MY BEST FIEND MIKE

ASSALAMUALAIKUM WBT.

Sometimes I think all the microphones in the world declared war against me.

I can’t remember when this began, but all I know that if I’m going to speak with a mike in front of me, something horrible will happen.

Most of the time, something horrible did happen.

Take this case, for instance. I was in Form 5 and my class was doing an English day presentation. 

When it was my turn to speak, a mike was handed to me. And then I said my lines.

But the amplifier remained silent.                                             

And so I repeated my lines. Again, the amplifier was still mute.

To make my point clear, and thinking that the mike was broken, I shouted my lines with the volume of a platoon commander. Everyone laughed, making me feel that I was in a sitcom with laughter tracks being played aloud.

I gave the mike to my other classmate. Miraculously, the mike works!

Finally, at the end of the show, I picked up the mike to give it back to the MC. Thinking that the mike was off, I cursed it with a whisper: “Sial punya mike!”

For some mysterious reason, the mike decided to be on when I cursed it.

The whole of Seremban heard me. Time literally stopped, because Time itself is shocked to hear me cursing in public.

I don’t want to talk about what happened next. It’s traumatic.

The score? Mike 1, Shafiq 0

Anyway, the second incident involving my feud with microphones occurred during PLKN.

I was supposed to be a narrator in a play. My part was simple: read my lines. I don’t even have to memorize my lines.

During rehearsals, I did well. In fact, I was able to recite my lines without reading my script. The actors and actresses all fumbled with their words; but I was able to do it smoothly. I was confident that, if all the other actors failed, my brilliant narration and my booming voice will save the day- and the play.

But we never use mikes during rehearsals.

And there were plenty of mikes on the night of our performance.

Surprisingly, the actors did their jobs well. The play was about ‘Si Tanggang’ and the guy who played Tanggang acted well enough to gain an Oscar.

In the middle of the drama, my turn to narrate came. I was supposed to read my lines. Pure and simple. But, filled with supreme confidence and ego, I left my script backstage.

It turned out to be a stupid decision. 

Face to face with a mike, I went blank. i forgot my lines.

 It was like in an awkward moment when the Imam forgot the Surah Al-Fatihah while leading the prayer.

 I could hear the crickets sing.

I could even imagine the mike telling me: “Remember me, ya (censored)? You cursed me sial, right? Now I’m going to sial your night.”

Panic attack. I became incoherent and stuttered my lines. The crowd laughed…again. My part turned out to be the worst part of our company’s drama. I was the spoiler.

Luckily, our company won the drama competition. It was mainly due to the performance of the actors, the props and the creativity of the scriptwriter.

Certainly we never won due to my ‘brilliant’ narration.

For the whole night, I wish someone would censor my face.

Now, the score’s 2-0.

There were many more embarrassing incidents of me and microphones. When I did announcements, 90% of the time I’d fumble my words. People hearing me speak will thought that a retard was speaking in an alien language while messing around with the mike.

That’s why I’ll never touch a mike. Even if you pointed a gun at me, I won’t speak through a mike. I’d rather have my body shot than my pride.

Mike and I became sworn enemies. But I know I cannot run from it forever. I must face it and conquer it. Where and when? I don’t know. But I will.

As an appendix, here’s a video of me…well, living up to my Dato’ Onn name. Memang takde kaitan, tapi saja-saja letak. Aku muncul kat minit....ah, pandai-pandai lah ko cari...

p/s- Video ihsan Amirul Ashraf dari kelas 5 theta/ 7th Batch

p p/s = Broadband ihsan drpd saudara Ahmad Syukran dari bilik F207

Wassalam.

A TESL Story (part one)

When I was small and when I still thought that babies are made by a single kiss rather than through sexual intercourse, I wanted to be a fighter pilot.

And so I tried to preserve my eyes like a lomographer treasures his camera.

But I never controlled my diet. I became fat unfit. My fighter pilot’s dream crashed and burned.

