This story is an emotional one for me to tell because it summons bad memories. It’s a tale of the younger me, who was often judged by onlookers, but was able to find something special within all the pain.

When I first arrived in America from living with my aunt in China, I was six- years-old and just about to start kindergarten. Most children that age have three things on their minds: eat, sleep, and play. It was no different for me. I wasn’t a chatty student, but I did make some friends who sat near me. Two years into schooling, my parents suddenly decided that we should move into a larger house. I wasn’t particularly bothered by this news because I understood that we needed more space. We moved into our new house, which was about a twenty-two-minute walk from our previous home.

Although there were butterflies in my stomach, I couldn’t contain the excitement I felt. In my mind, I thought I would be able to create so many new friendships. Things seemed to be pretty normal, and all the students were normal enough, as well. Then, slowly, I began to notice people talking about me. Often, I just ignored them and went about my day. Honestly, in the beginning, I only felt a little hurt because it was more annoying than painful. The kids would discuss how my mouth was strange because I was born with a cleft palate. I began crying in secret because I felt that it would be an awkward conversation if I spoke to a teacher. This went on for several years and I kept quiet. One day, my class had a new female student. Before, the thought of a new student would excite me, but things had changed. I did my best to drown out the commotion around her. I observed her from a distance. Surprisingly or unsurprisingly, I’m not sure, I learned that she had an outgoing personality. She joked and she could dispel any awkward atmosphere.

One day, I sat in my usual spot during lunchtime and carried on with my meal. Just as I was about to chomp down, the new girl appeared across from me. She asked if she could take the seat across from me and I just gave a short nod. She was talking about odd things, but it made me feel comfortable. During the first couple of weeks of sitting with her, I would only give straightforward responses to her questions. Later on, our lunch-table relationship started to make me feel happier. The people who would tease me about my appearance before were trying to get to know me better.

Eventually, I asked her why she wanted to sit at the same table as the quiet girl. She told me that it wasn’t because I looked special, it was because I didn’t look special. Her next words surprised me a little and I didn’t exactly understand them either. “I didn’t think I could speak with you for more than one lunch period, but my thoughts on that changed quickly. I like chatting with you because you have a normal personality and you don’t try to make yourself stand out. You are kind of the opposite of the other students in this school, so I got curious about you,” she said. At that time, I realized that it was fine to keep quiet, but I had been far too silent. I had let my voice fade away.

Now, when I think back to my elementary-school years, I think of the nightly tears. But I also remember the nice-little debates over useless things with the new girl who randomly chose to sit with me one lunch. From that moment, I discovered a new side of me that could speak up for herself and stand her ground.

© Maggie. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.