JOKE

Cxzh

Classwork, homework, tests.

That was my life in a small public school in China

Starting from seven, I had been told by multiple teachers the importance of grades, the tiny, simple marks on exams that could determine my whole life. The amusing part about this doctrine was that the “grades” here only referred to my Chinese, math, and English grades. Other subjects, such as Physical Education, Legal Systems and Society, and Choir, were empty forty-minute breaks that three major courses could easily replace. Those “insignificant” subjects still had their final exams, nightmares for ignorant students like us, who knew nothing about “techniques for singing.”

A nightmare like this plugged into my memory at 4 PM of spring when I was ten. I was sitting in front of my brown wooden desk, recalling the rough texture of the Chinese novel I read yesterday. The sharp sound of heels clicking on the floor pierced into my mind, breaking the short and peaceful moment I had, and I saw someone who did not belong to this classroom, at least not at this period. I was not surprised by the arrival of our Chinese teacher; it was not the first time she had come to our PE class without an invitation. However, her words shocked the whole classroom.

“I guessed you guys are lucky today,” she said shrill, “I will only use ten minutes of this PE class today to briefly talk about our test results. You will spend the rest of the time having your normal PE class.”

Are we going to have thirty minutes of PE class? That was the idea that jumped into every student’s mind. Waves of joy washed the classroom, and all of us were charged and ready for our Chinese teacher’s long lecture. Her words, such as “useless children,” “stupid students,” and “lazy kids,” were no longer her boring, repetitive scolding but a sweet and warm introduction to our real PE class.

“Quiet! I hate to give a speech like this, but you forced me to do so by using your horrible performances on this exam! I am so disappointed but no longer want to waste my time. Your PE class starts now.”

We turned around and stared at the door, expecting our PE teacher to come in, but he did not show up. Our Chinese teacher also stayed in the classroom. She gently pulled out a pile of paper, separating it neatly and placing it on each desk. We were frozen in silence, surprised by the twist that had just happened. Looking at the test paper, we realized the truth.

We were, in fact, not very lucky to have this thirty-minute PE class.

She handed out the final PE exam, the exam that nobody was ready for because we had been learning how to solve “linear equations” or analyze “Li Bai’s poems” instead of “running techniques” in every PE class. This was unfair; everyone in the classroom would fail this test except those “bad” or “naughty” children who cared about sports.

I am a very, very kind teacher, so I will not be so harsh on you by letting you fail this exam (because our scores for PE’s final exam would be reported to the educational office in Guangzhou, and she would be punished if our scores were too low). I will help you a little, but if anyone talks during this session, I will stop and leave, which means you will all fail this test. Remember, even if this subject is useless, this test still matters for your evaluation at the end of theyear.” We all stared at our Chinese teacher, waiting for her to “help” us, reading our answers. Without hesitation, we transferred what she said to our test word-by-word paper. A bold woman who constantly screamed at us to teach integrity was the first teacher who taught me how to cheat.

“You are here to obtain wisdom and knowledge, not to become a singer or an athlete for fun. If you want to be a joke like them, you can drop down your pen and leave now because fun is not what you need for a better future,” the Chinese teacher said while flipping the answer keys. “Your pen right here in your hand and every test paper you received are crucial, deciding your future journey. A better score means you are chasing up to your classmates and doing well in a race to achieve your goal!”

I spent all my childhood chasing others to be someone who had nothing to do with my passion. I chased to be a prodigy who could solve high school math questions when I was in fourth grade; I chased to be an English master by memorizing the rigid structure of essays to answer questions numbly; I chased to be a Chinese literature expert by figuring out the standard answers for text analysis questions on tests, but the correct answer was always the beautiful overinterpretations that were not born in the authors’ heads but in those test creators’ minds. I wanted to be all these characters who my friends already were. I did not want to be left behind in the race, so I joined the endless fight, struggling to become someone I did not want to be.

I was wrapped up by exam papers and worksheets, being rolled into a cycle of pain, where I was forced to hide my avid pursuit of drama to earn respect from others. I was living under the fear of dictatorship, converting my teachers’ beliefs into my beliefs so I could avoid being punished. I could only see a tired child in the mirror every night when I was looking at my reflection, and this child was lost. Her soul was draining away every time she shared her love for geometry and criticized how useless an actor was even though she dreamed of being one.

