When I was a little girl, my two older brothers, my parents, and I often moved from place to place. We always lived in cheap houses because my father couldn’t afford the rent. I never drank milk or ate good food. My suffering began when I started kindergarten.
At first, I was so happy to finally go to school because people said school was a fun place to learn and play. I went to the cheapest kindergarten, and I was the only Chinese student there.
At that time, I didn’t even know I was Chinese—I was too young to understand it. One day, one of my classmates called me “China.” Later, I asked my father, “Why do all my friends at school call me China?” My father explained that I am Chinese, not China. That was the first time I realized I was different from the others. After that, they began treating me differently.
No one wanted to be friends with me. They always kept the swings and toys to themselves so I couldn’t play. One day, I arrived at school earlier than everyone else and finally got a chance to play on the swing. I was so happy—it was my very first time.
But suddenly, they came and pushed me hard from behind. I fell far to the ground, my clothes got dirty, and my head spun. They pointed at me, laughed proudly, and mocked me. But I never cried, and I never told my parents what happened.
Almost every day, I endured their teasing and cruelty. I would just sit alone on the steps, watching them play happily together. When our kindergarten appeared on television, I was the only one not allowed to be on camera. When my classmates had birthday parties, I was the only one who wasn’t invited.
They always came to school with their mothers waiting nearby. Their parents and even the teachers saw how rudely they treated me—kicking me in the stomach, pulling my hair, and once even burning my face with incense.
When my parents asked about the wounds on my face, I said they were accidents. That’s why my hair became thin and fell out easily, and the scars on my face remain until this day.
My father couldn’t give me pocket money, so sometimes, in secret, I would take leftover food that people threw away. My teachers never carried or hugged me. Once, someone wanted to pick me up because they said I was cute and beautiful—but when they found out I was Chinese, they put me down and held another child instead.
I always hoped I could graduate from that kindergarten quickly, and that when I entered elementary school, I would finally have good friends who respected me.
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