Chapter 7

Middle school in Canada was quite different depending on who you asked. For our area, middle school was a whole separate school with a handful of feeder elementary schools. I had just graduated elementary and went on a trip far away and now, all of a sudden, my little group of friends were introduced to a much larger environment. The students around my age were also now separated into different classes and now there were also different teachers for different subjects. With more students and larger classes, my friend circle got a bit bigger but all the things we did remained relatively the same. The truly lonesome parts of my childhood had changed and now I was an English speaking active member of the classes I was in.

I think I’ll tell you this portion of my life in stories of little significance to things of large significance. The reason for this is there’s quite a lot to get through. I’ll probably have to continue this trend later on because as you’ll come to find out, when you are from a single mother household with a parent who is trying to start a new career, too often do I pretty much do anything and everything just so I don’t have to come home to an empty house.

Starting from the least important things, I have now started taking music theory lessons because that was the natural progression of my cello journey. I also started my Bronze Medallion and Bronze Cross. These would take some time but by the end of middle school I was going to take my NLS and become a lifeguard. Both swimming and music theory were not fields I was exemplary at and really simply as things that took up time and filled in my schedules. Like I said, kept me from coming home to an empty house and all that since mom was making a career for herself. Yes, I know, I am referring to an empty place, despite my home physically being overrun by tenants. Music theory and swimming was the easiest to convince my mom to allow me to do since they were natural progressions to what I was already doing. So that’s what I did. Aside from working through these classes, that’s all they were. They were not difficult and required honestly very little effort to pass. This is why, though important, these classes were not very significant to my life then. 

Next up, remember those 2 girls I had crushes on and hung around a lot back when I was at the afterschool program thingy? One of them is now in my school! I tried a bit to stand out to that girl again by being exceptional at cello but that absolutely went nowhere. To be honest, outside of making myself known as the Cello guy in middle school, it didn’t impress anyone at all. Furthermore, it seems her life had a much different trajectory than what I thought. First of all, out of our trio, she was the violinist and well, she quit playing the violin. Clearly our time together previously wasn’t special enough to keep going. I’d like to think that she went through what I did but actually had the guts and courage to tell her parents to fuck off but I suppose I’d never really know. Apart from no longer doing violin, she also was rumored to have started dating some guy. Though I may have had issues with human interactions and understanding human relationships, I still understood that this was clearly a hint for me to leave her be.

Now, I don’t know how much you are engrossed in my story. I don’t know if anyone is really even going to read this to be honest. But! If you are reading this, I wanted to include this snippet here explaining why I consciously chose to include some of my childhood crushes and chose to not mention some other relationships here. This is because sometimes middle school and high school crushes and relationships are just mistakes we make along the way because we were awkward or didn’t understand the concept of love. Sometimes, our juvenile mistakes are just that, it’s just the young and juvenile exploring the world and their own limits and roles. However sometimes, these relationships and crushes do show certain unique characteristics that may exemplify true character flaws. If you must know, I wouldn’t really understand what love is until Chapter 31 (Yes, my life story was already completed in writing. Yes, what you are reading is the 2nd draft where I would fix some inconsistencies and grammar). Anyhow, I wanted to show how my upbringing and interactions have had an impact on how I deal with relationships. I think it’s important because your upbringing and relationships with parents deeply affect how you deal with romantic relationships of your own. Or so my therapist told me at least. It wasn’t really evident for me when I first thought back on my life but now that I look back on it through the lens of hindsight, I can’t help but notice the obvious similarities between my mom and my dad’s relationship in my own life. Oh! And speaking of family members and recurring histories.

