranted worries and fears every single time I allow them to hinder my progress. You are my rock, and my EQ barometre.

---

Who can say that I’ve been changed for the better, but because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

"How do you make all your teachers love you?" I received this question on askfm recently, and it had me thinking.

Teachers have never liked me because I was their intellectually gifted straight-A student; or that saccharinely polite goody two shoes that sits quietly in the corner and smiles earnestly with blushed cheeks; or that perfect kid with impeccably neat handwriting and infallibly prompt assignments. In fact, I'm none of the above. Not because I'm a renegade recalcitrant, but I'm just not those things. I'm that bordering on average student who disrupts classes with incessant chatter, oscillates between flat-out takes-a-nap-in-class tired and hyperactively amused-at-every-little-thing, and laughs way too loudly.

But I do get along quite well with – most of – my teachers.

So, are teachers dense? Why would they like such a student?

Honestly, I don't know why. But this brings me way back to a precious lesson that much-younger-Vanessa taught herself. At a very early point in primary school, younger-Vanessa taught herself that every teacher has two selves: (I quote) the 'grumpy grown-up' and the 'hidden little child'.

The 'grumpy grown-up' was the one who wears grown-up clothes i.e. not the school uniform; the one who stands and yells at children seating in tiny chairs; the one who wields the red pen and points out the wrongs. While the 'hidden little child' was the character who laughs at jokes and tries to hide a smile when a student does something unintentionally silly; the one who wears a sleepy, sullen face on Monday mornings and heaves silent sighs when the day is turning out to be a train-wreck; the one who sits in the canteen with their cliques comprising of the same adults every recess. The catch is, as younger-Vanessa pointed out to herself, these two personas exist simultaneously in the same body. Of every single teacher.

In fact, she grew to realise, this was not just for teachers – but for all adults.

That was when younger-Vanessa taught herself: the trick to making peace with these elusive creatures – Teachers/Adults – is to appeal to their 'hidden little child', instead of trying hard to crack the 'grumpy grown-up'. And that was exactly what she did.

(Excuse the digression, some sort of relevance with surface soon.) Now, let's relook at the first list I mentioned earlier – straight A kids, well-behaved, conscientious. Younger-Vanessa taught herself that when such students were favoured by teachers, it was because they had earned the respect and liking of the 'grumpy grown-up' half. Why? 'Grumpy grown-ups' have a job that they have to complete – mess up the job, they mess up their tiny adult lives. So of course, why wouldn't they love that student who eases their responsibility, essentially making their lives a whole lot easier.

But that is superficial. Functional. It is different with the 'hidden little child'. Younger-Vanessa saw through the guises and pretence. She realised these 'hidden little child' figures were pretty much like any other child. These hidden facets of her teachers would rather defy their bed-times and wake up at noon and roll around doing nothing; play games and eat candy and push the blame; watch television all day and chat with friends and throw a tantrum when things just suck. Just as she felt at that age.

So, younger-Vanessa taught herself to identify the things that a kid – just like a 'hidden little child' – would need most:

1) comfort and a conducive social environment – as a kid at school, perhaps you dread having that bothersome teacher pick on you, or your peers deserting/bullying you. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher does not like the 'grumpy grown-up' selves of their bosses making their lives hell either; neither do they enjoy having the other 'hidden little child' selves in their colleagues playing passive-aggressive politics over departmental meetings)

2) validation and praise – good job on the effort you invested in conquering that tough maths question; well done, you deserve to be proud of that essay you spent hours perfecting. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher wants to know they have done something right too, that their well-intentioned "it's for your own good"s have achieved something more than a scowl on your face and a complaint from your parents.)

3) attention – imagine excitedly telling your friends you've discovered a new super-cool game, only to have them sneer and ignore you because they think their current toy is way cooler/the best in the world. (that 'hidden little child' in the teacher is, likewise, trying to teach you something new and extremely interesting, but ends up receiving nothing but insolent disregard because their audience has a i'm-too-cool-for-this-useless-bs attitude.)

Comfort. Validation. Attention. The 3 key things that younger-Vanessa taught herself to address in order to connect with the 'hidden little child' in her teachers – in turn making her teachers like her.

So how does this carry through as an older student? I'd let you in on another secret of the trade. I've always joked with my friends that my trick to connecting with teachers is to be 'bad' at the beginning, and gradually become 'good'. Of course, that is a JOKE. But there is a certain amount of seriousness behind it (hear me out).

When I say be 'bad', I don't exactly mean wreak havoc and personify an education system's greatest nightmare. Instead, I mean, be real. Be exactly the person you are when you're not a student. By that, you have to demonstrate your virtues and strengths, as well as your 'bad' side, your weakness. Interestingly, you'd see that when you're wholly and uninhibitedly real, teachers – or people in general – will often see only the bad; or at least in the very beginning. And when this happens, the 'grumpy grown-up' figure in teachers will try to assert their authority and reign you in. Trust me, they will talk you down, they will threaten, they will even scream (sometimes) like a maniac, basically they will do all it takes within them to try to discipline you. To CHANGE you. But that is simply the 'grumpy grown-up's way of reacting to it. That is how they have trained themselves to react to "difficult children". (Younger-Vanessa learnt this through those primary school years where she was often made to sit next to some of the naughtiest boys.)

