Was invited to pen something for this project. It seeks to explore privilege (or lack thereof) in our Singapore classrooms. I definitely have a lot of stories to share!

I used to teach English to teenagers at a specialised school. In spite of the differences in their socioeconomic and cultural background, they all share one thing in common.

They have all failed their Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE).

Each child comes with him or her a unique set of circumstances, and suffice it to say that the reasons surrounding his or her failure at this milestone assessment are multifaceted. However, I think it's safe to generalise that many of them have learning needs, which hinder them from mastering English and Mathematics that is deemed necessary for them to succeed in mainstream secondary schools.

Our education system has been swift and responsive to address the complex needs of these individuals who grapple with various conditions, the likes of which include dyslexia, ADHD, autism, among others. We are sensitive not to paste labels on them; we are mindful of referring to them as people with learning disabilities (rather than disabled people).

However, I am of the opinion that because the nature of our national examinations focuses a lot on the acquiring of proficiency in terms of the written word, our differently-abled youngsters don't get to perform to their strengths. I feel that they are unfairly viewed as people who have had to compensate for their deficiencies in a particular area. But what if we view them from a position of strength?

I came to think this way because of the way a student with dyslexia enlightened me one day. He is severely dyslexic and has a lot of difficulty reading vocabulary words, even highly frequently used ones. To be honest, I used to focus a lot of my energy trying to get him to decode words and read them fluently. This inadvertently caused me to neglect his strength.

Until the day I got my class to draw a Hari Raya card to bless their Art teacher. He came up with this:

It seemed like an ordinary card, but let me tell you the thinking behind it. He had folded the page such that I could only see the tree on the front. When I pulled his card, I was greeted by the sight of the fireworks, accompanied by a short and sweet Thank you.

The dyslexic mind is said to be creative. I gasped in amazement at his show of creativity. More importantly, I learnt not to disregard the dyslexic mind and automatically relegate it as inferior to our neurotypical brain. I couldn't have come up with such a lovely, out-of-the-box idea.

I have a similar story to share about a student who has ADHD. Because he finds it difficult to sit still in class, he is either boisterious and disrupting the class learning or quiet and catching forty winks during my lesson.

But because he has boundless energy, he really showcased his performing streak and courage during our level camp. During interludes, he would unabashedly dance in sync to the music reverberating around the pavilion, amusing his peers and teachers. Having his appetite for performing whetted, he subsequently aimed bigger:

To perform in front of an audience during a termly showcase put together by the Aesthetics Department.

Initially, I dismissed his desire aside, thinking that he was all talk and no action. But then, he managed to persuade a classmate to join him in his endeavour. Since he already took the first step to recruit allies, I felt obliged to lend him my support. As his form teacher, I cajoled many of his classmates to sign up as performers for this showcase.

On the actual day, I beamed with pride as ten students worked together to put up a spirited performance of "Bang Bang Bang" in front of a captivated audience. This wouldn't have happened if my ADHD student had restrained his unstoppable energy.

We often lament that students with ADHD cannot concentrate and pay attention while the teacher is teaching. But what if we provide opportunities for them to harness their energy source?

Due to the above experiences (and many others of a similar nature), I feel that our national narrative surrounding these adolescents with learning needs ought to be expanded to account for their strengths. Just as I have taught them English, they have taught me about expressing their original ideas and putting themselves out there, brave enough to be seen and accounted for.