I would say that I am a good student. I make it a priority to perform well at school and stay curious. In fact, 90% of my nightmares are about receiving A-’s and forgetting an exam, which might just indicate where my priorities lie. But let me bring you back to Taiwan in 2012, the year I tested into to the most prestigious middle school in Taiwan; the year I learned nothing.
I grew up in a city named Taichung, where the best middle schools administered entrance exams. Among them, Stella Matutina Girl’s High School was the most prestigious institution. This Catholic school within the local education system embodies the cultural eclecticism at its best. In addition, there was an absurd amount of clout associated with the best private schools. Parents compared their children with one another, and kids dreamed for the acceptances. As a sixth-grader who had both a worried mother and the resources for the best tutors, I unwillingly and undeservingly tested into Stella Matutina. I remember making a deal with my mother.
“If I test into Stella Matutina, would I be able to go to an international program?” I said, hoping to switch to a school with an American track.
“Of course. Prove yourself and you will have the choice,” she said. “Never make a choice out of a rejection.”
But the promise was broken when I actually got into the all-girl middle school. Everyone was congratulating me on my acceptance and telling me how bright I was. I had no choice but to enroll after all.
And I hated it.
Every. Second. Of it.
Growing up, I was a tomboy who loved sports, but the test prep from fifth to sixth grade took away soccer and softball from me. I fought with my mother all the time just to be able to participate in softball tournaments. We screamed at each other, slammed doors, broke glass, and cried. Teachers would pull me aside during nap time to convince me that sports were trivial, but a good middle school was going to benefit me in the long run. This was also the reason why Hollywood action movies such as Fast and Furious and the Marvel franchise fascinated me. While rare, there were heroines in those movies who fought alongside the male leads. They were free, in my little sixth-grade mind.
Nevertheless, I understood the circumstances; the educational path was straightforward, and one’s test score was the only thing that warranted a better future. Even if my parents hurt seeing me unhappy, and even if my teachers knew that I loved soccer, they had to put on a show to prepare me for the real world.
Seventh grade at Stella Matutina was miserable from start to finish. Out of the 57 students in the class, I consistently ranked around 40. The best I did was 22. I remember that I scored the highest in math during the first semester, but my Chinese literature result dragged me to the bottom. My Chinese instructor was a mean lady who exclusively engaged with the top students. She would toss the unsatisfactory tests on the floor for their owners to pick up. Parents and students looked up to her as if she was a saint who sacrificed her kindness for our education. Once, she read my essay to the class and said that it was the worst thing she’d ever graded, although she never gave an explanation for her indictment. The exams also asked us to reproduce the definition of an ancient idiom, verbatim as how it appeared in the textbook.
Verbatim. My least favorite word of all time.
In comparison to the hell of memorization, math was fun, workable, and rewarding. It was at that time that I discovered my love for STEM subjects. At least, in the face of equations, I didn’t have to memorize some dead man’s moral wisdom word for word. I didn’t have to pretend like the honorable quotes that I committed to memory were actually applicable to women.
On top of all the memorization and my futile attempts, there were disorienting tensions throughout campus. Little girls were dazzled by the young male teachers, and rumor has it that students turned gay from the deprivation of boys. Another uncomfortable dynamic was derived from the omnipresence of nuns. To be very honest, I was a very difficult teenager. When I realized that there was no way I could recover my Chinese literature scores because I didn’t enroll in cram schools that gave me a jump start, I started looking for ways to piss off the administration. The nuns monitored classroom behaviors in the hallway. One day a nun confiscated my sewing project that distracted me during biology. Sometimes, they would catch me doodling during class. Interestingly, they never took away my drawings.
After a year, my parents decided to transfer me to an international program on an American path. I did not understand the sudden change of heart until years later, when my mother confessed to me.
“One night, I saw how frustrated you were at your Chinese literature homework. You said you had to memorize definitions and needed my help. You were sniffling a little, but you kept trying,” she said. “When opened your textbook, I saw the exact same passages that I read back in the 70s. That’s when I realized that, the world had moved on, but that education system remained.”
I went to Stella Matutina in the year of 2012. From my perspective, the world did end just a little bit. I am disturbed to say that I haven’t completely resolved my trauma from my time at Stella Matutina. I strangled with my intelligence indicated by my report cards, and I convinced myself that, by memorizing history without interpretation, I could still change the world. The privilege of being in an environment that provoked original thoughts was something that I didn’t posses in seventh grade. Later on, I would struggle with the development of critical thinking skills in the Bay Area. That challenge, though, was much more hopeful by nature. I think what troubles me is the survivor’s guilt from fleeing an education system that shattered numerous dreams. In Born a Crime, Trevor Noah mentions that the South African education only cares about facts and dates, which hurts the younger generation that lacks the voice to challenge history. Maybe I cannot dismiss this experience by saying that my education was still among the better ones comparing to the rest of the world. The limits at that school felt self-imposed, and that’s what generated the rage in my blood.
