randomtricks
Jan 5, 2014
Undergraduate / I had moved to Hawaii from China..Essay about a powerful event in my life and its effects. [2]
We all remember our first day of school. It haunts our dreams; it influences our decisions; it scars us for the rest of our lives. It is truly disturbing: the feeling of walking into the unfamiliar and unforgiving environment and the blank faces of fellow classmates all expecting the worst. Older siblings and the media warn us of the ghastly assignments, the inescapable labyrinth of hallways, and the ghoulish, maniacal teachers who thirst for our very souls. My first day was like that, but a hundred times worse.
I had moved to Hawaii from China just a month before my first day. I dreaded the idea of going to school. Daily occurrences and routines were eventually adaptable, but the real apprehension came from the fact that English and I had only barely met. Yes, I knew the basic phrases like "hello," "goodbye," and "apple," but where would they get me? Any American second grader could plow through the English lessons we had in China. I was lacking the one absolutely vital skill needed to live in the United States.
My teacher was waiting for me outside my classroom. She was old. She wasn't the skinny and frail old, but the thick, strong, and no-nonsense old. I looked around the classroom and found it dimly lit, old, and musty. Posters of overly happy people and famous events covered most of the walls. There was a single, well-kept blackboard in the front of the classroom. In the center of classroom was a massive assortment of glowering, tortured students. The teacher slurred something to me, and pointed to the rest of the class. I gave her my blank face again.
With cruel horror, it dawned to me that my teacher wanted me introduce myself to the class- in English. Why did she want me to talk? Didn't my parents say anything about my predicament? She probably wanted to see how much English I knew. I had no choice.
"I-," I stuttered. How do I put these letters together? "I- my- na-, Peng-Zi-Wei!" The whole class froze in stunned silence for a moment, then combusted into violent, quaking laughter. The teacher led me to my seat and I tried to salvage the little dignity I had left.
When class ended, my teacher held a parent-teacher conference and asked if I wanted to stay in the school. I immediately thought of what happened in the morning and realized that if I stayed, it would happen to me almost every day. Education would come with humiliation. A simple "no" would definitely get things back to normal. Yet, I also realized that an exceptional few would get a chance like the one I had. If I stayed, I could be bilingual. Everyone I knew in China would envy my ability. I would have a much higher chance of being successful. It would be horrendously painful, but the fruit at the end would be sweeter than any normal life in China.
It really was a devil versus angel on my shoulder moment. What the heck, I thought.
"Yes."
I often look back on that day. I am thankful for staying. Luckily, the teacher enrolled me in the Second Language Program and this became my lifeline for communication. Today, my social life has flourished, boosted by the new cultural connection. Having absorbed English to the level of a native tongue and retained Mandarin Chinese at home, I've made myself into a unique and culturally open individual. I've learned to make "blind" judgments, ones that are derived from only character and ignore the outer biases and stereotypes.
What if I had said no? The answer is simple. I would be in China, doing whatever it is people do there every day, and thinking, "What if I had said yes?"
Words entered: 629
We all remember our first day of school. It haunts our dreams; it influences our decisions; it scars us for the rest of our lives. It is truly disturbing: the feeling of walking into the unfamiliar and unforgiving environment and the blank faces of fellow classmates all expecting the worst. Older siblings and the media warn us of the ghastly assignments, the inescapable labyrinth of hallways, and the ghoulish, maniacal teachers who thirst for our very souls. My first day was like that, but a hundred times worse.
I had moved to Hawaii from China just a month before my first day. I dreaded the idea of going to school. Daily occurrences and routines were eventually adaptable, but the real apprehension came from the fact that English and I had only barely met. Yes, I knew the basic phrases like "hello," "goodbye," and "apple," but where would they get me? Any American second grader could plow through the English lessons we had in China. I was lacking the one absolutely vital skill needed to live in the United States.
My teacher was waiting for me outside my classroom. She was old. She wasn't the skinny and frail old, but the thick, strong, and no-nonsense old. I looked around the classroom and found it dimly lit, old, and musty. Posters of overly happy people and famous events covered most of the walls. There was a single, well-kept blackboard in the front of the classroom. In the center of classroom was a massive assortment of glowering, tortured students. The teacher slurred something to me, and pointed to the rest of the class. I gave her my blank face again.
With cruel horror, it dawned to me that my teacher wanted me introduce myself to the class- in English. Why did she want me to talk? Didn't my parents say anything about my predicament? She probably wanted to see how much English I knew. I had no choice.
"I-," I stuttered. How do I put these letters together? "I- my- na-, Peng-Zi-Wei!" The whole class froze in stunned silence for a moment, then combusted into violent, quaking laughter. The teacher led me to my seat and I tried to salvage the little dignity I had left.
When class ended, my teacher held a parent-teacher conference and asked if I wanted to stay in the school. I immediately thought of what happened in the morning and realized that if I stayed, it would happen to me almost every day. Education would come with humiliation. A simple "no" would definitely get things back to normal. Yet, I also realized that an exceptional few would get a chance like the one I had. If I stayed, I could be bilingual. Everyone I knew in China would envy my ability. I would have a much higher chance of being successful. It would be horrendously painful, but the fruit at the end would be sweeter than any normal life in China.
It really was a devil versus angel on my shoulder moment. What the heck, I thought.
"Yes."
I often look back on that day. I am thankful for staying. Luckily, the teacher enrolled me in the Second Language Program and this became my lifeline for communication. Today, my social life has flourished, boosted by the new cultural connection. Having absorbed English to the level of a native tongue and retained Mandarin Chinese at home, I've made myself into a unique and culturally open individual. I've learned to make "blind" judgments, ones that are derived from only character and ignore the outer biases and stereotypes.
What if I had said no? The answer is simple. I would be in China, doing whatever it is people do there every day, and thinking, "What if I had said yes?"
Words entered: 629