A Love Like Hail

Chapter 11

THE LIFE WITHOUT Lin Xiawei resumes after that first day back.

I longed for her gaze. And this returned longing provoked the recalling of a story my sister once told me about the almighty grasshopper who wished for the attention of a mere ant. The grasshopper was one that thought highly of itself despite its lack of will to move or work for its own food, and this single ant brought the grasshopper food with efforts made off of fresh blood and sweat. What had compelled this ant to work tirelessly hard at the expense of somebody else's leisure? The reason remains unknown, but one day who knew what the grasshopper might have said to this ant, for it acted as if the grasshopper ceased to exist. Everything the grasshopper took for granted from the ant disappeared just like this ant's attention. The grasshopper became the one watching this ant longingly, and it screamed and weeped for the ant's care. "Look at me, look at me, I am here!" The grasshopper shouted repeatedly. But no matter what, the ant would not turn its head at the grasshopper again.

I wonder if I am like this grasshopper. But if I am, what have I taken for granted from Lin Xiawei? Like the grasshopper, I do not know what I have done to be disregarded by her like this.

Yet life continues ever so fast, and repetitive days of studying, cram school, badminton practices, and more turned into a few days before the college entrance exams. People are told throughout their times of hard work and studying that all this effort will lead them to feel prepared on exam day. Whether this is true or not, it is not applicable to me. On the day before the anticipated two-day exam, I felt nervous knots tie in my stomach, and my once steady hand on my pencil slipped consistently from my sweat that seemed to emerge from nowhere. The college entrance exam was the test that determined our "worth", for there was only one chance and that score would determine whether or not we would get into the top universities. My aim was set on one of the top three universities in China, thus my score needed to reach practically perfection. One mistake and I would be going to another university, and also off of Lin Xiawei's circle of life for good.

Back then, all I knew was studying in order to hide the lies I assured myself. I veiled my hidden intentions for working so hard with the cover of a good sister. I told myself an elegant and heart-moving story of a devoted sister set out to save her little brother from the grasps of their overbearing parents. It might as well be a moral line I read out to myself before sleep each night. I wore this cloak of a lie until I believed it to be true.

Somehow, on the exam day, this cloak I draped over myself was not motivating enough. Its seemingly beautifulness and kindness became unavailing, and in my desperate need to stay calm on this important exam, I ripped the cloak off temporarily. Then, in front of me lay the very truth: the girl with soft skin and long silky hair, her aqua eyes calm but bearing strong determination without a trace of obscurity detected. There was always a kind of prudent resolve in her expression, while it was masked by a soft look that unpretentious people might mistake for a guileless girl. But I know better, and this hiddenness of her secret expression that only I knew made me undergo a false uniqueness and closeness to her. All along, I was not the caring older sister I informed myself to be. Only this bright truth and light of Lin Xiawei was able to pull me out of my nervousness. The mist that clouded my mind vanished, and almost imagining her delicate voice at the back of my head ever so pleasantly, allowed me to continue the exam with a newfound confidence. My pencil, gripped by a firm hand, began to write effortlessly throughout the next two days of the exam.

—————

On the last day of the exam, students from different high schools exited the ominous seeming building we had spent so dreadfully long in, suffering nine hours of testing. Family members held posters and signs that congratulated their children, and these tired faces lit up at the welcome of their parents. My eyes blurred from looking down at tiny texts for so long, my lips dry from dehydration, and my right hand sore from wielding a pencil that wrote one character after another without ceasing. I did not bother to search for the unfamiliar faces of my parents, but I didn't make the move to leave either.