I still remember, when I was in primary, the standard answers my friends and I would give when teachers asked about our ambition.
Khairunnisa wanted to be a teacher. So did Nurul Liza, a quite tall girl who had a book full of song lyrics and pictures of her favourite artistes. Few others shared the same dream. Siti Haslina, Nor Haswani, Nor Hisham, Nurul Fadila, and few other girls. Boys would go for more challenging and manly jobs like army, policeman, and fireman. Anuar, the shortest in the lot, proudly told the teacher that he wanted to become a Rambo, not knowing what occupation really means – I remember we had a good laugh at that. The brighter ones proudly raised their hands and loudly announce the more popular jobs like doctor, pilot, architect, and astronaut. I remember a girl wanted to be a fashion designer but can’t recall who exactly.
It was then, back in 1994, when my friends and I were 11, and we barely knew what the jobs really were.
15 years later, now, I am sitting behind a 3 ft long wooden table while I am typing this down, behind a glass wall, through which I can see children running, fighting, and calling names. They are of all backgrounds – refugees, Malays, broken families, abused, homeless. Sometimes they’ll knock on the glass making faces trying to get my attention. They’ll normally succeed because I am a sucker.
I am 26 year old this year, and I am a Child Advocate – and that was not what I wanted to be.
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