Prime Minister, Teacher or Cabbie?

When my class teacher asked me in 1970 ( I was in Standard Five then) about what I wanted to be when I grow up, I list down Prime Minister, Teacher and Cab Driver - in that order - on the blue card. I thought Prime Minister is a "jawatan yang bagus" and glamorous as people crowd around him whenever he goes. The second profession was in the list perhaps due to the presence of teachers around me at that time. My teachers were all good, kind and excellent persons around my small village in the 1960's and 1970's before electricity and television came in 1978. But the Cab Driver? My father was the first person in my small village then to obtain a driving license from the RIMV - Registrar and Inspector of Motor Vehicles, the precursor to the present JPJ - and he, despite his meagre income, bought a car for a few years. The car, a Ford Prefect was used as a taxi albeit unlicensed one. I used to accompany him in his daily work of transporting people to and back from Kuala Terengganu town. Sometimes some people charter us to Kota Bharu, Kelantan.

By the way, I do not join politics when I grow up and therefore Prime Ministership is out of question. Despite being on the road quite frequently with my unlicensed cab driver father I cannot drive a car until in my late 20s. The Teacher? well I almost become one. After the SPM (O'level equivalent), I went to Form Six. The pressure of not having money - a. k. a. being poor - led me to look for work instead of furthering my study. The opportunity came in early 1979 when there was an advertisement for trainee teachers in local newspapers. I naturally applied - the advertised starting salary was RM585.00 per month, quite a handsome amount at that time.

After the HSC results came out in early 1980, I got a place at the Sultan Abdul Halim Teachers College (MPSAH) in Sungai Petani, Kedah. I went there and started the training until one day my father called the College office telling - my father's words are all instructions you know - me to report for admission into Universiti Malaya urgently. Apparently, the University sent a telegram to my home address requesting me to urgently report for admission. In those days, whenever one receives a telegram the message is treated as something that requires urgent and serious response.

I have signed the agreement to become a teacher and to run away prematurely may cause severe financial implications that is beyond my ability to sort out. Nonetheless, it was unthinkable for me to go against my father's words (read: instruction).

One night, about three days after my father's telephone call, a friend accompanied me through a small opening in the College's perimeter fence and then made our way to the Sungai Petani bus station for a journey to Kuala Lumpur. With big bags and what nots it was scary at times lest my running away was discovered.

Had I got cold feet at that time, I would have been a teacher within two years after that. whatever it is, in the end, not a single option in the blue card materialises. I wonder what my class teacher would say if he is still alive today. Prime Minister, Teacher or Cabbie? Tick none!