Constraints and Clarity

“...Winning this award is monumental not just for me, but for all rural people in Sabah. It reminds us that we're not invisible, that we matter, and that we deserve recognition for our abilities…”

For two straight weeks, Principal Chong Shoi Ming of Hock Academy had been queuing up the same inspirational speech on repeat. The video starred none other than Jeffery Gompung, a former student who had delivered a rousing address that had stirred the hearts of all who heard it. What made Jeffery's story all the more remarkable was that he hailed from one of Sabah's most rural and impoverished regions. 

Mr Chong beamed with pride at the thought of his elite institution taking the lead in recognizing the raw talent of Sabah's rural youth. He had taken the initiative to reach out to these overlooked students and offer them a chance to shine. Jeffery's inspiring words further elevated Mr Chong's status, turning him into a hero in the eyes of the people of Sabah.

However, despite his laudable reputation, Mr Chong was also known among his teachers for his iron-fisted leadership style. Case in point: he recently imposed a daunting task on his staff, requiring them to sift through video submissions from scholarship applicants for a gruelling two-week period. This directive landed heavily and displeased many teachers. Instead of enjoying a well-deserved break at the end of the term, they found themselves confined to their desks, silently cursing the principal.

And as if reviewing those applicants' videos wasn't challenging enough, they were now tasked with selecting students for the school's placement tests and interviews - with one caveat. The principal was dead set on ensuring a diverse applicant pool, with 34% urban, 33% suburban, and 33% rural students making the cut. 

To Mr Chong, this was all part of his mission to remain a hero to rural communities - a lofty goal he had set for himself ever since Jeffrey Gompung's success story had put Hock Academy on the map. But not all teachers were on board with the principal's vision. Take Moreen, for instance - a seasoned educator who had helped discover Jeffery six years earlier. For her, selecting the best candidate was all that mattered - regardless of their background.

Mr Chong's idea of a "fair quota" system made Moreen's blood boil. She had watched 33 videos submitted by rural kids thus far, and none of them had met the high standards she expected from academy applicants. What's more, she feared that this approach would cause urban kids with exceptional talents to be passed over in favour of less-qualified rural candidates. It was enough to make her want to retch.

Glancing at the laptop's clock, Moreen grimaced involuntarily. It was already midday, and she had hoped to be out the door by now. Yet, as she looked around the conference room, it was clear that her colleagues were in no hurry to leave. Each was hunched over their laptops, their faces bathed in the soft glow of screens as they continued working away.

Moreen sighed deeply, her movements deliberate as she packed her belongings. Closing her laptop bag with a purposeful zip, an unsettling feeling nagged at her gut. A quick meal was necessary. Fatigue began to weigh on her, and she rubbed her eyes in search of relief. Standing up, she stretched her limbs and forcefully disconnected her laptop charger from the wall socket. The icy blast of the air conditioning assaulted her, leaving her skin slippery and her feet damp within her socks.

"Leaving already?" Mr Chong's voice made her jump.

"Yes, sir. Is that alright?" Moreen replied, wondering why she even bothered asking.

Mr Chong pulled up her long sleeve to glimpse at his watch before replying, “Well, yes. Of course. Please accept my apologies for not noticing the time.” Clearing his throat, he addressed the teachers through the tabletop microphone, “Alright, teachers. Today's session has come to a close. We'll see each other tomorrow at seven in the morning. Please arrive on time. We have a great deal of work to accomplish.”

The teachers began to gather their things, all of them quiet, a clear indication of how much they were intimidated by Mr Chong's stern demeanour. 

***

That sultry afternoon, Moreen was dead set on having a good time. Her family pulled up to Sinilou Waterpark around three, the sun scorching their skin and blinding their eyes. Yet, the heat didn't deter the throngs of people of all ages clamouring to get inside. The jolly sounds of laughter, music, and splashing filled the air as they approached the park's towering entrance.

As they walked in, they were met with a colossal pool, boasting a magnificent waterfall and fountains spewing water. Children and adults alike frolicked, their joyous screams echoing in the air as they splashed each other without a care in the world. Moreen savoured the moment, grateful for the freedom from the rigid hours of schoolwork under the watchful eye of Mr Chong. Finally, she could breathe easy with no rules or expectations.

Or so she thought.

As fate would have it, her jubilant mood was short-lived when the lifeguard barred her children from entering the pool. Frustrated, she approached the lifeguard and inquired, "What seems to be the problem?"

With a stern expression, he informed her, "They're wearing cotton shirts and shorts."

Moreen's heart sank. “Any shops nearby for swimwear?”

“We have one, but we're low on kids' swimsuits.”

She looked at her husband, desperation evident in her eyes. Without a word, he dug into his pocket and produced the car keys, saying, "I'll be right back."

An hour later, as Moreen and her girls indulged in ice cream on a bench, her husband returned, a plastic bag slung over his arm. Inside were two brand new swimsuits - the kind that promised to make a splash.