The next big change to address was my maternal grandmother. She came to Canada! She started living with us somewhere between grade 7 and grade 8 and was now filling our home with tons of conversation. Usually loud, angry conversation. You see, despite my mom saying how important it was to have my grandma live with us and immigrate from China, I did not see why this was a good thing in our lives. My mom very clearly hated my grandma. They were always arguing and disagreeing on everything. Grandma would always want to change things around and have her way. The table had to be set this way and the room set this way. When she couldn’t get her way, she would spend hours arguing. Grandma had nothing to worry about, afterall, she had no job and nowhere to be. She could argue you into submission just on time wasted alone. My mom didn’t have this ability and thus, lost a lot of arguments and would then become super upset. She didn’t let up easily though, she would push back with everything before succumbing to grandma’s will. This power struggle between the two of them really annoyed me. What was the point of it? We had little space in our 1 makeshift living room space as it is and all grandma did was rile up my mom up even more. What’s more is this, when mom got upset, she screamed at me way more. I guess I was a true punching bag at this point. The power dynamic in the family was completely messed up. The initial stages of grandma moving in was not healthy for anyone’s mental health. 

It was at this stage of my life when I realized the folly of my mom’s way of thinking. She couldn’t just throw away her duty of being a daughter but in trying to keep the responsibility’s duties she neglected the mental health herself and of everyone else. She was forcing a family at everyone’s expense. Why did she do this? Did I mention we barely had enough room to sleep since my mom was renting the majority of our condo out? The stress of work definitely also played a factor into it because as I previously alluded to, my mom was also starting a new career as a TDSB (Toronto District School Board) teacher. As a new teacher to the system, she was trying to get shifts wherever she could and this usually meant she could only substitute at some sketchy downtown school. Stressful work and stressful grandma soon made spending time at home almost just as detestable as coming home to an empty house. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst part of middle school was by far my change in cello teachers. While I was still excelling at music class in school, being the cello guy and all, at home I was still being tormented for my poor playing of cello by mom. Then, out of nowhere, my old cello teacher, the only person calming my mom down towards my progression in cello, left me to fend for myself as he left for China. Gone were the days of my old chill cello teacher who had started my journey of learning the instrument. I was going to get someone new. My mom went looking for another cello teacher and shortly afterwards, she found 2 candidates. 

Candidate #1: The Old White Gentleman, or CW for short.

CW was an old white gentleman who was sweet and charming. I kind of liked him, I think I imagined him as someone who was soft spoken and never rude. He charged a modest $35 dollars an hour and suggested an hour a week. He said some other stuff that made him sound like a good candidate but since he was white, I think my mom had trouble liking him. Furthermore, he was going to teach me cello in English, a language she continues to not improve in. 

Candidate #2: Some Chinese cello teacher who shared my mom’s temper, or CC for short. 

The second candidate was a short Chinese man around his 50s. I’m not using his name here for his sake because oh boy are there some bad stories here. I think I would describe him as the Asian Whiplash guy except he was much less exceptional. CC was charging $35 an hour as well but he yelled and I think the yelling made my mom feel like he was putting more effort into teaching me. This made sense since she thought her yelling at me to learn cello was a good method. Now I had two people yelling at me. Hell, I couldn’t tell who was angrier with my shortcomings as a cello player sometimes, him or my mom. The other thing was, they took turns. The cello teacher would listen to me play and then scold me loudly on how horribly I’ve been playing and then my mom would jump in and tell him how I would spend too much time watching TV and not enough time playing the cello. She would join him on his side. They would bounce the anger off of each other and I would become the punching bag of the evening. What pissed me off was that in reality, we only had about an hour each week for cello lessons and during that time, the screaming would account for about at least 15 minutes to 20 minutes of it. This was not productive.

The worst part of all this was that I started to hate my mom. Why did I have to be her punching bag? CC was a garbage human being but why did mom have to side with him? I was abandoned when I was young and now the person I sought to ease my abandonment issues was hurling insults at me with a stranger. I was starting to get tired of feeling betrayed. Moreso, I had the feeling that I had given mom enough chances to be a parent. Mom had vented too much on me and asked too much of me. She never considered how it was to be growing up without a dad, going to school alone when I couldn’t understand English, or having to deal with her bullshit every time she had a shortcoming. She never looked at my lack of tools or lack of support but rather scolded me for failing. There was no sympathy from mom. I felt like mom simply didn’t think I was important. At this stage I started to slowly pull back from mom. I realized my mom had not been and would not be the guardian I needed in my life. But what could I do? She’s a demon dragging me down but she also owned the house I lived in. 

