pebbles

Our church is located right across from my old primary school. With the morning service delayed by half an hour, RD and I decided to take a trip down memory lane and visit the school. It had been nearly a decade since I last set foot on the premises.

I gave RD a grand tour, showing him my classrooms from Kindergarten to sixth grade. We stood in front of my Kindergarten class, and I peered inside, reminiscing about my very first day and all my teachers' names. Everything looked so tiny now, and RD couldn't resist a cheeky remark.

"Look, Jules! The chairs are your size." Clearly, a good sense of humour is one of my boyfriend's stronger suits. Well, excuse me for not being genetically gifted with his height! I made a face at him, but I was secretly amused.

I took him to my favourite spot—the school library. I wondered if Mrs. Brown, the lovely librarian, was still there. We walked hand in hand around the playground as I regaled him with tales of my childhood, naming all the games I played at recess and lunch. I explained the rules of Budgie, and we built up quite a sweat playing it. We strolled past the canteen, the special computer room, the tiny bubblers, and the ever-popular handball squares.

RD wanted to meet the "friends" I talked to during my first month of Kindergarten. He meant the pebbles on the pavement of the assembly area. Yes, I used to talk to rocks.

Fresh off the boat and speaking no English, I had no friends. Despite the raw rejection and the years of therapy that awaited me, I never blamed those children; I blamed my tomboy haircut for causing confusion. The boys didn’t know whether to play with me because I looked like one of them, except I sounded too squeaky. The girls played it safe and steered clear, paranoid about catching boy germs. There was no polite way to ask someone what gender they were, and I couldn’t volunteer the information due to the language barrier. I wished the kids would spy on me to see which toilets I used, but none were bright or interested enough to think of that tactic. 

RD asked me what my pebbles' names were, and I couldn't remember, but I'm sure I gave them beautiful Vietnamese names. It was a lonely start to my academic journey. I was a certified loner. Thanks to my traumatic Kindergarten experience, where I felt neglected and unacknowledged, I vowed to master the English language so that no one could be deprived of my company and intellect.