Dreams

Indeed, alot has passed since that fateful day in May when I choose to go to college. The day I decided that enough was enough and that the time had come for me to show the world what I was capable of.

A couple of hours ago, I was with my parents at the dining table. We were discussing about how to go about completing my University application forms. For the most part of it, we were discussing about how much it would cost to send me on another episode of my already amazing dream and about how best to present our financial capabilities to the university. The plan of attack is to make the documents look bullet proof as well as vulnerable at the same time. Quite a daunting task I can assure you. But enough of that. I'm not here to speak about that, but instead, what I would like to talk about today is dreams.

Every achievement starts with a thought, an idea, a dream. Every thought, every idea starts with a person. But whether or not these ideas take flight, very much depends on not one, but by the concerted efforts of so many different parties. It is like an orchestra. It takes not one, but many talented and skilled musicians under the vigilant guidance of an equally successful conductor to be a success. A note, or even a part played in the wrong way would surely serve to ruin this piece of orchestrated playing. Giving the concert goers a very bad impression about the evening's performance. Similar to that are the success of dreams.

It is frequently said that the impending pleasure out of reaching a certain destination goes only as deep as the amount of experience gained during the journey. I could never agree more with this statement, for my journey to where I stand today has been anything but a bed of roses. But even if it was, I was constantly pricked by its thorns. I remembered a long time ago, back when I was 9 years old to be precise, I had this tuition teacher. I forgot what her name was but all I knew is that she would come to my home, early in the morning to tutor me on subjects such as math and English. She would charge a fee of RM 200 per month. My parents of course paid the fees. After teaching me for some time she came to a conclusion. She told my parents that I would be extremely fortunate even I would manage to make it past the third grade. Yes, she called me stupid. But my mother, being the resilient woman that she is, decided to prove her wrong. And prove her wrong she did. I remember her spending hours upon hours educating me in all the different subjects that was needed to get me through third grade. And when the year ended, I had amassed quite a number of good results.

Then came probably one of the most undesirable parts of my entire life so far. The time when I entered the fourth grade right up to the point when I finished sixth grade. Back when I was in lower elementary, I would take pride in describing myself as a rather energetic young lad who had managed to do not one but many naughty things and still be considered an angel by many. An honor which I am still proud of to say the least.But all that changed during the following three years. Unlike most of my other friends, I had been promoted into a rather good class. A blessing you might say. A blessing I assure you not. It was during these times that I learnt the meaning of racism. I had extremely racist teachers, racist friends and practically everyone on that year had something against me. I admit that I was rather lazy, and I was different from all my other peers. I remember one evening while I was sitting in class, it was a rainy evening, minding my own business, this teacher by the name Jagdish walked into the class. She was standing in as a relief for my absent teacher. At first, she walked around to inspect the class. Little did I realise she was now just behind me. Suddenly, when she saw me, she started to scream. Her words were, "Is this 4 Cempaka? If so, what is this devil doing in Cempaka (second class)!!" All the while pointing at me. Being reserved by nature, all I did was stare. I related the incident to my mother. She, like what Albert Einstein's mother did, advised me to ignore her and that she was wrong. And since that day, I bore a grudge against her. I was to be ridiculed and smacked on countless other occasions throughout this entire three years. I managed to break in half a few meter long wooden rulers while I was being smacked with them. My grade five teacher, Selvi despised me so much that she branded me a monkey. And every time when something went wrong, I would be blamed and then held by the ear and given a good slapping, right in front of the entire class of about 40, while she branded me all kinds of things. Among them were stupid, idiot, dumb, monkey and a whole lot more. I swore that one day, I would pelt a stone into her car's rear windshield. Grade six was alot more like that too. Only this time, my teacher, Masinah, allowed a poem to be published in the class magazine which described me as lazy. I still have that book with me. In that year alone, I was made to stand outside the class on no less than 10 occasions. She predicted that while everybody else would be celebrating with a string of straight A's for UPSR, I was to fail it miserably. And what did I do to prove this people wrong, I went out there and became one of the very few people in my class to receive straight A's for my UPSR. Selvi of course, was shocked beyond words when she learnt from my own mouth that I had gotten 5 A's. I can still remember the look on her face and how she went scurrying back into the staff room.

High school was never really that eventful. But there was this one event which is still etched in my mind. Back when I was in 10th grade or in local terms, form 4, I saw a piece of paper hung behind the class. On that paper was a list of what some predicted others would become when they became professionals. When the list reached my name, guess what was on it? Jobless. I was speechless. I felt as if I was being vilified behind my back all the time. For the next few weeks, I was silently very angry. I never looked at life the same way after that. No one of course noticed the difference in my attitude. I had kept it where it mattered most. Deep in me. Deep, where it would only serve to fuel me to become a whole lot greater than any of those students in my from instead of fuelling me into a needless and wasteful rage. And what did I do to prove them wrong? I am just weeks if not months away form applying to one of the best Aeronautical universities in the world. Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. A place which I had dreamt of going to since I was a seventeen year old teenager.

What I wish to impart from this is that no matter what people have to say about you or no matter how much difficulty they put you through, realise that its not over. It will never be not unless you decide to tell yourself that its over. If you have a dream, stick to it. Make sure that that dream belongs to you. Not to your parents, your friends, your relatives, not no one. And no matter what come may, work at it and one fine day, you will reach it. And when you reach it, I can guarantee you that you will feel an unparalleled amount of happiness and satisfaction. And that is something no one can take from you. It will be with you. As for me, the person who was told will never get pass the third grade, being where I currently am, is in itself a huge achievement. An achievement which I wish to build on, and an achievement which began with a dream. A dream which was worked on not by one, but by many individuals whom I could never thank enough. I can now start orchestrating my last laugh. A laugh which will be even harder and louder when my name becomes Dr. Senthil K. S. Doctor of philosophy in Aerodynamics and Jet Propulsion.