Sad Story from a "Good Student"

During my early school years, I shone as a "Triple Good Student," achieving excellence in academics, behavior, and physical education. Yet, the world of Chinese language always cast a shadow over my otherwise stellar performance. Many of my elementary school essays were cobbled together with my father from the pages of "National Excellent Essay Collections."

Little did I know that my struggles were far from over, for my junior high homeroom teacher happened to double as my Chinese instructor, setting the stage for an unexpected ordeal. She was a robust woman in her forties, bearing the distinctive mark of a Beijing accent. While she favored the boys in our class, she seemed to harbor an inexplicable aversion to girls like me, who grappled with the nuances of the Chinese language. She never resorted to physical punishment or direct insults; instead, she possessed a subtle art of undermining my self-esteem.

In her leisurely manner, she'd muse, "Considering your abilities, what future could you possibly envision? Perhaps cart-pulling is in the cards for you? Although, even that might prove challenging given your petite stature." During lessons, she'd occasionally summon me to stand in the corner as punishment or, worse yet, exile me from the classroom to her office, where I'd stand in solitude. Fortunately, my math and English teachers were my saving grace, always wearing puzzled expressions as if to ask, "Why is she being singled out?" They'd extend a reassuring hand, asking me to help grade assignments, and as the class bell chimed, I'd obediently return to my place against the wall.

The source of her animosity remained a mystery. Perhaps it was my middling Chinese language skills, though they hardly warranted such punitive treatment. Another possibility lay in my mother's involvement. During one tumultuous parent-teacher meeting, my mother confronted her about my ill-treatment, a confrontation that left her embarrassed in front of her colleagues.

From that moment, my interest in Chinese language studies waned, my confidence eroded, and the mere sound of a Beijing accent sent shivers down my spine. Years later, while dining in a restaurant, I overheard a voice that uncannily resembled hers. I involuntarily shivered, turning to look, even though I knew it couldn't be her. Yet, tears welled up in my eyes, a testament to the enduring pain of that time etched into my memory.