An Irreverent Class Portrait

Welcome to my Chinese class.

Girl J keeps her hands tucked into her sleeves like the emperor in Mulan. She seems like the type who would like cats.

When boy X wants to catch my attention, instead of raising his hands, he throws up a peace sign. As if that would get on my Asian radar a little faster.

Then there's girl K who looks like she's going to cry every time I speak to her.

I almost stopped calling on boy U out of guilt. The deer in the headlight moment has passed. His looks are those of a dying deer, resigned to his fate of being lost in Chinese.

Boy Z shyly asks if we can be friends outside of the classroom. And if he can call me by my first name. How sweet.

It's been a constant struggle to explain to boy C that his Chinese sentences have to make sense. And that in China, dogs don't eat children. Every time, he looks at me as if I'm being unreasonable.

Then of course there's girl S (or me). The small Asian girl who gestures and repeats almost everything she says. It's like watching a free circus show. Rumor has it that she's a tough little teacher. (Is it still a rumor if it's true?)