It was September 1st 2009. As five-year old me stepped into a new school building, two thoughts came to my mind: Firstly, I no longer get to play with my twin brother in the same school as we are seperated. Secondly, I get to spend my primary school education at a local Chinese-speaking school known as Kei Wing Primary School. Nervously walking into the school doors, I felt excited and anxious at the same time. Before we even got to introduce ourselves to our new teachers and classmates, the entire primary one class was led to an empty chapel hall where we did the signatory move of my new school- Raising the good old Chinese flag.
I was standing in the middle of the hall. Since I was new to local school, I didn’t know what was going on until I heard the Chinese National anthem played on the stage. When the music started, I stood awkwardly for a few seconds as all kids around me began singing along. What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sing or what? The adorous Chinese flag made its way to the top of the flag pole under the adoration of its dear people, and the hymns of the song filled the hall like oxygen filling the Earth. The ceremony finally ended, and I happily rushed out of the chapel hall like a rushing wind, thinking to myself, “Why do we have to do this every monday morning?”
For the rest of 1st and the 2nd grade, I did not really get used to doing the flag raising ceremony every Monday morning. Attending ICS and ESF kindergarten in the past, I was previously raised under a western mindset and did not understand the meaning of glorifying the middle kingdom. In 2nd grade, our headmaster decided to conduct flag raising ceremonies many times throughout the week, more frequent than, say the times we breath oxygen in our lungs. Since I was someone who got bored easily, by the first semester of second grade I was goofing off and making fun of the Chinese flag every time it was raised in defiance of its boredom. Teachers, who were proud members of the People’s Republic of China, of course did not tolerate my disrespectful behavior. One time, my teacher even gave me detention that forced me to copy the phrase “I will not disrespect the Chinese flag!” a hundred times. You can’t force me to be patriotic about the People’s Republic of China! We all have our freedom of belief and don’t you dare impose your beliefs on me unwillingly. A fire burned in my soul in the detention room, as I processed my anger towards the teacher who gave me a detention.
This all changed in the second semester of 3rd grade. As part of the nationalistic education curriculum, we had to study history of the Chinese communist party in the this semester. On one typical Wednesday afternoon, I slept on the desk of my wooden chair when I waited for Mr. Wong to come for our General Studies lesson. Half-asleep at the moment, my eyelids were on the brink of shutting down as I leaned my body towards the wooden desk, ready to fall into sleeping mode at any second. When my eyes were about to close in a second or two, Mr Wong came into the 3B classroom and told us we are going to learn about Chinese history for the rest of the year. Chinese history? The moment he said this, an electric shock hit me at the hypothalamus. And with this shock my brain and eyes flashed opened with energy and awakenness. My incling body bounced straight like a tree. Chinese History? This topic will probably be much more interesting to me than other topics cause I love history. I returned from sleep mode to concentration mood in a few seconds, in hopes to receive the best out of the interesting Chinese history lessons we will learn in class. Yay! Finally general studies will no longer be tedious to me! Cause Ii will no longer be digesting lectures about traffic in Hong Kong and instead be fascinated in the world of history, (in this case, the history of China.
I was right. By the end of third grade, I was so interested and patriotic about the People’s Republic of China after receiving a memorable lesson about China’s history. Throughout the semester, I appreciated the great achievements of PRC founder Mao Ze Dong; I adored China’s international standing as the second biggest economy with the third most powerful military; I received the calling to make my country a better and more powerful place when I grow up. For the whole of summer 2012, I brought Chinese history books from bookstores across Hong Kong. I also begged my parents to bring me for a trip across mainland China. My parents, who were harsh critics of the People’s Republic China, told me that I should see my cultural identity as a Hongkonger rather than a Chinese. Our ancestors are from China! And if our ancestors are from China, how could we only see ourselves as Hong Kongers and forget about our greater identity as part of the Chinese civilization? You are a disgrace to the Chinese people!
It was late summer 2012, and anti-Japanese protest broke out across China after Japan laid claims to the disputed Diaoyu Islands. After reading about Japan’s immense atrocities towards the Chinese people during World War 2, I developed negative views towards Japan. My hate towards Japan busted like a volcano after seeing Japan’s unremorseful attitude towards their actions in World War 2: The Japanese had been condemned by us for their actions in world war 2. Yet not only did they not apologise sincerely, but also they contiued with their imperialic expansion campaign. How could they? How could they take Diaoyu Island from us when they promised to maintain peace after WW2? Sympathzing with the mainland Chinese patriots, I boycotted Japanese restaurants, vandalized japanese flags, and ranted about Japanese politics to my classmates. I became the Japan-is-still-imperialistic-and-evil kid in my 4th grade class. One time at home, the news reported about Anti-Japanese Riots in Shenyang, China. Seeing the Japanese flag screaming in pain and agony as it was burned at the stake like a witch, I burst out laughing, looking at the immense physical torture borne by the Japanese flag.
Time flew by so fast. And soon It was now the last day of my fifth grade year. In the next school year I would be transferring to an english-speaking international school. As the entire fifth grade class was to lead to an empty chapel hall, we did the signatory move of our primary school – raising the good old Chinese flag – I thought to myself, “This will probably be the last time I raise the Chinese flag in school.” I loooked at the glorifed Chinese flag hanging high in the sky, cherishing all the memories I made in this school particularly in terms of developing a proud identity as a member of the People’s republic China. My days in Kei Wing Primary school had been an essential part of my life, and I will never forget the five years spent there.
To get a better glance at my writing skills, it is advised that you read my rough drafts as well as essay outlines. Attached is the link to my rough draft and essay outline. Feel free to click on it and view for yourself.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Jirw5qrNs4y55YWXrkKamdvBO-ENVnUD0C2cMHoQxz0/edit?usp=sharing
Ryan Ngo's college writing blog 