I spent most of my time in Harker Hall on my phone, reading books, studying, or calling my parents. I didn’t know what else to do, where else to go, or who else to hang out with. My daily interaction with everyone never passed beyond an awkward smile with a friendly nod acknowledging each other’s presence. I always felt like I had nothing in common with the people around me, and I struggled to find something to talk about. It was difficult at night especially, when my two roommates were talking to each other and I wasn’t feeling included. Many times when I got overwhelmed, tears would just soak my pillow in silence.
Things got better when I was moved down to the first floor with a new roommate, Jeremy. It was scary at first, feeling like I had to start again. Looking back, that was probably the best thing that happened to me that entire year. I found a friend in Jeremy. He was somebody who I was comfortable sharing my uncomfortable feelings with, like explaining when his friends came by and spoke Chinese, it left me feeling excluded. He was somebody I became comfortable crying with and sharing my problems with. Make no mistake, I was still an awkward kid. I still didn’t know how to have a conversation with others, apart from asking for help with basic things like the next day’s schedule or tying a tie. But at least in the room, I finally found somewhere I belonged.
In March 2020, when Covid first hit, flights home were completely cut off. There were nine of us who were trapped in the Harker Hall. Jeremy wasn’t one of them. At the start of the lockdown, I spent most of my time in my room. On the first occasion that I hung out with the group on a forest bike ride, I tumbled down a steep slope, flipping my bike a full circle before landing on my head with a concussion. I spent weeks recovering from the physical scars and, but most importantly, the mental barriers of feeling I didn’t belong; that I was so much different from everyone else. I had no one to play competitive table tennis with, had no chess tournament to go to. Jeremy was no longer there. Who was I going to have late night talks with and share tears?
Looking through my window, there were moments I saw everyone playing volleyball and going for bike rides. Those moments were the ones I craved so much. I wanted the invitation to join the people around me. To be included. And eventually I was included, through dinner conversations about outdoor volleyball matches and basketball games everyone went to. But even then, I still did not feel like I belonged. Moments when I missed returning a volleyball shot, moments where I felt like I was at the side of the volleyball court, situations where my teammates could have set me up, but didn’t trust me and hit it over instead. I somehow always felt like I was not invited by them, rather, it was the teachers that forced them to. Many times during that period, I felt invisible. And those feelings sucked.
I felt incredibly fortunate to have my dad walk the journey alongside me. I cried so many times, and wanted a way out. Out of this mess. It was around this period that his conversation style became a lot more encouraging and open-minded; he had just started learning about life-coaching at that time.
Applying the methods he was learning, he made me his first unofficial client. Initially his questions felt a little bit forced. “What do you want to achieve?” my dad asked.
“Uh… I don’t know…” I remembered the last community dinner of the school year when I first came, where many grade 12s cried when looking back at their old pictures and the memories they created. I just wanted to have that same feeling when I left. “I want to have fun. And I don’t think I ever have. But right now if I leave, I feel like I wouldn’t have any feelings at all, maybe not even relief.”
“Do you know how you can get those feelings?”
“No… Do you?” I was expecting an answer from him, guiding me in what to do. What I received was not an answer, but even more questions to force me to reflect even deeper.
“I am not at your school, how would I know! Why do you think they cried?”
“Because they had a good time at the school… They feel sad when they leave because they will miss the friends and teachers they had memorable connections with.”
“And how do you make those memories?”
“By going out and talking to them. Doing things with them… But you don’t get my issue, dad. The issue is that I don’t know how to talk to the people around me. And it always feels like everyone is so self-absorbed and only care about their own problems.”
“Have you ever thought about yourself in that light before?”
There was a pause… That’s when it hit me: I was the one of them. I was the attitude I despised all along. From the very start, I just wanted someone who cared about me, had fun with me, and championed me to reach the goals I had. It was always about me. All along.
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The following September, sitting in my quarantine room, I ached when I saw the student leadership team members having their training sessions. I thought, “Why is it them, but not me? They aren’t any better than I am? And why does it feel like they’re acting like they’re better than me? Or is it just me that keeps comparing and doubting myself?”
At one point, I decided that it was useless to keep thinking about things that had already passed, and decided the best way to go forward was to prove myself by being a leader without any title. After all, newbies are easier to handle, right? They won’t have any preconceived notion that I used to be the quiet, awkward kid who was always there but never really there.
I made the leap to take the initiative and talk with new students. The shyer they were, the more confident I got, and the conversations I initiated became more natural. I now understood that caring extended way beyond just helping others on the surface level. It is empathy, trying to understand what others are going through, and doing what helps others feel better.
With more confident people, I tend to ask more questions and let them speak more about their experiences. I tried being braver and tried out new things together with the younger students, encouraging them to do so with me, and building our connections from there. I felt more at ease because it wasn't only me who was trying out new things. I started playing soccer, and basketball, tackling my big fear of biking. In a way, my attempt to help others had helped so much in increasing my confidence, both in social interactions and in trying new things.
I have learned to start caring less about my shortcomings and what others might think of me, putting my mind more at ease and becoming more authentic in interactions with people around me. The moment I realized that the people who do this have more fun in what they are doing and worry less about things they can’t control or what other people think of them, I knew I had to grow to become more like that. I’m still on my journey, and there have been many moments where I’ve strayed from my ideal standard, but along the way, whenever I do, I take short breaks from my life to go for a walk and remind myself of my values, and how I once got it before.
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