On why I never excelled in mandarin

Not to stereotype or anything, but mandarin teachers in Malaysia always give students shudders. My two mandarin teachers I ever had were scary. In standard 3 (Grade 3), we had to take up mandarin lessons in school. We used to have spelling tests every month in school which required us to score a minimum of 70% to pass. Learning the words were difficult enough by itself. Unlike the English language, chinese characters look like drawings that has no relevance to the pronunciation. So basically, it was plain memory work. Argh.

In addition, the mandarin lessons were always dry. Seriously, mandarin teachers have no sense of creativity - our lessons were probably a replica of what has been done in China over 1000 years ago. Basically, all we did was copy out text after text of words. The only time I perked my ears up and leaned forward in eagerness was when he started telling us his WWII stories. He would tell us of how he used to hide from the Japanese soldiers whilst he witness victims getting their thumbs cut off or having a pipe of water down their throat till water starts flowing out from their eyes and ears. It probably creeped out a couple of my classmates but the stories were interesting nonetheless.

Once, he got fed up of our lack of interest in his lessons. He decided that we should all be pushed a little harder. So he made us show him our last monthly test results and those who failed, were caned with the 1.5 meter wooden ruler. I was trembling with fear because I failed the last monthly test. When it was my turn, i slowly walked up to the front and produced the book. He took one look at it, turned to the class, smiled and said, "Give her a clap for her excellent work! She has full marks! " Huh? Little did i realise that he looked at the wrong page and was looking at my previous monthly test results! Phew, i was relieved. I never told him the truth.

After 1 year of mandarin lessons, I thought ill be relieved of torture. But no, my parents decided to enroll me in mandarin tuition - twice a week for two hours. My parents said, "You are Chinese and therefore, you should know Chinese. China is booming and one day, mandarin would be important" I understood their logic and I am eternally grateful for the lessons. At least, I'm not a total banana. But again, the mandarin teacher killed all my interest in mandarin. I started hating mandarin after that. First, we sang kiddish songs which were outdated. Secondly, again, we had to basically repeat, regurgitate and copy texts - very uncreative. Thirdly, failing tests would result in humiliating punishment. Being such a goody-two shoes, I never cheated in any of my tests which resulted in failing at times which of course is followed by humiliating punishment. Little did i realise, almost all my classmates cheated in their tests?? No wonder they never failed!

After a few years of the horrendous lessons, my parents finally gave me the green light to end my misery! Woo hoo!! Biggest relief ever.

See, now you would understand why i never excelled in mandarin. That being said, I might take up mandarin classes next year. However, being 22 and being in Melbourne, I'm sure the mandarin teacher would not cane me. Because that would be wrong in all senses of the word.