本文发表在 rolia.net 枫下论坛We all called the girl who had shared the desk with me “Two Bars” – she was a captain of Youth Pioneer League for which she had a plastic patch pinned on her left arm with two bright red bars on it. She was not pretty, but that was not the reason why most boys tried to keep a distance from her. Understandably, having a nagging mother at home was already miserable enough, having another one at school would surely drive them crazy.
She, bright, diligent and helpful, was a teachers’ eye candy; I, reckless, procrastinating, sarcastic, stood for trouble. The mere sight of us seating side by side was enough to prompt a good laugh.
When the news that Two Bar was asked to help me with my English became known in the class, I had been jested for weeks. I felt my dignity and ego was brutally bruised and needed immediate repair. There was no way for me to subject to this kind of humiliation - whenever it was time for her to help me with my English, I acted up, blatantly showing my absent-mindedness, making faces or simply playing dumb.
One day, after several failed attempts in engaging me in English study, probably having enough with my stupidity, she looked at the desk in front of her and tears started to roll down on her cheeks. I was dumbfounded, and, then, I relented. Having never been in that kind of situation before, I did not know what to do despite a number of things did across my mind. But I did nothing helpful, mentally debating, squirming in my seat and smiling awkwardly to the rest of the class. Abruptly, she got up and went out of the door.
Next day, she acted like nothing had happened. I found I was attracted to her.
On a Sunday, I went to a book store with my father who was browsing some mechanic books while leaving me roaming freely. I stumbled upon a big sketch book. My eyes instantly stayed on a page on which there was a sketch of naked woman. I swore I could hear my heart pounding, my hands clammy, suspecting all people in the book store were watching me. But I could not move my eyes until someone yanked the book out of my hand, startling me out of my trance. It was my dad. But I made a mental note there and then that I would come back – alone.
Somehow, I had this weird imagining of Two Bar in one of those sketch pictures. I began fantasizing about her and involuntarily watched her every move, during recess, on playground and on her way home. Sometimes, in order not look too obviously, I glanced at her through the corner of my eyes until my vision blurred because of excessive strain. I particularly liked her thinking posture when she was deeply engrossed in her reading, one hand holding the book, the other fiddling her big plait, afternoon sunlight slanting through window enveloping her in a bright aura and warm breeze gently caressing her forehead hair. This scene was seared in my memory for the rest of my life.
My English had not improved, but the scheduled self-study with Two Bar had become something I was looking forward to.
My Chinese essays were good. I found it much easier to write Chinese essay than to compose an English sentence. You only need to know how to beat the system. Most students were quite unimaginative, keeping writing platitude such as picking up a coin at a roadside and sending it to a policeman, or helping a senile neighbour clean house because her son was in the army etc. I quickly found out the Chinese writing format and became pretty good at it. There wasn’t any analysis, reasoning, deducing and inducing, critical thinking needed, all it took was opulent sentiment on extolling something, condemning something, or most of time both. For instance, I could easily spin on a rusty nail that our socialist future needed us study harder to prevent from rusting; or you saw a half brick, which could mean you need to contribute your effort one step at time because our glorious socialist country were figuratively built with numerous bricks... Once I knew how to write Chinese essays, the rest was simple: the subjects were virtually endless - a broken broom, half paper, three-leg chair etc. I felt particularly good when Two Bars borrowed my essays that were used as examples and read before the whole class. I shared with her my writing secret unreservedly, as matter of fact, I was willing to do anything for her.
Someone in my school had designed a rather sadistic way to rank students: at the end of the each term, all the scores of different subjects would be tallied, averaged and ranked accordingly. The rankings along with student names were handwritten in black with a paintbrush against a huge red poster. The poster was usually taped beside the blackboard in front of the class for weeks. It dramatically amplified the glory for the students whose rankings were high and also exacerbated the misery of students whose rankings were low. My ranking was low, very low.
The true judgemental day was the day after a meeting between the teacher and the parents. Parents whose children ranked low had to talk to the teacher individually in her office where they were basically scolded and humiliated. Those parents would normally in turn beat the shit out of their children when they went back home.
Despite my poor academic performance, my parents never beat me. But the sadness on their faces made my misery no less painful. My neighbour was a girl who happened to be also in my class. She never spoke to anyone and always buried her face in books studying something. Her clothing rarely matched her figure. She was almost invisible to the rest of the class as if her existence was a sorry mistake. Despite all her efforts, her scores were terrible. If she were in Canada today, I think she could be identified as having autism or something and be given special attention. After every Judgement Day, her father would beat her up pretty badly. His yelling mingled with her wailing made the whole building like Guo Ming Dang torture dungeon in the movie. The rumour went like her father wanted a son. My parents usually rushed out and knock on her door trying to stop the beating. Her misfortune somehow took a lot pressure off my misery. Therefore I secretly call her my Angel Guardian.
One day in my 5th grade, my Angel Gardian was found drowned in a small pond. No one knew what happened. I was completely traumatised. For the first time in my life, I was this close to death. All of sudden, death was no longer as romantic as something you could visualize in a movie when our never-die People’s Liberation Army heroes meowed down layers of clumsy Guo Ming Dang reactionary or American soldiers with machine guns and grenades, but a concrete and tragic ending of a human life. However, secretly, I thought maybe it wasn’t that bad for her after all. What was there for her in this life anyway?
Good news for 5 graders was there were no final exams; bad news was we were required to take Middle School Entrance Exams.