An outsider may comment on how the situation, despite how it sounds on my end, is still occurring because my mom paid for me cello lessons. Since money was valuable and scarce, the fact that she invested in this hobby of mine is a sacrifice. Money is evidence for good parenthood. To that I say…I know. I know it well. In fact, my mom would constantly tell me about how much money I am wasting every time I don’t do well in cello lessons. This was one of her recurring lines of dialogue to me. I think verbal abuse may be, in some form, her love language. If nothing else, it didn’t feel like parenting. It felt like, under the guise of being a good parent, she was really paying for cello lessons to delegate her role of yelling at me to CC. I think she was getting in the habit of de-stress from the act of me being yelled at. 

Between the screaming with my grandma, the yelling at me and the stress from her job, I don’t think mom had a quiet minute when I was in middle school. When things weren’t going her way, I would take the grunt of it. It’s hard to talk about verbal abuse in this way. When we think about child abuse, it’s always with a dad and a belt. But hey! It’s the 21st century! Women can be child abusers too if they wanted! Like how some of you may have reacted to this, I simply let things be. I tried my best to do cello practicing as much as possible and learned to just take a mental beating. Around the end of grade 8, it got so bad I requested to be set on a 2 week schedule as opposed to a 1 week schedule. I just had to get away from CC and mom. I even thought about quitting the cello. It just wasn’t fun anymore. Why am I even doing this anymore? 

I couldn’t quit though. This was because of 3 reasons. The first is that unfortunately, the cello teacher, as a figure in my life, had always and continues to be my most consistent male father figure. The first guy was pretty forgettable but consistent. Now I had CC, who was an angry little man but still, pretty consistent. I don’t know what I got out of being screamed at but I think the younger version of me thought I needed this interaction because, negative or not, a father figure of some sort was still better than nothing. I think another part of me really wanted to believe that the yelling was because this angry little man cared for me and my progression in the cello. It’s a stretch I know but like, hey man, it’s all I had okay? So maybe cut young me some slack. The second thing that prevented me from quitting was that at school, I was excelling more and more. Though I was garbage in the eyes of the cello teacher, I was king of the public school system. That gave me something of an identity. During middle school there was also an after school orchestra that was mandatory and I had started making friends with other music students. This brings me to point three, outside of the private cello lessons, I was actually enjoying music more and more. 

After switching to the 2 week schedule with CC, I got a break. Dealing with a little less screaming was always welcomed and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Having 1 extra week of practicing meant that I could prepare for his lessons better too. Moreso, it would also mean that he would almost forget how I sounded 2 weeks ago. This actually did help with the screaming. It got a little less intense. As the screaming died down, actual lesson time was getting extended and I progressively got a bit more confidence towards my own abilities. After amassing a bit more confidence, I put my foot down and demanded my mom not be in the room when my lesson was going on. She wasn’t helping anyone and contributed nothing except towards the yelling and belittling. I figured that since she had sat kind of quiet since the screaming died down that it was time for her to sit quiet forever. Also outside of the practice room. As she started to never sit in anymore, efficient use of my cello time became more evident in my playing. I was starting to actually do well in cello. CC, being the little man he is, still found ways to scold me occasionally but I eventually grew cold to his remarks. That’s when I learned a superpower. Ignore the yelling. Listen to the criticism that can be used. Apply it and repeat. I didn’t like CC, but he still did have some things worth listening to. All I had to do was focus on the useful things and ignore the rest. To be honest, if you dissected his lesson this way, he really didn’t have a lot to offer. 

The part I hated most about CC was his hypocrisy. He claimed that with every improvement I made with the cello, it was due to his harsh teachings. In reality, I feel like his yelling was only a waste of time and energy. He didn’t present to me as a strict teacher but a person unable to control their own emotions. It felt like he was venting just like my mom was venting to me. Now, I do have to declare that my mom being there in the beginning probably contributed to this interpretation of my relationship with CC but still, take a look at the facts. CC was not the best cello player in the classical music community nor was he well respected. His students were not spectacular and were also very few in number. Most people who paid enough attention knew that he had a temper and that this was the reason he couldn’t keep any students though I’m sure he twisted his situation into a narrative about how he only breeds success in those who truly want it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he said that any failure is somehow the kid or the parent’s fault. 

