REMEMBERING CHIJ - 100 YEARS ON

Form Five Science 2, 1979 

Spending 11 years at the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus in Johor Bahru was more than just an education—it was a life boot camp. From the tender age of seven to our mid-teens, those formative years shaped us—not just as students, but as young women learning to navigate a gloriously diverse and ever-changing world.

Convent wasn’t merely a school. It was a community—a vibrant blend of girls from every background under one tiled roof. In every classroom, Malay, Chinese, Indian, and Eurasian pupils sat side by side, swapping stories, snacks, and secrets. There was no “us and them”. Just us—giggling over silly jokes, helping each other with homework, or standing united when the entire class forgot to do their homework.

In Standard One, drowning in boxy school bags and starched pleated Cerulean uniforms that defied comfort, pupils of the Christian faith recited morning prayers while the rest of us observed respectfully. Hymns—especially the Christmas ones—soon embedded themselves in our collective memory. To this day, I can sing “O Holy Night” without missing a note or a beat.

The nuns were formidable, but they had a peculiar tenderness. One of their more memorable lessons? How to sit like a lady. Petticoats were compulsory—not bloomers. Sitting cross-legged? Absolutely not. And rocking back on chairs? “My dear, if God wanted the chair to have two legs, He would have made it so,” one sister quipped mid-glare, leaving us to wobble back to earth with red faces and wounded pride.

Outside the academic syllabus—Malay, English, math, History, Geography, and Science—Convent quietly equipped us with life skills. As early as Standard Four, we were taught to sew. Our first project: a gingham skirt, worn with wobbly pride during folk dancing.

“Heel, toe… heel, toe… slide, slide, slide… right hand clap, left hand clap, both hands clap, and on the knees…” We twirled, stumbled, giggled, and occasionally fell on said knees. The laughter was always louder than the music. From Form One to Form Three, every student—whether tomboyish, bookish, or secretly allergic to domesticity—was required to learn both sewing and cooking.

In Home Science class, we threaded needles with shaky fingers, stitched aprons with more hope than symmetry, and eventually learnt to prepare meals from scratch. We chopped onions, stirred curries, baked cookies, and even mastered the lost art of ironing a shirt to perfection.

No apron? No cooking. And then came the dreaded housecoat—a sewing project that taught us patience, or, for some, the art of strategic delegation (thank you, Mum... or the neighbourhood tailor). It was our first real encounter with persistence—and creative outsourcing.

Cooking class had its own sitcom-worthy charm. We worked in pairs in a tiled kitchen, measuring ingredients like cautious chemists. The aromas—coconut milk, fried shallots, pandan—still linger in memory. These weren’t just lessons in domesticity. They were lessons in collaboration, independence, and the unspoken joy of creating something from scratch, together.

Outside the classroom, Convent gave us the freedom to grow emotionally and socially. We played sports on open badminton courts, practised folk dances in the school hall during downpours, and turned recess into a daily theatre of hopscotch, line tag, and whispered gossip. Friendships were formed not just over group projects and shared lunches but also through whispered confessions and collective punishments.

But what made Convent truly special wasn’t just the education—it was the sisterhood. We were a patchwork of languages, cultures, and beliefs, and yet, under one roof, those differences didn’t divide—they enriched us. Our friendships didn’t need labels.

CHIJ Batch of 1979, 45 years after leaving school

We left school with more than just report cards—we carried away values that outlast grades: humility, respect, resilience, and a quiet confidence that we could stitch things together, even when seams came undone.

Looking back, those 11 years at Convent were golden. We were taught to strive for excellence—but more importantly, to live with heart. In a world often divided by difference, Convent taught us the beauty of unity in diversity. It also gave us empathy, confidence, and the unshakeable belief that community doesn’t mean sameness. It means standing side by side, differences and all.

That, above all, was the greatest lesson.