Two Bars and I ended up in different junior high schools – she was accepted by one of the best schools and me by the worst in the city according to our respective entrance exam results. The school I went to had managed to send only two students to universities over the school’s history; rest of students ended up in various professions like cook, bus ticket collector, janitor, factory worker, prisoner etc. My family was so disappointed in me that they have readjusted their expectations from keeping me out of trouble to keeping me out of prison. To me, for better or worse, it was a new start and I was looking forward to leaving my sorrowful past behind.更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net
She, bright, diligent and helpful, was a teachers’ eye candy; I, reckless, procrastinating, sarcastic, stood for trouble. The mere sight of us seating side by side was enough to prompt a good laugh.
When the news that Two Bar was asked to help me with my English became known in the class, I had been jested for weeks. I felt my dignity and ego was brutally bruised and needed immediate repair. There was no way for me to subject to this kind of humiliation - whenever it was time for her to help me with my English, I acted up, blatantly showing my absent-mindedness, making faces or simply playing dumb.
One day, after several failed attempts in engaging me in English study, probably having enough with my stupidity, she looked at the desk in front of her and tears started to roll down on her cheeks. I was dumbfounded, and, then, I relented. Having never been in that kind of situation before, I did not know what to do despite a number of things did across my mind. But I did nothing helpful, mentally debating, squirming in my seat and smiling awkwardly to the rest of the class. Abruptly, she got up and went out of the door.
Next day, she acted like nothing had happened. I found I was attracted to her.
On a Sunday, I went to a book store with my father who was browsing some mechanic books while leaving me roaming freely. I stumbled upon a big sketch book. My eyes instantly stayed on a page on which there was a sketch of naked woman. I swore I could hear my heart pounding, my hands clammy, suspecting all people in the book store were watching me. But I could not move my eyes until someone yanked the book out of my hand, startling me out of my trance. It was my dad. But I made a mental note there and then that I would come back – alone.
Somehow, I had this weird imagining of Two Bar in one of those sketch pictures. I began fantasizing about her and involuntarily watched her every move, during recess, on playground and on her way home. Sometimes, in order not look too obviously, I glanced at her through the corner of my eyes until my vision blurred because of excessive strain. I particularly liked her thinking posture when she was deeply engrossed in her reading, one hand holding the book, the other fiddling her big plait, afternoon sunlight slanting through window enveloping her in a bright aura and warm breeze gently caressing her forehead hair. This scene was seared in my memory for the rest of my life.
My English had not improved, but the scheduled self-study with Two Bar had become something I was looking forward to.
My Chinese essays were good. I found it much easier to write Chinese essay than to compose an English sentence. You only need to know how to beat the system. Most students were quite unimaginative, keeping writing platitude such as picking up a coin at a roadside and sending it to a policeman, or helping a senile neighbour clean house because her son was in the army etc. I quickly found out the Chinese writing format and became pretty good at it. There wasn’t any analysis, reasoning, deducing and inducing, critical thinking needed, all it took was opulent sentiment on extolling something, condemning something, or most of time both. For instance, I could easily spin on a rusty nail that our socialist future needed us study harder to prevent from rusting; or you saw a half brick, which could mean you need to contribute your effort one step at time because our glorious socialist country were figuratively built with numerous bricks... Once I knew how to write Chinese essays, the rest was simple: the subjects were virtually endless - a broken broom, half paper, three-leg chair etc. I felt particularly good when Two Bars borrowed my essays that were used as examples and read before the whole class. I shared with her my writing secret unreservedly, as matter of fact, I was willing to do anything for her.
Someone in my school had designed a rather sadistic way to rank students: at the end of the each term, all the scores of different subjects would be tallied, averaged and ranked accordingly. The rankings along with student names were handwritten in black with a paintbrush against a huge red poster. The poster was usually taped beside the blackboard in front of the class for weeks. It dramatically amplified the glory for the students whose rankings were high and also exacerbated the misery of students whose rankings were low. My ranking was low, very low.
The true judgemental day was the day after a meeting between the teacher and the parents. Parents whose children ranked low had to talk to the teacher individually in her office where they were basically scolded and humiliated. Those parents would normally in turn beat the shit out of their children when they went back home.
Despite my poor academic performance, my parents never beat me. But the sadness on their faces made my misery no less painful. My neighbour was a girl who happened to be also in my class. She never spoke to anyone and always buried her face in books studying something. Her clothing rarely matched her figure. She was almost invisible to the rest of the class as if her existence was a sorry mistake. Despite all her efforts, her scores were terrible. If she were in Canada today, I think she could be identified as having autism or something and be given special attention. After every Judgement Day, her father would beat her up pretty badly. His yelling mingled with her wailing made the whole building like Guo Ming Dang torture dungeon in the movie. The rumour went like her father wanted a son. My parents usually rushed out and knock on her door trying to stop the beating. Her misfortune somehow took a lot pressure off my misery. Therefore I secretly call her my Angel Guardian.
One day in my 5th grade, my Angel Gardian was found drowned in a small pond. No one knew what happened. I was completely traumatised. For the first time in my life, I was this close to death. All of sudden, death was no longer as romantic as something you could visualize in a movie when our never-die People’s Liberation Army heroes meowed down layers of clumsy Guo Ming Dang reactionary or American soldiers with machine guns and grenades, but a concrete and tragic ending of a human life. However, secretly, I thought maybe it wasn’t that bad for her after all. What was there for her in this life anyway?
Good news for 5 graders was there were no final exams; bad news was we were required to take Middle School Entrance Exams.
Two Bars and I ended up in different junior high schools – she was accepted by one of the best schools and me by the worst in the city according to our respective entrance exam results. The school I went to had managed to send only two students to universities over the school’s history; rest of students ended up in various professions like cook, bus ticket collector, janitor, factory worker, prisoner etc. My family was so disappointed in me that they have readjusted their expectations from keeping me out of trouble to keeping me out of prison. To me, for better or worse, it was a new start and I was looking forward to leaving my sorrowful past behind.更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net