Then I decided that if I can’t join the military, then I will build weapons for the military to use. Since I was nuts about submarines, I decided that I should become a maritime engineer or some sort like that.

If people asked me what I want to be, I replied: ‘Engineer.’ That seems to be a satisfactory answer for everyone; such a normal, safe ambition.

Gradually, my dream of being an engineer corrodes like sand castle being swept away by the waves of time. The thought of becoming an engineer disgusts me, for no reason. (No offense to any future engineers reading this…)

Instead, since Form One, I discovered that I loved the mathematics of languages more than the language of mathematics.

I played with the idea of becoming a writer. I will write best-selling novels whose fame will outlast my life. If kids usually dreamt of becoming a celebrity, than I am like them. Though I’m not going to be an artiste (for my voice hates singing and my hands are not in good terms with musical instruments and I don’t have the ‘poster boy’ look which could whip girls into frenzy…). Rather, I’m going to be a literary artist, whose words will be immortalized by generations of scholars, writers, students and the public. Perhaps being the Malaysian equivalent of Shakespeare or the English version of A.Samad Said.

Such fantasy, I know.

Oftentimes, I considered myself as quite a writer when in fact I’m not. My words are riddled with grammatical mistakes. My sentences are quite amateurish, as if a retard was writing instead of those of a literary genius. I tend to hate my works, upon completion, easily. My works are like crippled children who I tried like hell to conceive them, but in the end born into this world crippled/retarded/whatever which makes me hated them more. My confidence in myself shattered easily like brittle glass.

I know that if indeed becoming a writer will be my life’s true vocation, I need a back-up plan for the work of an artist is unsafe. Without any Plan B, it’s like climbing a skyscraper without a safety net below. You succeed; you will taste all the glory. You failed; then may Allah help you.

Since I hate the sciences, a career as an engineer or in medicine is completely out of the question.  A diplomat, hmmm…,maybe. But will I have the spare time to write? Architect? I don’t know how to draw. Military? 3 months in PLKN is enough  to prevent me from joining the armed forces.

What about a teacher then, Shafiq? An English teacher.

In SASER, I remember a friend once suggested to me that I ought to take TESL. Then, I was ignorant about TESL. What the hell is it? My friend explained that I’ll be teaching English if I took TESL. And besides, I could write in my spare time.

That sounded like a wonderful suggestion then, and it still is now. Thank you Syamil Sani.

About a month later, our counselor entered our classroom to give us a briefing of all the scholarships available for us to apply. She handed each of us a brochure.

I got one, and discovered that only MARA is offering an overseas scholarship for TESL students. I highlighted it.

From then onwards, I studied as hard as I can. I did not only burn the midnight oil, but I’d burned all the daylight oil available. All for the sake of getting the TESL scholarship.

Alhamdulillah, I got 9As for SPM, which made me eligible to apply for the MARA TESL scholarship.

Of all the scholarships that I applied, MARA is the only one who interviewed me (a crazy episode which I will tell in some other time). I got rejected by the others (including PETRONAS). Hell, even UPU thought that I’m not good enough to be an ASASI student.

At that time, I thought that TESL is my only chance of getting closer to my dream of becoming a writer. My only chance out of my personal hell.

While waiting for the result of my TESL application, I went to Kolej Matrik Perak. I got swell friends there, but I just couldn’t imagine myself learning the sciences for another one year. Each night I prayed, and sometimes cried, to get that TESL scholarship. I constantly said to myself: “I don’t know what else to do…I don’t know what else to do…”

On my third Friday there, my mom called. She congratulated me, calling me “Cikgu”. I actually danced all the way to my room from the academic block after hearing that news. I was the happiest boy in Gopeng.

A month later, I returned to Seremban, again. I’ll be fighting another war that’ll last two years. But it is war that I’ll be willing to fight to the end.

Achieving 15 points for A-Levels is a city to be conquered, like Sultan Al-Fatteh and his Constantinople.                                           (to be continued).