Every once or twice (if you're lucky, three times) in life, one will meet extraordinary people. I think that I am one of those lucky few.

Mrs Seah was my teacher in Secondary 3/4. She was an English teacher, but she taught me so much more than how to write compositions and how to tackle comprehensions.

Some call their teachers their friends. I'd like to have been a friend of Mrs Seah's. But I never dared to cross that line between teacher and student. Maybe it's that air of authority that she has about her.

One day, things between us changed. It was the day of my lit prelims, but also the day when my dad passed away. Everyone else kept asking me if I was ok, kept shooting me sympathetic glances, kept patting my back. She didn't. Instead, she faced me with a straight face, betraying no emotion, showing no pity, yet, in a strange way, strong, reliable and comforting.

Then she said something which scared me. Because that something she said was so close to what I was truly feeling.

" You must be very relieved."

Which normal person would feel relieved when their breadwinner dies? But I was.... and the strange thing was that she knew it. I never found out how she knew what I was feeling. I never knew how much weight that took off my shoulders over the next few weeks. I no longer felt guilty for feeling relieved that daddy finally died after battling his disease for so long.

On the last day of school, Mrs Seah gave us all a bookmark. On the back of my bookmark, there's a sticker which reads: " I wish you strength and a sense of humour. But somehow, I already know you'll do well in life."

As I've already told you, she always knew the right thing to say.

I still have that bookmark today.

Thank you, Mrs Seah. You may not know how much I respect you because I never told you. But thank you. Thank you for being there for me, and for so many other students.