The last translated essay from the collection gave a glimpse into the pressure on Chinese kids to excel in school. This essay, written by a fifth grader, is a nice illustration of the teacher-student relationship in China, which is very different from the often adversarial relationship between teachers and students in American schools. Teachers in China may not make that much money, but they do receive a lot of respect from students. And you can also see hints of the “make individual sacrifices for the good of the whole” meme that a communist government likes to push.

Ms. Ma, You Have Our Respect

That pair of clear eyes hold such deep feelings and hopes. That once raven black hair has gradually turned silver. That kind, sincere face is already covered with wrinkles. Oh, Ms. Ma, you worry so much for us!

Do you still remember? I used to be a careless kid. Once I had an embarrassing typo that caused the whole class to laugh. I was embarrassed and cried. Yet you had faith in me and again and again used kind words to encourage me. With our combined hard work, I finally got the best grade in the whole grade at the end of the semester. At that moment, I saw you smile so contently, so sweetly.

Ms. Ma, you selflessly give  your heart to your students. I remember that humid afternoon. We were quietly waiting in the classroom for you to come start class. Suddenly, an urgent voice came over the intercom: Ms. Ma of class 5-2, please come to the broadcast room quickly. Your daughter is seriously ill …” We were stunned, panicked, and concerned for you. Ms. Ma, your daughter is seriously ill, she needs your attention! Yet, at this moment you appeared in front of us. Why?

We looked on, stunned. At that moment the classroom was eerily quiet. I wanted so badly to tell you to hurry and go, but when I met your serious gaze, I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue. You calmly walked on to the podium, picked up the chalk, turned around and wrote on the blackboard. Your hand was trembling, but your handwriting was very firm. At that point, the intercom was going nonstop, yet you didn’t care at all and continued to read to us. Your throat was coarse, yet you still read with such feelings. We were crying in our hearts, having been deeply moved by you.

“Teacher, why don’t you go to the broadcast office?” someone asked, unable to bear it any longer.

You gently looked at the whole class and said calmly, “My daughter needs me, but my students need me more. It is a teacher’s duty to develop the foundation of our country.”

I gratefully looked at you as you focused on teaching, hoping this class would hurry up and end so that you can go see your daughter …

Oh Ms. Ma. You always so attentively look at our homework, never skipping one punctuation, one typo. You are like the spring silkworm, the candle, laboring steadily …