Coolies' Clubs - a Composition

I had been selected to join the Gifted Education Programme (GEP)! My parents were blabbering about it, as though I had won the ‘Cleanest Room in the World’ contest. Having the cleanest room is near impossible for me because little habits like throwing my clothes around would have disqualified me. Anyway, my friends were elated aboutfor my successful enrolment into the GEP. However, I was not really excited by the fact that I was going to transfer to a different school that offered the GEP. I wanted to stay with my friends.

It was my first day at the new school. I got to know my friends a little bit, and I got scolded for putting a dead earthworm on her my form teacher’s chair. It was only for a little fun. I also got to know a club known as “The Coolies”. As soon as I heard it, I decided to join the club. I took it as a good opportunity to know my classmates better. The club was going to start its activities the next day.

That afternoon, I decided to tell Mum about the club. “Clubs are good. I joined a club last time, when I was at your age. I got to know a lot of my friends better, and I still keep in touch with some of them. You still remember the time you went to the ‘Lend-a-hand Club’? It was fun, right?”

I nodded vigourously.

The next day, after school (which I thought boring), the club members went to one of the classrooms to hold our meeting. The leader was Martin, someone from my class. He gave out some crumpled sheets of paper. This was printed on each sheet:

“These are the rules of the club:
“Everyone will listen to the leaders of the club.
“No one will talk about Christianity, unless you want to criticize it.
“On the day of the protest, no one is to leave school for any reason.
“No one will question anything the leaders have said.
“Christians are not allowed to join this club.”

I looked at my paper. What’s the protest? I looked at everyone else around me. No one seemed to be shocked by the rules. No one, except me. I gasped with horror, and show a horrified look. Martin show saw my horrified look, so he asked me, “Yes, Ryan? Do you have problems with the rules? If not, let’s continue.”

I quickly muttered ‘no problem’. If I had blurted out to the rest what I was thinking, they would have laughed at me and despised me. Still, I was very confused. I had always thought that a club had to have fun in it, like the previous club I had joined in my previous school. The club that I had joined before was for the students in the school to know and help one another in homework and other stuff. I remembered the birthday party that had been held for me. I remembered the drinks and pizza we had at the party. I remembered the games we had. I even remembered the keychain and storybook which were given to me on my birthday. I had also tied the keychain to the zip of my bag. I squeezed the orange rugby ball-keychain tightly.

When the rest finished reading the rules, Martin started to ask who the Christians were. I looked around. No hands were raised. However, before I realised it, I had raised mine. I was too quick. Why did you raise your hands, Ryan? Think of an excuse now, Ryan. Think.


Martin walked to me and kicked me on the back. He then dragged me out like a corpse. Without hesitation, I shouted at him and gave the excuse that I had actually wanted to go to the toilet. Martin then allowed me to join the club again.

I sat on the toilet, thinking: Good job, Ryan, for tricking Martin. I did not know what to do. I wished that the ground could swallow me up, and I also felt like crying. I did not know what to do: to continue with the club or stop joining it. Finally, I made up my mind. I decided to stop being a club member. Christianity is my faith, I will stand by it.

At once, I decided to quit the club. I went back to the classroom. I walked in, and kicked Martin hard on the shin. Everybody gasped in horror. Martin clenched his fists and told me grimly, “If nobody was here, I would have boxed you up. Tomorrow, you better look out for my fist, dog.”

I tried to be defiant, and shouted with a sarcastic salute, “Yes, sir.” Some of the club members gasped, others laughed.

“Defiance will not get you anywhere. Watch out tomorrow. As for now, you’re fired from this club!” Martin shouted. Suddenly he stood up, and slapped me hard on the cheek.

“You don’t need to fire me, I have already quitquitted!” I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the classroom. As I walked back home, I thought of my actions.. I began to regret the fact that I had kicked Martin on the shin. I began to regret the fact that I had acted defiantly. Tomorrow will not be a good day after all. However, it was no use crying over spilled milk. Rubbing my sore cheek, I walked briskly till I reached home.

The next day, I went to school with a homemade Nninchaku to defend myself, just like how the Stegosaurus defends itself from the Tyrannosaurus Rex. When I went to school the next day, I looked around cautiously True enough, he jumped out from his hiding place and tried to box hit me. Fortunately for me, I had the ninchaku in my hands, so I used it to whack Martin’s hand, even before he could box me. I took out my ninchaku, and whacked him hard even before he could hit me. Martin then ran away, howling in pain. Fortunately, he did not whine to the teacher about this incident; I think his pride and possibly sense of guilt must have stopped him from doing that.

However, for the rest of the day, everyone was all laughing and asking me about why I did not join the club, why I believed in Christ, why I acted so defiantly towards Martin and why I did what I did at the first club meeting. I did not feel like answering any of the barrages of silly questions.

The next morning, I went to school. Everything was normal. However, during the Math class, I kept feeling wet paper pellets hitting my head. Finally, I could not take it. I walked up to the teacher and asked, “Is there something with this classroom? I keep feeling wet paper pellets against my head.”

The Math teacher laughed and ignored me. I still felt the wet paper pellets. I looked around, trying to catch the culprit. However, I could not catch him. Soon, the Math teacher sent me out, claiming that I was disrupting the class with my whines.

Soon, I found out from one of my friends that Martin had actually shot the wet pellets at me during the Math class. He thought it was funny, but I did not think so. I told the teacher what I had heard from my friend. The teacher scolded Martin, and sent him out of class for the whole day!

After that incident, Martin never bullied me again. He also closed down his club because his friends alienated him after he got sent out of class. As a result, nobody attended his club.

Now, I still join clubs, but I will always ask them organizer what the club is about, before joining the club. I did do this, so that I could stop history from repeating itself again.