Growing up in China (Writer’s Club Submission)

I remember getting encyclopedias for my birthday. Every year. A brand new complete set of beautiful books about dinosaurs, flowers, the solar system, and the human body printed on thick, glossy paper. I would cut out the pictures and make collages with them. At times, I’d stick them on my walls. My parents were less pleased about that. 

As a kid, every outing was an adventure. Restaurants weren’t just for dining; they were new worlds begging to be explored. In fact, I don’t recall eating much at restaurants unless you count stealing food from other people’s tables. As soon as I sat down, I would wander off and go searching for hidden doorways, staircases, underground dungeons, and I always had a story about what was behind a locked door, and if it was enough to scare my friends, I would feel satisfied with the work I’ve put in. 

Growing up in China, we didn’t have American holidays. I remember learning about April Fools, and that inspired me to pull a prank on my dad’s office where I removed all the tracking balls from their computer mice. Aside from that, the only holiday we celebrated was Chinese New Year, which is like the equivalent of Christmas in China. It’s where the whole family gets together and the kids get money. Come to think of it, I can’t remember what happened to any of the money my parents offered to hold onto for me. Perhaps they spent it on more encyclopedias. 

Chinese people impress me with their level of efficiency. No presents. No time wasted picking out a heartfelt gift. Just give cash. Christmas shopping is just going to the ATM. For those first 10 years of my life, family was always close by. Now that I live in <REDACTED>, it’s hard to know who my friends are or where I belong. Hopefully, as time goes on, there will be new childhood memories to be made and new families to grow up with.