The girls' faces lit up with delight, their ice cream-stained lips curling into beaming smiles. For Moreen, it was a happy ending to a stressful start. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of annoyance that bubbled up at the park's many rules and regulations. She had hoped for an escape, but it seemed that even in the midst of fun and games, the world had a way of reminding her that rules were inescapable.

***

After the children exhausted themselves at the waterpark, Moreen was set on experiencing the feeling of liberation she so desperately craved. Once the girls changed into dry clothes and piled into the car, she proposed, “Movie time, anyone?”

The idea was met with enthusiasm from her husband and the girls, and they set off fervently, eager for a relaxing escape in front of the silver screen.

As they journeyed to their destination, Moreen relished the opportunity to chat and sing with her family, ignoring the chaos of the congested roads around them. 

However, when they arrived at the shopping mall and began searching for a parking space, they encountered yet another obstacle. Despite the vast array of empty spaces, they were unable to park their car due to a designated pink zone reserved exclusively for women. After forty-five minutes of searching, they finally found a spot, but Moreen's sense of liberation was already dwindling.

Their experience didn't improve as they entered the mall and approached the cinema. The staff at the entrance disapproved of the girls' snacks from the waterpark and barred them from taking them into the theatre. "No outside food allowed," the woman declared. 

As they settled into their seats to watch the movie, Moreen's phone rang, drawing the attention of yet another staff member. Rules seemed to be closing in on her from every direction, stifling her attempt to enjoy a simple outing with her family.

Despite the challenges, the family did ultimately enjoy the movie. But Moreen couldn't help but feel disheartened by the limitations placed upon them at every turn. Even in their quest for a moment of freedom, it seemed that they were still bound by the strictures of societal norms and regulations.

***

As the credits rolled on the silver screen, she seized upon yet another idea that might liberate her from the constraints of rule-driven scenarios. "How about takeout and jetty hangout?" she proposed, eager for a change of scenery.

To her delight, her husband and two daughters were immediately taken with the notion, and soon they were making their way to The Waterfront, a renowned spot among the locals. The night was upon them, and the moon cast its shimmering glow over the city skyline. She envisioned the thrill of watching the brightly-lit boats and ships bobbing in the inky waters, their luminous reflections dancing on the surface. They would savour their meal together as they gazed out over the tranquil sea.

But alas, their reverie was rudely interrupted not once, not twice, but thrice. First, her husband received a sharp rebuke from a pompous civil enforcement officer when he parked their car along the roadside. "Park in the designated area or get your car clamped," the officer sneered.

As they sat on the ground, taking in the cool night air and the serene view, another officious officer accosted them. "No idle lingering. Use the benches provided," he scolded, pointing to a distant row of seats.

And to top it off, as they were driving off the jetty, a traffic warden berated her husband for driving on the wrong lane and ordered him to swerve in the opposite direction.

"What a farce," she muttered to herself as they drove back home, her two girls already sound asleep in the backseat. "I might as well have stayed home with Mr Chong."

Her husband gave her a soft look. "Relax. I know today wasn't very smooth, but there has to be a reason behind all of it."

***

The following morning, Moreen awoke with a gnawing sense of all-too-familiar annoyance. The thought of Mr Chong dictating every move she made, and the endless stream of bureaucratic hoops she had to jump through, left her feeling like a prisoner in her own life. But last night had been the final straw. The oppressive weight of SOPs had suffocated her, leaving her more miserable than ever before.

Today was a crucial day. The deadline for submitting her chosen applicants for Hock Academy's scholarship loomed, and the prospect of having to adhere to the ridiculous rule that one third of her selection must be allocated to rural kids made her stomach churn. It was a stupid idea, and Moreen wanted nothing to do with it.

She toyed with the idea of confronting Mr Chong and her colleagues, telling them how asinine the quota was, but she knew it would be a losing battle. At best, they would mock her or look at her with wide-eyed incredulity. At worst, Mr Chong would take her to task so severely that she'd be forced to resign.

No, she had a better plan. Picking up her phone, she dialled Mr Chong's number, steeling herself for the conversation to come. After several rings, Mr Chong answered.

"Good morning, Miss Moreen," he greeted her.

"I'm sorry, Mr Chong, but I won't be able to make it to work today," Moreen said, affecting a cough. "I'm feeling under the weather."

"I see. What about the selected applicants?" Mr Chong asked.

"I'll be sending them over today, don't worry. I just have a few more videos to watch before I make my final decision."

"Alright, Miss Moreen, just remember to stick to the 34-33-33 quota, okay?" Mr Chong reminded her.

Moreen rolled her eyes. "I'll keep it in mind."

As she hung up the phone, Moreen couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. At least for today, she was free from the stifling grasp of Mr Chong and his asinine rules.

Rising from her bed, she smirked to herself and went to the living room to power up her laptop on the coffee table. She had another daring plan in mind. Tired of others making decisions for her, she was determined to make today the day she made all the decisions herself, consequences be damned.