Not enough evidence? Want more? That’s easy, look at his favorite students and see how different he treats them. While he yelled at me for all my shortcomings, whether that’ll be not having perfect intonation or having played some wrong notes, he would let it go when it came to his favorite student, let’s call her X. Now, before we go any further, I do have to mention that I truly don’t know X all that well and if I am really honest, there may have been some jealousy about how my toxic and verbally abusive father figure was giving her affection when all he’s ever shown me was disappointment. What I mean to say is this, my memories during this period are likely skewed towards the toxic side because of all the parental undertones that existed. So, everytime you hear a story about X, just know that it is HEAVILY BIASED.

Anyhow, CC’s students and their parents would occasionally do a recital. This was a common practice for music teachers. Aside from being a fun get-together for the parents, it was also a good way for children to practice “being on stage”. Let me paint you a picture of an average recital. X would come with her mom, they would proudly walk directly up to CC and chat him up. Everyone else would watch as they smiled and audibly laughed about some jokes or whatever before X would eventually walk away. She would then find another music teacher who was around and chat them up too. Rinse and then repeat. Finally, she would proudly sit in the front of the recital hall with her cello and start setting up. 

I would see this all take place because I often found myself accidentally too early at the rectial hall on the account that I had to take the bus there. I would question why I am even doing this because my mom wasn’t going to recital at all. No one was here really to see me. I would optimistically try to think about how this is all practice for being on stage and how this was the only reason I was here. Being in the spotlight takes practice. That should be enough reason for me to attend the recital. But the thoughts don’t go away quite as easily as just thinking that one thought. I would often argue in my head various times on whether performing for the recital was a timeworthy endeavor. As performance time would draw closer, I would then feel ashamed of my repertoire because X and I were the same age but she was playing repertoire way harder than I was. I never resented X for anything though I did envy her alot. What was she doing right? What am I doing wrong? I always assumed that she was the teacher’s favorite because she was simply putting in more work or more naturally gifted. I figured if only I was as good as X, then maybe CC would treat me better. Oh boy was I starved for just a cuddle and an encouraging compliment. The recital would come and go, we’d all go up. I’d imagine the audience whispering why I was much worse than X. Then I would do my piece, bow, then leave the stage. After my turn I would normally just stay long enough to listen to X, just to see how she fares, then just leave. She, of course, went after me because the recital order was determined based on talent and priority. X was the finale. I was a bathroom break. There was nothing else for me to do there afterwards. No one in the audience was there to see me. I was alone. 

I don’t want this to be a victim’s story and how it was all “oh no, I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me” because it wasn’t really like that. I picked myself up after this every time. I was not so immature as to think I deserved anyone there to watch my recital. Remember, I considered neglect to be something I was born into. That said, I did usually need a pep talk to get going again. I would gaze at my reflection in the TTC window and talk to it. 

“I added a few more hours to my 10,000 hours of mastering the cello. Since some of those hours were on a stage, those hours would’ve counted for double cause of the stage freight right?”

I was also more optimistic and would feel a bit better right after hearing X play because I would convince myself that she was playing better than me. This solidified the idea that she was being treated better because she was playing better. It would be later in University, when I would study music properly would I realize that perception of music is very different. It is an art. It was never truly meant to be a competition. So was she really better than me by that much? Difficult to say. There are a lot of clues to how she may have been though. 

