naturally smart

renee shi

2018

SHE SITS HUNCH-BACKED UNDER DIM YELLOW LIGHTS, scratching aimlessly at a piece of yellowed paper and staring at a screen. Unconsciously scraping her yellowed fingernails, chipping away at her yellow skin. The lights bore into her eyes, inscribing white spots as she relentlessly attempts to blink them out. A piercing shriek echoed through the air, and she groggily dragged her half-asleep self downstairs toward the noise.

An envelope lies shredded apart on the dusty carpet, and He is holding the single shiny piece of paper untorn. He, the golden child, the muse of perfection, her older brother. Holding an acceptance letter from the best high school in America, staring unnervingly at it like a deer in headlights. The most monumental moment of his life, but also an aching reminder that standards would only get higher. Thirteen years of his life were dedicated to this very moment, for which he studied two grades in advance, casted away his social life, and endured preparation class after preparation class. He holds the letter in his hand, the last glimmer of joy fading from his eyes. For he is happy, but feels something is missing. He has lost his smile, his childlike livelihood, and his enthusiasm. He has lost his sliver of happiness and must look forward to a future where an anchor of expectations and burdens slowly descend upon him with a slow, melancholy creak. The past year, the laborious hours of studying and testing and preparing have all paid off on this. So why did it feel so soul-crushing?

A girl lies in the shadows. Four years younger, carefully trodding the tightrope left behind by her predecessor. She sometimes strays slightly from the rope but gets entwined again each time. For she is not as smart. She must try twice as hard, study twice as long, yet bear with average results. Her attention span is short, her focus blurs in and out sometimes like a tacky camera, and she maybe daydreams once in a while, yet she is still trying. She dreams of a future where she’s as smart as her brother, a universe where maybe she’d be spoonfed affection instead of left to lap up the crumbs.

2020

The girl was blinded by false hope, strewn together with intricate lies of rumors and stories. She watches in jealousy as her brother walks into school each day, torn apart by a couple of stu-pid scores and a three-letter word: GPA. The school that was said to have been so prestigious, any student there would automatically be accepted into an ivy league. The school where the average and the mediocre die, and the above must hang on for dear life. The school where the best are reduced to nothing and stripped of their ranks to start anew. So the girl watches as the tables start to turn, and she suddenly finds herself in a new position. She is the golden child, the muse of near perfection, and the blessing to her parents. She finds herself sitting on the crystal pedestal, the one she used to long for. She observes guiltily as her brother takes her old place with dull, emotionless eyes and a somber smile with an aura of tiredness to it.

2021

Both siblings fight viciously, rugged from past experiences and grasping to keep up with the ever-hardening school system. Gone are the days of studying two grades in advance, as it is every man for himself as they struggle over AP classes and high school level courses. Hours upon hours of work, studies, and lack of sleep take a toll on them. From then on, there are no more breaks. Breakfast is reserved for chemistry, lunch is paired with physics, and dinner is served with a side of fresh calculus. Each second is savored until the very last drop, and the two fall into a routine just to keep themselves sane.

News arrives for the girl, quarantined and exhausted from asynchronous learning. The prestigious High school her brother was admitted into has changed its admission policies. The school she has been living for, breathing for, and weeping for. She reads the headlines, and her gut sinks to the bottom of her stomach.

She learns that the most prestigious high school in the US is predominantly Asian. Asian, her race. A race stereotyped to be smart. A race she prided herself with. A race full of people like herself. Where the troubles she had gone through and the grueling studying she had done were amplified tenfold and normalized.

The high school used to require an entrance exam test. She knew because she’s seen her brother take it, seen him exert his years of learning and hard work while she cheered on in the sidelines. It wasn’t the fact that the school was trying to add more diversity that made her heart sink. She actually appreciated that and found it refreshing. It was the fact that the school implemented a lottery system to improve its diversity. More diversity in a predominantly Asian school. More diversity so that the lifelong preparation, studying, and enduring that she and most of her other Asian friends had gone through would go down the drain for a random spin-the-wheel decision. More diversity so that people like her and her brother would be unfairly restricted, no matter how hard they tried, because of course they were just “naturally smart.” Because they were Asian.

Because that was the hard truth.

Because her entire life was now a lie and her only defining quality was rendered utterly useless.

So she gripped the newspaper tightly, crumpling it as if the words would just disappear if she clenched hard enough. Tears streamed down her face and blotched the paper, smudging the words until they were distorted and gray, yet still there.

2022

Now, the girl tries to forget. She tries to make do with what she’s got because she must pick herself up again and continue the routine, even if it is useless. Because that is how she’s been taught since she was born. Again, she stares at the 8 letters that determine her entire life, the A’s and B-pluses and A-minuses. A kid looks over her shoulder. A white kid. He stares at her computer screen intently, and she scrolls through her grades rapidly, face heating up with embarrassment, yet pretending not to notice. Finally, he speaks up.

“Why do you look at your grades so often? I’ve been watching you the past few minutes, and you keep on refreshing the page like it’s going to jump out at you.”

She nervously edges away from the kid, because he’s now inches away from her face and blinking at her, waiting for a response.

“Um. I dunno. It’s a habit, I guess.”

He chuckles slightly and thinks for a moment before prattling on.

“You know, you don’t need to worry about that type of stuff. Live a bit. After all, you Asians are all just naturally gifted. Y’all are so lucky to never have to study.”

With that, he waits for another response, perhaps a “thank you” or some humble, shy remark. She merely stares at him with no emotion in her stone cold face until his eyebrows furrow at the sudden silent awkwardness. Until he walks away, flashing odd glances at her every so often.

Naturally gifted?

Never have to study?

Oh, she wishes.

She would give anything to be “naturally gifted.”

But she is left sitting at her table, mouth opening and closing stupidly like a goldfish because she can’t decide what to say. Hot oil is building inside of her, welling up tears that are just barely hidden by sheer willpower and the tips of her mask. She has so much to say, but for now, she will just keep quiet. Because the page she keeps on refreshing is worth more to her than she will ever admit.

She would have screamed at or even gone off on that kid. But for now, she remains “naturally gifted.”

If only they knew.