The Versatile Master Artist

During the summer vacation, there were students from many countries in the program—Spain, Russia, countries from Asia, Thailand, or Vietnam... On the first day of our arrival in London, I remember the school staff warning each team leader.

No matter how things are at your schools.

But here, please, when assigning rooms, boys should share with boys, and girls with girls. Even if you’re in a relationship, boys and girls cannot stay in the same room at night.

Sorry to be strict, but that’s the rule here.

”PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!”

Please!

I still remember the British female teacher’s exasperated expression as she admonished us.

I think she probably didn’t really understand us. I felt that for us students and our group leaders, this wasn’t something that required such a ”please” reminder.

If something like this were to happen.

Without her saying ”Please,” our poor secondary school teacher here would have already had a heart attack and passed out.

Because of cultural differences.

During that study tour, people from different countries gathered and many interesting things happened.

Every morning, we attended classes at school.

There was a Japanese guy in the class, speaking with a strong Japanese-English accent.

I’m someone who really dislikes regional or accent discrimination. I think mocking someone for their accent isn’t very nice.

I had heard many jokes about Japanese-English before... It’s said that Chinese people can’t understand it, foreigners don’t get it, and even Japanese find communication difficult.

I’ve always thought it was just a boring joke.

But that Japanese guy’s English was really—

I can only say, quite unique.

Everyone, everyone, including the local teachers, found it hard to understand what he was saying. As soon as he spoke, everyone would laugh (which isn’t nice).

He was also a very shy person, a bit socially anxious, and felt very embarrassed by it.

Later on.

During group discussions, he glanced at me, thought for a moment, then started avoiding the teacher’s eyes, pulling out a pencil to secretly write Chinese characters on the discussion paper.

Writing his name.

Writing his opinions.

He wrote very slowly and disorganizedly, but I could roughly understand the meaning of what he was writing.

It was more efficient than speaking English.

I still remember that afternoon when he secretly took out a piece of paper, wrote down his name with a pencil, and then slowly began writing with such a constrained posture.

In a distant foreign land.

Where it takes a ten-hour flight from East Asia, during an English foreign teacher’s class, we avoided the British teacher’s watchful eyes, and sneakily exchanged notes filled with Chinese characters written by a Japanese person.

It was truly a remarkable experience.

I also remember another girl in the class, from some Middle Eastern country. I forgot the specific name.

Syria? Or maybe Lebanon?

I just remember, during her self-introduction, the British professor was shocked and asked—Isn’t that place still at war according to the news?

I remember during group discussions, she showed me videos on her phone of her and her friends dancing barefoot on the rooftops of small countryside houses.

Then I shared my experience of pulling all-nighters cramming for college entrance exams.

Thinking about it.

It’s actually quite isolating.

But I think, maybe I never had the time to dance on roofs, but this stable, peaceful, and serene study time is something she pursued as well.

The people in war-torn regions are striving to live too.

Peace and prosperity are truly wonderful things.

Perhaps the best things in the world.

During that journey, and the castle really felt like a crystal ball, where people from all around the world lived in this tiny space, learning and living together.

Many stereotypes were dissolved.

Except for a couple—the Japanese-English and London’s dark cuisine. The week before returning home, I was moved to tears when eating at a Chinese restaurant.

But I thought, what I understood may not be the truth about them.

Nor the truth about those countries.

Many Japanese can probably speak standard English, the girl who could afford a summer study tour in Europe and dance on roofs might not represent the true face of life in a turbulent country. Later I learned, there are actually many upscale restaurants in London.

And—

Gordon Ramsay is actually British, seriously?

That’s why I say—it’s like a crystal ball.

All backgrounds are obscured.

Only the memorable individual actors remain.

Oh, I still remember.

One afternoon, a British teacher excitedly told us a group from the UAE was coming. Students from many countries arrived and left every day, but the UAE was different.

The UAE arranged for a party company or something.

The entire school directly suspended classes.

Everyone partied on the lawn.

I used to think the UAE was Dubai, only to find out it’s the United Arab Emirates.

Anyway, they should be similar.

Arab music played on the campus lawn, with a giant flag cake—I’ve forgotten how big it was, but it was so large that even a hundred people couldn’t finish it, along with a buffet. Students in white robes walked around, with various UAE national display boards and a model of the Burj Khalifa placed around.

They invited students from many countries to try on the white robes, take photos, and listen to introductions about their local architecture.