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 number of masters who had taught us the foreign language before Mr Long joined us not properly trained, their pronunciations left a lot to be desired.

A certified instructor, Mr Long taught us grammar. Humorous and knowledgeable, he was the most popular among our teachers. His style and yours are very much alike, Shengliver. Though a bit heavy, he was 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 young minds could not figure out. In fact, he was raving on and on 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. As the session was coming to an end, the animated master asked if he could hug us.

At first, none of us, confused and scared, dared to accept his enthusiastic gesture. Then the class president took the lead in hugging our teacher. Everyone else in our class followed suit. The moment the dismissal bell went off, the master got emotional, exclaiming that our company was his greatest joy.

Unluckily, during the winter holidays, a mysterious malady struck Mr Long, when one evening, he was playing mah-jong with his buddies. Rumour has it that while he was using the latrine outside the family cottage, he was possessed by a spectre in the dark. Henceforth Mr Long became a lunatic. Distressed by his deranged condition, the family had no alternative but to commit him to a mental hospital. Mr Long has ever since been institutionalised.

Hearing what had befallen our beloved ex 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.