Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 84

Hispanic lady who was the owner of the house . As she brought up my need to find a school , the lady hastily introduced the one her son was enrolled in , a private French bi-lingual school well acclaimed in the city as the oldest and most renowned . I do not think it was their particular confidence that I was going to get into a French school the year after I learned English that convinced us to approach the school , but I assumed that the trend with all of our arrangements were quite spontaneous anyways .
The entrance examination came along and I was lead into a building that appeared decades old with vines expanding intimately on the walls outside , almost creating the illusion of a protective barrier to the halls inside . The antiqueness glistened with an elegance that was appreciable and modest . Despite my anticipation to explore the rest of campus , I patiently went through the testing , which to my surprise was not particularly arduous . We were notified days later that I was miraculously admitted and could to start in a preparatory class the first year .
With good news , comes the probability of shortcomings . Being naturally on the quiet and composed side , I kept things mostly to myself , but this was stagnating at times , as I often felt afraid to speak in my third language . The most distinct memory I had of making a laugh out of myself was during a discussion in our class . Christmas was around the corner and our teacher decided to ask us what we were going to do for Santa . Maybe I had zoned out the entire time when the other kids were giving their responses or I simply had terrible listening skills , but either way when I was asked , “ Et toi Natasha , qu ’ estce que tu vas faire pour Père Nöel ?” the immediate answer I blurted out was , “ Well , my mom said she ’ d buy me one !” In that instance , a burst of laughter exploded and reverberated around the room . Every single student in the class was laughing when a boy blared out , “ Your mom is going to buy you a Santa Claus ?” and retreated back to giggling hysterically .
Apparently , I had mistaken Santa in French , “ Père Nöel ” for “ Piano ,” as much as that seems impossible to mix up . It wasn ’ t that such instances left a negative imprint on my self-esteem per say because apart from the instantaneous embarrassment I felt exposed to , I wasn ’ t affected to any greater extent . Though looking back , these small details do and did subconsciously plant the idea that maybe I was not clever and qualified enough to be there or that I didn ’ t belong with these kids . Fortunately , these thoughts were beyond recognition for my younger self and throughout elementary school , I learned to identify myself as just another member of the community .
Just another member of the community , I ask myself now . Was that mode of thinking the problem ? In order to fit in , it was common sense for me to adapt into a herd mentality , doing what the majority did so I was not the odd one out . It never hit me that I should of tried to excel or aim to realize my own potential whatever it may be . Being the above average Chinese girl seemed adequate enough as a title , challenging myself on an even battlefield with the kids I grew up was not a concern or priority in the least . In fact , the averageness I had managed to maintain followed me in closer proximities when I hit middle school .
At that age , some of the more ambitious students became more dedicated to their interests and began setting objectives for the year . Though for me , I was restricted to making meaningful progress towards self-growth because there was nothing that interested me . The worse part about it was , I did not care .
The activities hosted in school were plentiful and being an older and more established institution , the school was also rife with clubs and activities to join . One day , the announcements were encouraging students to walk around the club fair to sign for an extracurricular they were interested in . My friends and I went to the auditorium to find a circle path that was filled with booths along the way . I circled past each booth numerous times , but found at the end that nothing sparked my gaze for more than a few seconds .
Though my unconcerned self was not so worried about my lack of passion in anything and my weariness to find one , it became increasingly apparent to my mother that I was wasting precious time empty handedly . We continued having many conversations to which I mostly sought to fight back , but almost the same topic came forth every time : my reluctance to read .
Growing up , my mother always stressed the importance of reading to me , how it prevented us from shallowness and ignorance , how it teaches us of human nature and dealing with people . How it