FORM THREE, 1977 – PART ONE
This was the year of boom or bust, study or get lucky, do or die – it’s the year of the LCE government exams. Many people cried.
By the end of the year, the exams weeded out the future achievers from the future dreamers, those who studied from those who didn’t. I didn’t want to be bad, I didn’t want to fail, I didn’t want to study, I just want to continue with my friends to Form Four. So, I increased my efforts to listen and pray, while some friends learned to throw the dice.
School began one fine day on 3rd January 1977, and I remembered it clearly. As I walked into class, I received the most pleasant surprise as my passionate wish from last year was granted – boys and girls were placed together in the same class! We were unisex, just like the sign at the hairdressing saloon. Finally, no longer like lambs and puppies separated by cages, we coexist in humane conditions with the freedom to rub shoulders and uniforms too. They call this co-ed but some desperado referred to it as unisex because they really needed it. I think this was a good gesture from the authorities – it recognized our ‘coming’ of age and maturity.
Still, we suspected something sinister behind it; they couldn’t have had such good intentions. Rumors were whispered that it was actually a ploy to tempt us into sin and then split us apart in agony. Initially, I was confused but soon I cleared up my mind. I have been in a co-ed during my primary school and was used to sitting close to the opposing sex. No big deal. I think it’s those who came from all-boys’ school that were intimidated and started the rumors.
Then, on 7th January, it got even better – the sexes became extra unified. Our class teacher, actually a nice lady with noble intentions, rearranged the seating set-up. For the first time, I supported a teacher’s intention. She decided to place boys in a row and alternate it with girls in another row, making sure that a boy will have a girl flanking both sides, and ditto for the girls. This was too hard to believe but it actually happened. All I needed to do was stretch out my arms and female space I enter. The funny thing was this space, just like outer space, behaved like echo bouncing off a cliff – each time I stretched out an arm, two arms came back to echoed my cheeks. Just like they stopped the Apollo missions, I soon stopped stretching my arms.
Inside me, I trembled and whispered to my buddy, “Please let that Brooke Shields sit next to me”. And, I saw her grimaced to her friend, “Look at that skinny boy, his saliva is dripping and nose is bleeding”. Nobody admitted it but this was how every male felt and reacted – suddenly, there was an outbreak of nose bleeds. I knew of one guy who borrowed a used, thick, rectangular handkerchief from a girl and it effectively soaked up all the red blood. He was so happy that he asked for another and was given a new one wrapped hygienically in plastic with these words, “Do not dispose this down the toilet”. Lucky him but after that day, I don't know why he stopped smiling.
Finally, when the dust settled, those who scored with angelic girls as neighbors were envied a lot, and later at night, their dreams were dripping wet. I don’t remember who I sat with or what type of dreams I had, but it must have been exciting. Ahh… finally.
Those of us who didn’t get our dream girls or soggy nights went out to console ourselves with the latest newspaper-magazine, New Thrill. It’s actually in the format of a newspaper but is published weekly with articles on thrilling subjects that were non-mainstream and sometimes taboo – like on extra-terrestrial and terrestrial beings, weird believe it or not happenings, and the main attraction – whatever type of sex capers that was imaginable and publishable.
When it came out, it was an instant hit. Every hormone-charged boy would snapped it up (I don’t know about the girls though) and quietly read it inside their room, especially the short stories on life in Sweden and her bulging (yes, slowly but bulging) film industry. Most of the articles touched on things we knew a little bit but also didn’t knew much, and what little we knew were mainly passed around as legendary stories. So, when we finally saw them on print, they became our new source of reliable information. And, frankly, since it’s on paper licensed by the government, every printed word must be the truth. We believed them, even until today.
Then, there were the Liverpool Library Press books imported from England, another source of well-written reference books that touched on everybody’s deepest, inner most and bottom most interests. But, the English they used were a bit unfamiliar with too much dialogue and expressed in an exotic, passionate way - the writer must have been a hardened person. And, the subjects covered were varied, interesting but at times unbelievable, ranging from neighbors, air stewardess, college students, cats and dogs, to even a donkey. I didn't like the last one, but the guy who borrowed the handkerchief did.
But, this book was hard to get hold of, and once you got hold of it, your hard character came forth – because you refused to lend it to your best friends. And these hard persons were the lucky ones who had cousins from overseas or good connections with the local bookshop owner. But, according to the Law of Nature, every hardened person must eventually turn soft again. Then, softened, they reluctantly shared the book with their friends. This taught me a lesson – if you want to borrow something from your buddy, for example his girlfriend, wait until his nature is softened; then, he will be more agreeable to lend you.
We always wondered why it had the word Library in its title. Legend has it that since it was loaned among friends so often, it resembled a book that you would get from the library – torn at its edges, glued at some pages, stained all over, and some even smelled funny and stale. Please bear in mind that these books are, actually, not available at the library; so, be forewarned – don’t go and ask your kid to borrow it the next time he goes to his school library.
The other day, I googled Liverpool Library Press and was taken to a website where they auction them. Some of the prices were so unbelievably expensive. And, they appeared to be collectibles like those expensive Pokémon cards our kids invested in. I wonder if any of us still have an old copy lying around somewhere. If we could unglue the pages, maybe we could go down memory lane again: Aaahhhhh……oooohhh…..those good young days when all of us could do it daily (reading) . . . without using Uncle Ali’s cane for support.
Maybe, they should have titled our school textbooks New Thrill Science, New Thrill Geography, etc to grab our interest. Just like nowadays, when the Dummy’s Guide books became so popular, every subject had to be titled Dummy’s Guide to Something in order to sell. I am sure every boy, and even girl, will pay more attention to it. And, it would be triple effective if they added the word Liverpool Library to it, like Liverpool Library Biology or Liverpool Library Mathematics, but, please no Liverpool Library Donkeys. Then, I bet you, it would be snapped up like hot buns and in no time the books will be torn at its edges, glued at some pages, stained all over, and smelled funny too. Ah… the power of knowledge, and books.
Of course, we had many other given books that we studied – like, for example, history, accounting, science, and so on. But, I don’t remember much about them, except they still looked very new, even by the end of the year. They must have been printed on durable paper culled from Sarawak’s forest. And, when I tried to google them the other day, I just couldn’t find any. I wanted to go down memory lane again – to know what we actually studied in school. Like someone used to say, “Better late than never”. I know I never, but is it too late? Well, whatever. I think I’ll start with my new Liverpool book first and work my way down. I mean up. Or is it both ways? Books – they always confuse me.
…to be continued.
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