As she watched the applicants' videos, she made a bold decision: she would select the students she deemed qualified, regardless of their origin. She was sick of the 34-33-33 quota, sick of having to cater to the rural kids who couldn't even bother to make a decent video. If they didn't make the cut, well, that was their problem.

And then she saw Rasmina Doli's video. The girl spoke with a fluency and eloquence that was nothing short of impressive. Moreen knew, without checking her profile, that Rasmina was an urban student. There was no way a rural kid could speak English like that. What's more, the student's call for freedom was clearly an outcry against the strict city rules. She adored this student, ranking her highest on her list. She found common ground with her, being a city dweller too.

Hours passed as Moreen watched video after video, selecting the ones that impressed her and tossing the rest aside. Finally, she breathed a sigh of relief and contentment. She knew she had made the right decision, and she felt free and liberated, able to do her work without the oppressive shadow of Mr Chong looming over her.

If Mr Chong fired her for her decision, so be it. Moreen was confident in her abilities and reputation, and she knew she could find another job easily enough.

As she closed her laptop, her girls emerged from their rooms, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Moreen surprised them with her presence, and they smiled widely and ran to her embrace.

"Mummy's not working today," she told them. "Let's have some fun. We can do absolutely everything today. Anything that we like."

For the first time in a long time, Moreen could finally exclaim, “I’m free!”.

***

The following day jolted her from slumber, not by the usual shrill of an alarm clock, but by a piercing ring from her phone. Groggy and disoriented, she glanced at the screen, and unsurprisingly, the caller's identity revealed itself to be none other than Mr Chong.

His words, though seemingly plain, possessed the power to set her heart pounding like an out-of-control locomotive. "We need to talk. Please come to work today," he uttered in his characteristically concise manner.

En route to the school, as she manoeuvred through the streets, she found herself endlessly rehearsing the words she would deliver to Mr Chong. The audacity she had felt when she confidently eliminated candidates yesterday now crumbled like a dilapidated house. In this moment, faced with the imminent consequences of her actions, she stood uncertain, lost in the abyss of indecision, and questioned whether she truly possessed the readiness to sever ties with Hock Academy. 

***

"Are you absolutely certain about this?" Mr Chong inquired, his countenance bearing an air of utmost gravity.

"Yes," she replied, her voice tinged with unease.

"You do realise that you've infringed upon the 34-33-33 quota, don't you?"

"I’m well aware of that, Sir."

"Very well. However, we must ensure that the videos you have chosen are presented to all the other instructors. It is imperative that we ascertain the worthiness of the scholarship recipients."

Moreen simply nodded, and together they departed from the confines of Mr Chong's office, striding purposefully toward the conference room. The room buzzed with the focused hum of laptop activity as they entered.

Mr Chong's voice resonated through the room as he addressed his colleagues via the microphone perched atop the table. "Good morning, esteemed teachers. I draw your attention to the videos meticulously curated by Miss Moreen. In the interest of impartiality, I shall refrain from disclosing the students' backgrounds. Please ascertain if these individuals truly qualify for entry into our academy."

The ensuing hour and a half witnessed the uninterrupted succession of videos, each featuring the carefully chosen applicants, handpicked by Moreen as the epitome of deserving students for Hock Academy. Observing her colleagues' approving nods as they watched each student earnestly speak into the camera reassured her that she was not alone in recognizing the undeniable qualifications possessed by these individuals.

To her immense satisfaction, once the final video concluded and Mr Chong sought confirmation of agreement with her selections, resounding unanimity echoed through the room without a single objection. Moreen was sure they would understand her urban-heavy student choices.

Then, breaking the silence, Mr Chong interjected, "For your information, Miss Moreen has deviated from the prescribed 34-33-33 quota, based on her own judgement."

As anticipated, the room's occupants turned their gaze towards her with surprise etched upon their faces.

Undeterred, Mr Chong continued, his tone uncharacteristically devoid of anger. "Miss Moreen's selection, ladies and gentlemen, adheres to an 80-20-10 ratio," he announced, eliciting an even more judgmental scrutiny from everyone present. "Let us extend a round of applause to her."

Wait, what? Mr Chong wasn't infuriated?

"Allow me to clarify," Mr Chong clarified, his voice steady. "Eighty percent of Miss Moreen's selection consists of rural students."

To say that Moreen was stunned would be an understatement. She felt a profound sense of disbelief, teetering on the verge of fainting. Her bias, so deeply ingrained, had led her to underestimate the potential of rural students and overemphasise the merits of their urban counterparts. She offered a sheepish smile in response to the applause, her cheeks burning with shame. 

Her husband's discernment had been astute. The adversities she had encountered the previous day had a purpose. They had forced her to yearn for liberation to such an extent that she found the audacity to defy Mr Chong's prescribed quota. In doing so, she had awakened to the harsh reality of her own narrow-mindedness. 

Now it was clear to her. Rasmina's wish for freedom wasn't about city regulations but was a cry against poverty. 

The repulsion she felt towards herself threatened to overwhelm her, nearly causing her to retch in disgust.