It’s painful.
Today this writer composed a 1700-word account of his childhood as an Asian migrant to Australia. It detailed how he returned to his homeland Singapore expecting to feel like a local, but ending up even more isolated than the simple foreigner. It also tells of what his failure to learn Chinese (cue the song by Jin here) means to him, as shown in an incident at a friend’s house.
It was not fun. It was in fact rather painful to look back honestly on what were rosy-cheeked childhood memories and rip the pretty colours away. This writer looked at his twelve-year-old self and did not like what he saw. It’s awfully confronting to see oneself on paper.
Posted by unilateration