Childhood Lost

Maybe if I hadn’t spent my childhood playing outside in a make-believe world of faeries and witches, this wouldn’t bother me.  Maybe if I hadn’t spent my teen years as an incense-burning, tie-dye-wearing, everything-protesting hippy freak, I’d be okay with this.  And maybe if I hadn’t taken a gap year (okay, three gap years) to “find myself” before university, I would view all of this as normal, too. 

The Chinese childhood… it’s normal to them.  But it’s not normal to me, and it breaks my heart.

When a couple finds out they are pregnant, they start saving for their child’s education.  This seems fairly familiar, until you realize it is their kindergarten education we are talking about.  Before the child (let’s call him Lok Chun) is 1, parents will have checked out kindergartens and made a list of their preferences.  By age 2, Lok Chun will have applied to many schools (and the application packages have been known to rival those of Ivy League U.S. universities.)  At this time, Lok Chun is subjected to a series of interviews before hopefully being accepted to a prestigious (re: expensive) kindergarten where he will spend the next 3 years of his life.  Getting into the right kindergarten is crucial.  It determines whether Lok Chun will get into the right primary school and, subsequently, the right secondary and post-secondary schools.  The choices his parents make when he is 1 year old can determine his entire life.

Once in kindergarten, Lok Chun will wear his cute little sailor-inspired uniform for 7-8 hours a day.  Before beginning, he is expected to know the alphabet (and sounds) and how to answer basic questions in English, Cantonese and Mandarin.   While he is in kindergarten, the same process is undertaken to ensure him a place in a reputable primary school.  Lok Chun will jump through hoops to be placed in a 1A or 1B class.  If he is placed in 1C or 1D, his parents can forever give up on him being a doctor.  Most schools (mine included) operate like this.  If you are in 1A, you will likely continue in 2A, 3A and so on, up to 6A.  Likewise, if you have the misfortune of being placed in 1D, you will continue right down that path to being a fast food line attendant.  The A and B classes are the brightest and “most able” students.  Local teachers never tire of reminding the students of this.  Downward mobility is easy (get to many B's on a test)… upward mobility takes more work than you can imagine.  Lok Chun will be placed in his class based solely on his exam results.  That's right, exams.  Starting in P1 (Primary/Grade 1), all students take 4 sets of exams each year.  Anything less than 90% will result in crying kids and angry parents.  These exams are a VERY big deal because students who make it to 6A or 6B will get into the better secondary schools.  But we’re not there yet.  Let’s backtrack to P3 (Primary/Grade 3). 

In P3, Lok Chun will complete the first Territory-wide System Assessment (TSA).  It is a grueling day that he will prepare for beginning in P2.  This involves one-on-one listening, written and oral testing with a few randomly selected students from each class.  The school’s status relies entirely on how Lok Chun and his classmates answer.  That’s no pressure for an 8 year old at all, right?

In P6, there is another TSA exam of the same nature.  The ritual was cancelled for this year, however, because a P6 boy from another school killed himself due of the pressure.  An 11 year old should just not have that kind of academic pressure.  Ever.  In any country.  That’s not me being ethnocentric.  That’s just a fact.

Speaking of pressure, when Lok Chun is in P5, he will begin preparing for his secondary school interviews.  This involves practice at lunch, after school and even during the summer.  Competition is high and places in the best schools are hard to find. 

Ask Lok Chun what he does in his spare time after school and on weekends.  He will inevitably tell you: gymnastics, piano, violin, karate, English lessons, math tutorials, church, speech competitions… etc. etc. etc.  And he won’t mean just one of these.   He means all of these things each week.  And it’s not his choice.  Add in the extra-curricular activities at school (that can run until 5pm… school starts at 7:45) and the 3+ hours of homework each night… when does Lok Chun get a chance to play? 

“Playing is for babies,” he’ll answer, “Or lazy people.”

By the end of primary school, Lok Chun will successfully have the creativity beaten out of him.  His eyes will be drained of any spark that had survived the kindergarten experience.  He will wear a uniform, face the front, and recite verb tables by rote memory.  Step out of line and no one will hesitate to shame him publicly.  

Once Lok Chun gets to secondary school, I’m not exactly sure about how things go.  I know he will have to do well to get into a choice university (preferably in the US or UK.)

With luck and entirely too much hard work, Lok Chun will be a doctor or lawyer.  His reward: he will work 15 hours a day, 7 days a week.  He will spend his hour long commute home with his nose buried in his iPad: the only connection to the world outside the office and train station.  Lok Chun will go home, pour boiling water into a package of cup noodles and prepare to do it all again the next day.  He’ll barely sleep.

But this whole city doesn’t sleep.  And no one dreams.