She could not breathe, so she transferred to another school, BASIS International School Guangzhou, in fifth grade.

The school integrated Western and Chinese values, challenging students’ academic abilities while respecting children’s diverse passions. I had time to explore myself patiently through clubs, electives, and sports teams, which my old school did not pay attention to. I could create my path here instead of mimicking others’ routes, and my path would always be supported even if it was not fully connected to academic subjects. The race continued in this school, but I signed up for the correct category for me, unlike before.

In my first drama project at BASIS International School Guangzhou, I met many enthusiasts who loved drama; they were all brave, confident, and vigorous, shining with miraculous energies. They were proud of their devotion to acting and willing to admit their identities as drama students to everyone. They were fearless in sharing their own distinctive opinions about the plots of plays, even if their ideas were different or opposite to our teachers’ views.

This was very strange to me. The most important thing I learned from my past was to always stay quiet, follow directions, and obey every rule. I never shared my disagreements with any teachers.

I remembered the consequence of sharing disagreement and being “disobedient.” When I learned that zero could not be the divisor, our math teacher told us, “Because dividing zero is meaningless, you cannot divide any number by zero.” I did not fully understand her explanation, but I tried to memorize what she said and accepted it. One of the students raised his hand, asking our teacher, “Why is it ‘meaningless’?” Our teacher stopped her lecture and stared at him, judging. She slowly opened her mouth and stated, “Because it is meaningless, you should not care about it.”

“I know, but why is it meaningless? I don’t get why diving zero is meaningless. What makes it meaningless to divide something by zero?” The innocent voice echoed in the classroom, and it annoyed our teacher.

“I said it already! You don’t need to be stuck with this concept! ‘Meaningless’ is ‘meaningless’! Dividing zero is meaningless, so stop being so stubborn over a word! Stop interrupting my class!” Our teacher shouted at him. Tears ran out from that little boy’s eyes, but I did not empathize with him then. I supported my teacher, and I believed he was indeed “stubborn.”

Our teacher tried to stop us from diving beyond the word “meaningless” with a desire for knowledge because she also did not know how to define “meaningless.” I chose to obey, staying ignorant to avoid being shouted at. This situation was the same with my Chinese class. We were asked to be brave enough to overinterpret the texts to find the standard answers for exams, but we were not courageous enough to discuss our analysis for an excerpt. “Just figure out what the exam paper wants you to think for this excerpt and write the correct answers on your exams!” That was what our Chinese teacher said to us every time, but questions about this were always in my mind. How should we define “correct”? Why was there always a standard answer for the interpretation of literature?

My old education system was like the society James Baldwin described in “A Talk to Teachers”; our world needs independent people to “look at the world” by themselves and “make” their “own decisions,” having self-determinations and critical thinking to explore knowledge, but what my old school cultivated was someone who would “simply obey the rules” created by teachers and our exams (James Baldwins). You were a joke if you chose to inspect deeper into a concept and “interrupt” your teachers’ teaching. If you decided to do arts or sports instead of academic-focused studies, you were a joke. If you chose to tell others the feelings you had in mind all the time, break the limitations around you, and stand up to scream and throw your special opinions at the teachers’ faces, you were a joke! In those teachers’ eyes, it would be better to stay silent and act like obedient puppets, moving to perform their favorite show–how my students work hard only to reach my expectations.

In contrast, my new school, BASIS International School Guangzhou, broke the string stuck to my arms for so long, teaching me that I was not a joke. The desire for knowledge was not a joke. My passion for fine arts and sports was not a joke. Independent thinking was never a joke. The Western values of my new educational system supported everyone to be different, breaking the limitations to grow into unique styles of people in achieving dreams. There was no exact right or wrong answer, and there was never a passion hierarchy. Everyone’s ideas and hobbies were equal and distinct; even though disagreements could occur in our community, we embraced the differences and celebrated the flourishing of diversity.

Due to this fresh and amiable community in which I have been studying, I can proudly introduce myself to everyone and tell them I love drama, ask teachers questions bravely, and admit my disagreements with others. I already broke through the worksheets and test papers that trapped me long ago, throwing them away to tell everyone I am unique and not quiet. I am a “disobedient” child and never a joke.