Unknown Differences

I sat in the car on the way to my first day of kindergarten, excited to meet new people and make new friends along the way. I was nervous because I never really talked to others since they would look at me weirdly whenever I spoke, but I never thought badly about it. My mommy looked at me through the rearview mirror, smiled at me, and I just giggled with excitement. I entered the school in awe because I have never seen such a huge building, the ceiling never seemed to end. I entered the classroom, eyes glistened with joy, saw smiles around the room with the sun slowly peeking out from the window, giving a sun glow kiss to the classroom. I never felt happier. I sat down on a seat and waited for other children like me to come in. It felt like an eternity waiting for my classmates to come to school. Soon the room filled with parents and their children, parents greeted each other and children all said “Hi” to each other. They were all greeting each other but me. Most of them didn’t acknowledge my existence and walked past me.
“Well it’s the first day of school, I don’t know anybody, I’m sure I will make at least one friend today!”, I thought to myself.
I tried to say hello to the girl who was sitting next to me. All I got was a disgusted look, no response, and whispers around me. I wondered what was a big deal, all I said was, “Hi!”, I didn’t do anything wrong. . . I don’t think? I was sure that I was speaking in English, and my pronunciation was similar to her’s, so why did I get the weird looks?
I decided to ignore it as the teacher started the class with some alphabet coloring exercises. As I was coloring, the sun seemed to dim and the warmth was slightly gone, but it mostly felt the same. After a while, I didn’t recognize a certain letter, some of them looked alike to me.
“What is this?”, I asked as the teacher approached me, “It’s the letter S,” she replied.
As she said this, I heard snickers and laughter around the room, I felt so small, inferior to everyone else. The eyes of my peers pierced through me and my face started to turn red from embarrassment. The teacher looked up fiercely killing the laughter just as quickly as it had started.
“Enough now, everyone get your coats and line up for recess,” she said, looking at the clock. Everyone lined up and was ready to go.
The air was a bit crisp, the sun warmed my bones after the coldness I felt during the past hour or two. I was around the sandbox, only a few feet away from the teacher who already sat down and watched the other children play. The girl who ignored me went up to the teacher and started to ask her questions. No one noticed me, nor did anyone acknowledge me in the area.
“Why is that girl here?” the girl said while looking at me. “Why does she look so weird? Her English is weird, and she is ugly too. Nobody wants to talk to her because she talks funny.”
I listened intently and started to compare myself to my classmates. Am I different from them? Well, my parents couldn’t speak English as well as their parents, but they could always learn, it’s just a language. Does my face look funny? I walked off the sandbox and walked up to the closest glass window. I stared at my reflection in the glass. My eyes were a bit smaller than my peers, my hair was darker, and my face was a bit chubby. Am I speaking my English correctly? “Hello,” I say to my reflection, echoing past me. It sounded similar, just my H sounded a bit off than others, but I could fix that. Are people able to understand me? I pulled up my coat sleeve and started inspecting my skin. Is my skin color different from theirs? What is the difference? I pondered these questions as recess came to an end.
The walk back to the classroom was just as dreadful as the walk outside, me at the end of the line, dragging my feet back to a cold cave where the warmth seemed to escape out through the door. The sun’s glow disappeared from the room, just the fluorescent lights hitting the bleak tables with unfinished papers scattered around, crayons on the floor, and bright fake smiles from the bulletin boards surrounded the classroom. Parents started pouring in the classroom, children ran up to their parent, yelling, “Mommy! Daddy!”. I spotted my mom’s dark, short, black hair through the sea of heads, and walked towards her, the excitement from the beginning of the day gone. The teacher called my name to say goodbye. I turned and gave her a toothless smile, not opening my mouth the entire time. As I entered the car, I looked around to see my classmates on the playground again, playing with each other.
My mom looked at me through the rear-view mirror and asked, with a tired smile, “How was your day?”
“엄마, 내가 왜 다른가요?” I asked quietly, staring into her eyes.
“Mom, why am I different?”