Shengliver’s Note: The teen writer’s first English teacher lost his sanity.

In Grade 6 primary school, I met my first real English teacher, Mr Long. The first few teachers who had taught us English before Mr Long joined us were not properly trained. Their pronunciations were far from perfect.

A certified teacher, Mr Long taught us grammar. Kind and knowledgeable, he was the most popular teacher in our class. He was similar to you in many ways, Shengliver. He was a bit heavy but very approachable.

Mr Long often sang us his favourite tune, Spring of Northern Country. Sometimes he shared with us his childhood memories. Therefore, his lessons were not only educational but also entertaining.

Toward the end of the term, Mr Long uttered some strange words in one lesson, which we could not figure out. In fact, he talked at great length as if he were delivering a formal speech. Before the final exam, in his last English class, he confessed that he adored us as if we were his children. When the class was coming to an end, he asked if he could hug us.

At first, none of us, confused and scared, dared to accept his enthusiastic gesture. Then the president of our class took the lead and hugged our teacher. Everyone else in our class followed suit. When the bell went off announcing the end of the class, Mr Long got emotional, exclaiming that teaching us was his greatest joy.

Unluckily, during the winter holidays, a mysterious malady struck him. One evening, he was playing mah-jong with his buddies. Rumour has it that when he went to the latrine, he was possessed by a spectre in the dark. Hence Mr Long became a lunatic. Because of his condition, the family had no alternative but to commit him to a mental hospital. Mr Long has ever since been institutionalised.

When I heard about what had befallen our beloved English teacher, I came to see the reason why Mr Long had embraced us. The cuddle is a precious memory to him as well as to us.