Despite me being CC’s longest lasting student, even over X, I was never offered any gigs nor opportunities by CC. I never thought much about it but eventually, I caught wind that CC had sometimes been given gigs that needed amateur musicians. As expected, he would then give  them all to X whenever he could. This again, I brushed off. Afterall, I thought she was better than me so it made sense that she got all the gigs. I also acknowledged that the more gigs you did, the more hours you put in and the faster you improved as well. I figured that it was an uphill battle to surpass X. This was a catch 22. X was better because she got gigs and she got gigs because she was better. Not only would I have to practice more than her to surpass her, I would have to practice so well that I overcome her experience from performing at gigs. This was something I regarded as impossible. At least without gigs of my own. I thought about this a lot and this was always the answer, I simply couldn’t catch up to X. After realizing this I would feel a bit depressed but then figured I would try to make my own portfolio better with some other aspect of music. I had to stand out in some other way if I wanted to be recognized. 

CC’s method of teaching is similar and akin to the true mentality of the Asian Tiger parent. The ends justify the means. No matter what. Usually this means success and financial stability above all else. So what if you abuse your kids or force them to give up their childhoods? They became doctors didn’t they? So what if your children can’t form strong relationships in the future? They are property owners now! Oh and the best part of Asian culture? Despite all the abuse and all the childhoods lost, the narrative almost immediately changes to family first the minute success is reached. Now that my son is a doctor? He’s got to take care of me. My daughter is now rich? She has to help out the family otherwise she brings shame to her family. If you take a step back, you may come to realize that sometimes, parents are just making a list of demands for their kids and asking them to fulfill it. A Chinese Tiger Parent sits in a chair and tells the Tiger Cub to study and get into a good career. After the Tiger Cub does this, the Tiger Parent tells the Tiger Cub to now make money then use it all on me and the others. 

Here’s the thing about this mentality though. It does kind of work. Success being such a highly sought after goal made a lot of students want to try hard. It breeds success and economic stability. As far as the wants of the parents? They aren’t bad either. The Goal of having successful children is not such a bad dream. Most mentally healthy parents have this dream also. My biggest issue with the Asian tiger parent mentality is that they want to have their mooncake and eat it too. They want to abuse their kids and then expect them to thank them afterwards. I think this really should not be seen through the lens of the big picture. This the ends justify the means is too easily abused. Hell, for all we know, the tiger parent may have only contributed screaming and not true discipline nor good habits to grow into a healthy human being. Humans are very flawed creatures, it’s almost impossible to say what is pushing someone to their potential and what is child abuse. I think Asian parents should understand that if they prioritize the success of their children more than the children themselves, they should be ready to lose them to the success too.  

The other issue with having a death march to victory is that the road will always be going towards an increasingly narrow corridor. As you get closer and closer to the top of any field, you have to start optimizing more and more and sacrifice more also. At some point, you would find the limit of your abilities. When this happens, that’s when the worst of the worst comes to light. It becomes not so much about how successful you were, but rather how much you can stand out. It is no longer enough that you succeed, others must fail. 

Despite CC’s reputation, he was still one of the few Chinese cello teachers around. He and X’s parents were the frontmen of the Chinese classical music community and they were the most well known and most likely to be contacted for any gigs. We had a small community, yes, but nonetheless they made their presence known. Being so influential, they had a sort of power. Some would say absolute power corrupts absolutely. Does it? Or does it really just exemplify who you really are. Want to see what happens when X’s parents and CC when something doesn’t go according to plan? Do you wanna know what kind of people they really are? Stay tuned. You’ll find out when we hit the high school chapters. 

Before we head over to the next chapter of high school, I figured I would just share with you a final thought about this period of my life. Let’s say I was at the recital and was better than X. Would that have changed anything? I’m not sure it would have been enough. When a child is succeeding and doing everything possible, it doesn’t really mean they’re winning. What’s the point of doing these things if you have no support? If I came out the other end despite no support as a success story about perseverance would that heal the wounds of the past? I’m not sure it would. As I now write this passage at a point in my life when I am considering my own family, I think the biggest fear I have for all of that is that sometimes, parenthood is not forgiving. It’s not something you can just wing all the time. You have to be present because presence means something. It is important and it is necessary. Children need support and in the future you can be damn sure I’m not planning on missing a single thing my kid does. I know that these little missing moments add up to. I know what the result is. While success is great to have, I can’t imagine anyone should ever simply brush off the little things. This is the biggest problem of the single mother household family. It’s the sacrifice of these little things.