Principal's Message

Sawubona
I see you.
I notice you.
I hear you.
All of you.
Your dignity. Your value, and your worth.

It was night, and the winds were strong. You were struggling on your motorcycle along Bartley Viaduct, trying to balance something heavy behind you, and you kept looking back. I kept a safe distance from you, deliberately following you so that no other cars would go behind you. After a while, you began to ride without turning back, seeming more reassured; and sometime later, you exited towards Bedok.

You stood outside the Hindu temple along Serangoon Road. You looked frail in your weather-beaten frame. You struggled to stand steady and were shivering; yet you held out your hands – or were you holding something? I could not see clearly, but obviously, you were begging the devotees for a little money. I struggled within. It was very heavy traffic. I could not stop. I still think of you from time to time, wondering how you are.

Seated in a coffee joint with full glass panels, I looked out at the rain outside. I love the rain! Then I saw you. You struggled to get off your motorcycle in your raincoat. You looked old. You walked gingerly towards the coffee joint. The moment you entered and walked towards the counter, I saw how you were treated with disrespect, and maybe even disdain, by the barista. You were slightly drenched and probably feeling cold, but you were still doing your food delivery job – collecting the hot coffee and food, which you probably needed more than anyone else, but which were for someone who had ordered.

I walked up to you and said, “Uncle, ride carefully; it’s wet outside.” You were surprised. But you smiled.

Later, I wrote a long email to the management of the coffee joint, detailing all my observations of that day. I received an offer of a free cuppa. I don’t need it. Do better next time.

You sat on the floor at the school foyer, with your palms on your cheeks. I walked over. “Are you okay?” I asked. You said, “No.” I sat on the floor with you. You shared how tired you were from school and what had happened. I invited you to reframe and encouraged you to keep going. Your mum drove into the school. You got in, still looking tired. I feel you. It was a long day for you.

You sat alone, eating at recess. I asked you, “Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?” You shrugged your shoulders. You seemed to want to be alone. I left you. I texted your teacher about it.

With the weight of the laptop and everything else in your hands and bag, from afar, I could see that you looked a little drained. I texted, “Are you okay? You seem tired. Hope you get some rest. Teaching is a tiring job; I know.”

I see you. I see your pain, but most of all, I see your dignity, your value, and your worth. Everyone has the same worth as everybody else. We are equal, made in the image of God – big or small, young or old, rich or poor.

Am I better than everyone else with what I have shared above? No. Categorically, “No,” I say to you. It’s only this: I see you.

This new year, 2026, I wish for all of us – teachers, non-teaching staff, and all our close to 1,300 girls. I wish that you will also say, “I see you.” Learn to notice one another – their joy, their pain, their tiredness, their dignity, value, and worth. Learn to feel the emotions of another person; and move beyond understanding and feeling – do something for the person(s): support, assistance, a listening ear. Be life-giving.

Where did I learn this? From a simple Zulu, South African greeting—Sawubona. They don’t just say hi or hello. They say Sawubona, which means: I see you.

By truly seeing one another and doing something good for them, we recognise the image of God within them.

Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

Matthew 25:40

Have a blessed year ahead!

Miss Minnie Cheong