Over time, they will discover it's ineffectual. At this point, two things can happen: they will give up on you; or, the 'grumpy grown-up' figure will give up on you. When the latter happens, this is when the 'hidden little child' in them gradually surfaces. The 'hidden little child' sees what the 'grumpy grown-up' fails to; it sees the 'good' in the real you. Drawn to the genuinity displayed, this is when the 'hidden little child' allows bonds to be forged – sans pretence. At this point, the 'grumpy grown-up' suddenly does a second-take: hey wait, perhaps this kid isn't as bad as I thought, perhaps I managed to change them. The truth, you merely managed to connect your 'hidden little child' with theirs. Which is so much more valuable, and so much more important.

'Hidden little children' – just like all children – build bonds. They build bridges. Because bridges are beautiful, simple, and strong. Because their innocence entitles them to selflessness; the selflessness to share a portion of themselves with another individual.

'Grumpy grown-ups' – or adults who have effectively suppressed or abandoned their inner 'hidden little child' – build themselves. Life has moulded them to mould themselves. To continually build steps and scaffoldings and platforms in order to construct an unassailable path to the top, to success; to continually build up walls and fences around themselves to keep others out, to keep themselves in.

In retrospect, older-Vanessa realises the 'hidden little child' and 'grumpy grown-up' characters her younger-self identified could simply have represented an adult's private/personal and public/professional selves. So you see, the 'hidden little child' is pretty much just the actual, living Person behind the persona of the Teacher.

From a very young age, this has thus helped me to see my teachers as people – instead of mere mindless machines. It is what prompts me to greet my teachers when I enter a class, and thank them when I leave. It is why I enjoy listening to their personal anecdotes and cracking obnoxious inside jokes with them because I like the presence of the person more than the hollow shell of their occupational role. I participate in class and try to remain engaged because we all know the disgusting feeling of attempting to hold a conversation with an awkward/disinterested person who keeps killing it. Asking how my teachers are doing or enquiring about their weekend or checking in when they look under the weather then comes naturally to me, because that is how I treat people around me. I like holding conversations with teachers not because I enjoy being a frivolous sycophantic character, but because they can actually be quite interesting people. And some of the best pick-me-ups I've had are the random mutual commiserations through stressful periods that I share with teachers along corridors, who prior that exchange did not even know I existed.

So how do I make all my teachers like me? It's a sacred art, my friend.

[Hypothetically embarrassing plot-twist: my teachers hate me. HAHA.]

I’ve always been somewhat ambivalent towards the idea of Teachers’ Day. It’s that ONE special day every year where you make/buy a card, buy a ton of chocolate by bulk and proclaim from the rooftops that you are unspeakably indebted and grateful to this other human being, whom you (for slightly more than a perfect 24hrs) swear has utterly changed you for the better; whom you declare you absolutely love with all your heart. Yes, it's all perfectly heart-warming and meaningful – but why then does it appear almost like a mere token gesture in retrospect?

Of course, cynicism aside, it is incredibly beautiful to see the outpouring of love and appreciation from students to their teachers on this special day. Indeed, I am ever so grateful to the tutors and mentors I’ve met (especially in ACSI).

Beyond intricately planned lessons and painstaking commitment, I realised the teachers who have left the greatest impact on me all shared one thing in common: they were all wholly, unapologetically, and unabashedly themselves – even when standing in front of a class of restless, hypercritical adolescents. These teachers were the ones who knew how to laugh at themselves; the ones who abandoned pretence the moment they assumed the role of The Teacher, and openly demonstrated their strengths, and weaknesses; the ones who invested themselves completely into their content, and unconditionally cared for each and every one of their students (even the difficult ones). This element of genuinity and realness is what facilitates the connections that catalyses and sustains boundless learning and teaching.

In these two years, the teachers I’ve encountered have undeniably played an instrumental role in my IB life. I don't know how I would have surmounted CASEETOKIA (all that coursework!) without the tutelage, emotional support, and endless encouragement by my teachers!

They say we are defined as much by our experiences, as we are by the people that nurtured us. And I'd believe it's true. So be it teachers’ day – or any other day – I am beyond grateful to be blessed with the guidance and care of such amazing individuals! Thank you for believing in me, even when I found it difficult to believe in myself.

-

IB special mentions:

To Mr Ben Chan, thank you for constantly reminding me that however listless I am, there is only just a LITTLE bit left to go – and that I’m a queen that can do anything. The perfect balance you strike between nonsensical humour and effective/crystal-clear tutelage is god-sent. Quantum would have (literally) been impossible without you!

To Ms Diana Chng, thank you for showing me that although life is cruel and life may suck, but it’s still okay. And that with confidence and poise and the right pair of killer heels, you are set to rule the world. Thank you for being a role-model and for the ever-insightful advice to what may seem as adolescent angst.

AND To Ms Doreen Ang (my dear EE supervisor!), thank you for pushing me to aim so much higher than I could ever imagine; for giving me the courage to push academic boundaries and to just write; for continually assuaging my unwarranted worries and fears every single time I allow them to hinder my progress. You are my rock, and my EQ barometre.

---

Who can say that I’ve been changed for the better, but because I knew you, I have been changed for good.