SMILE OF A STRANGER
I moved from Shanghai to Toronto at 13 years old. In Shanghai, I had attended one of the “Foreign Language Schools” — which means my school placed a special emphasis on its mandatory English language curriculum. So when I moved to Toronto for middle school, I thought I was pretty good at English. I was so wrong. Despite being able to write essays, there is one giant important word that I most definitely did not understand: Socializing.
I had friend groups back in Shanghai, many of whom remain my best friends today. But the “social scene” among kids in Shanghai is completely separate from school; we were making friends virtually everywhere — in neighborhoods, at supermarkets, and in classrooms. What’s important, however, is that our schools took no interest in our friendships. If anything, we thought our schools were hostile to the idea of friendship, because the idea of “playing with friends” is often thought of as opposite to “studying”(Obviously, schools in China are not actually hostile to the idea of friendship. It was only our 10-year-old brains that perceived them to be so).
In Toronto, it was a completely different story. For the sake of anonymity, let me refer to my school in Canada as Orange-C. This is a boarding school that takes pride in its diverse student body and vibrant culture. The people at Orange-C are extremely — overwhelmingly — welcoming. The school promotes team-building exercises, school trips, and other activities to ensure that every international student feels welcomed. Furthermore, the school elects official student leaders who are called “Prefects” (No, we didn’t learn Defense Against the Dark Arts), and these student leaders spearhead all kinds of community projects.
All this pressure to socialize backfired on me. While I was pretty outgoing in Shanghai, I adopted an introverted personality as soon as I arrived at Orange-C. While I had no trouble making friends at a new school in Shanghai; at Orange-C, I felt more at ease alone. I took more comfort in my ability to win math contests than in relationships and friend groups.
One year into my life at Orange-C, I had made some friends. But to be honest, I felt more comfortable by myself than among these peers. Being welcomed into a friend group is one thing, feeling like I belonged was completely another. It was during my first year at Orange-C that I felt, for the first time, that being with friends was a task to be completed, a chore.
One day, after I finished my math contest in the morning, I went to the cafeteria to get lunch. It was close to the end of lunch recess, so my friends had left the cafeteria by then — thank god, I thought. I was still immersed in my thoughts about a problem that I couldn’t solve during the test, so I went to an empty table and started munching on my chicken breast (very difficult to chew even for someone who is used to food in North America; an epic challenge for those more used to Asian cooking!).
The cafeteria at Orange-C has big, circular tables. Each table sits between six and ten students, a large group size meant to encourage social interaction during mealtimes (Another big difference! In Shanghai, most primary and middle schools ask students to eat in silence, because apparently talking while eating causes indigestion…?).
Suddenly, out of nowhere, one of the Prefects pulled out the chair beside me.
“Can I sit here?”
I barely looked at her. I was still focused on my math.
“Go ahead.”
“Are you alright?”
“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.”
“OK. Just wanted to make sure. I don’t want you to sit alone!” she said — with a smile that I will never forget! It was the smile of a concerned parent, of a caring friend, of a wise psychiatrist… but most of all, to the thirteen-year-old me, it was the face of a stranger!
Was I alright? Of course! I could not be more alright! I was in my comfort zone; and what a rare pleasure it is for an immigrant student to be in their comfort zone!
What was I to do? Would I say “nah, actually I’m enjoying sitting alone”? No. The pressure to fit in was far too great. So, we proceeded to have the most awkward chat in Canadian history…
The Prefect. “So, how is your day going?”
“Uh, good. You?”
“You know, it’s going great! Been busy all day, drank two cups of coffee and all that, you know, haha… But it’s great!”
Silence.
The Prefect. “So… What’s your next class?”
“Uh, Geography.”
“Oh! Is Mr. Smith still teaching your Geography class? I loooved grade 9 Geography.”
“Nope.”
Silence.
The Prefect. “I didn’t know they changed teachers! Who teaches it now?”
“Ms. Bear.”
“She’s great isn’t she! She’s such a nice lady. I wish I were taught Geography by Ms. Bear.”
Silence.
The Prefect. “So how are you liking it here at Orange-C?”
“Uh, it’s my school. It’s my everyday life. I like it as much as I like everyday life.”
Silence.
The Prefect. “Uhh… K, I’d better get ready for my next class! See ya around!”
I responded by waving my hand.
The irony is this: four years later, I would actually become a Prefect myself, and I would go about promoting more or less the same things as she did.
So who on earth am I? Not Chinese: I need a visa just to visit my parents in China. Not quite Canadian either: I can’t remember the names of hockey players and I don’t like the taste of poutine. I am a Chinese-Canadian, a first-generation immigrant. But I don’t know what that means yet — for how can my identity be the absence of identity, and how can I call anywhere home if everywhere I am a visitor?
In my next post, I will talk more about my difficulty adjusting to the social and cultural norms of North American schools. There will be blood; there will be gore; there will be existential crises. Stay tuned.
