As a 18 year old scholarship student coming from China who could barely speak a paragraph of fluent English, Paul had hopelessly slept through a day of rigorous classes at the National Technological University of Singapore. It had been his first time stepping aboard a plane, sleeping in another country, and not being able to speak Chinese, the language if his origin. In classes, what the teacher said would fly by his ears like a puff of wind. Outside of school, he didn't have friends because he couldn't keep a conversation going for more than three minutes. In Singapore, everything, from the culture to the language, was vastly unfamiliar.
One day, as the sun set after his classes, Paul trudged toward De Silva, his favourite restaurant, just like any other day. He yanked the door open and plopped down on a white plastic chair. After ordering, he received his order, instantly attacked by that spicy, unwelcoming smell of curry. Back in China, in his shabby but cozy home, he would have rice, tofu, and occasionally eggs with tomato. In Singapore, he was drowned by all kinds of novel tastes. And right next to his food was a ice-cold lemon-flavoured drink, called Sprite. A few days back, he had spat out his first sip. It was too cold and punchy, unlike the warm water he drank at home. Today, however, as he started to eat the curry, thirst clenched his throat, and he grabbed the cup for a sip.
On the plastic tray, there wasn't a straw. He had seen and used straws many times before, but for some reason that day, the word just wouldn't surface. He searched his head for answers. Dang it! He thought. Why can't I remember English words? he longed for the days at home when he could just ask for a spoon, fork, or whatever he needed. What is it called? Suddenly, the thought of a word flashed in his mind. I think that's it, he thought. He stood up and walked to the counter.
"Can I have a , please?" he said. The cashier burst out in laugher. His hand reached for a straw.
"It's called a straw, sir," he chuckled with a smile.
Paul blushed with shame.
"Oh, that's it! Sorry." He grabbed the straw, turned his face, and quickly sat back down at his seat. His face turned red, heating up with embarrassment. Focusing on eating the curry, he tried to shake that mortifying feeling out of his chest. As he pushed the straw into the cup and took a sip, the ice cold sweet flavour drizzled down his throat, sending chills down his spine. I couldn't even ask for a straw correctly, he thought, frowning in frustration. Life here is so different. Sitting in that uncomfortable realization, a sense of dread formed in his chest. Wiping sweat from his forehead, his mind raced. In his head, Paul felt as if the the unknowns of the world has crushed down on him, screaming and yelling "you know nothing! You're insignificant! You've got loads to learn! You're nobody!"
Paul let in the bright fluorescent light, the chatter of locals around him, and the unfamiliar sounds of dogs barking and cups clinking. It was at this moment that the realization of his smallness and insignificance fully weighed on his chest, crushing and drowning him. Paul took deep breaths. The unfamiliarity and novelty of this new world, from the university's hallway arrangement to the mixing and mingle of accents on the street, had punched him right on the jaw. Slumping on the chair and drowned in his insignificance, Paul sighed deeply. He finally realized that he was just a frog setting foot outside the well, seeing the full sky for the first time.
From that moment onward, Paul treated every English class the way he prepared for the University's entrance exam--taking pages of notes, speaking to dozens of random people on the street, and repeating hundreds of new words every day until his tongue became dry. At first, when listening to mumbles and whispers on the hallways, he had to process it all through Chinese. Gradually, he started to pick it up. On the streets, he greeted the Chinese grandpas running food stands. In Botanical Gardens, he said hello to Singaporean uncles walking on the grass fields. In the food court, he exchanged words with the hard-working store owners. Step by step, moment by moment, things like this opened up Paul's horizon.
About a year after that embarrassing incident, Paul finally decided to go back to the restaurant. As he opened the door this time, everything somehow stood calmer. The smell of curry wasn't that strong and unwelcoming, and the loud chattering was finally comprehensible. He felt accompanied by some unknown familiarity, calmed by the fact that there were much more things to explore. Sitting in that same white plastic chair with the same order of curry and a cup of sprite, he pushed the straw into the cup and took a sip. He sighed, finally feeling at peace. He was no longer that young, naive boy who had called a straw a pipe and sat there humbled by how little he knew about the world.
❦