r Miss VickiPresonal Writing: My First Impression Of My Teache Essayr Miss VickiMy first impression of Miss Vicki was a highly authorative figuretowering over me.
Her voice boomed and the earth shook whenever she marched. Sheseemed like such an unapproachable and distant person. That was in the firstyear of High School. She was my Literature teacher then.
During my first year in school, she struck terror in my heart. Andeveryone else’s of course. The mere mention of her name made the most unrulyclasses silent. The birds stopped screeching. Even the earth felt still. Theomniscent presence of rumours stating that she didn’t like Junior High studentswas not much of a help.Order now
Nevertheless, the 2 years of Junior High passed by rather quickly. Soon,I was promoted to Senior High class. I had worked hard and gotten the subjectcombination that I wished for. Together with a bunch of old friends, I soonsettled down in class comfortably. As fate would have it, she was fortunate enough to be my form teacherthat year.
I almost choked in alarm when I heard the news. This time round,however, I resolved not to cower in terror whenever she was near. I decided toface the fact that we were going to meet each other for the next 365 days. Instead of trying too hard to lick her boots, I tried my best to be my naturalself in front of her. Still, I could not shake off the ice-cold image that she possessed in myheart.
True, her corney jokes sometimes sent me into frolicking laughter, yet atother times these jokes simply fell flat the moment she uttered them. My lovelyclass, however was always ready to laugh at the right time and place of heramusing stories. Afterall, we would not want to run the risk of her tempererupting in front of us like Mount Saint Helens spewing molten rock andbreathing fire. Alas, life was not to remain boring and nondescript.
One day we recieved news that Miss Vicki was to leave Singapore for thePhilippines where she would participate in a voluntary teaching programme forthe poor. We did not know what to think actually. All of us cried at the airport. Back at school, we got another teacher for English lessons.
But that isanother story altogether. . . .