I've always been a smart kid. I do not mean to brag, but that's simply the truth.

You've heard all those “Rags to Riches” success stories: How the speaker comes from a poor family, always had failing grades, decided to study hard for the sake of graduation. They always finish with a degree and a Latin honour to accompany it. My life is quite the opposite.

As a child, I was very active during class. I was usually the first one to have their hand raised during recitations. I was the forerunner during school events that involved dancing or singing or giving a speech.

One of my clearest memories involved singing “Even Now” by Barry Manilow on stage in front of hundreds of people—though it was mostly my schoolmates, their parents, and the staff.

I remember two or three of my schoolmates not having their parents around with them. One of them stared blankly at me while I performed. He definitely wished he had my talent.

I was the quickest to learn in class. The one who almost often got the perfect scores. When the teacher hands out the finished tests, my name is usually the first one to be called. Others do get ahead of me, but that's not really a massive problem. My ego is not that huge to swear hatred upon others just because they surpassed me in a mere test.

My parents were not as strict as those academics-addicted parents. I did not get punished for failing to get perfect marks, nobody is that perfect. Even the smartest guy to ever live has gotten an item wrong or two. You can't force that to your kids, and I was lucky my parents didn't.

A classmate of mine wasn't too lucky. I believe her name was Alexandria, or Alex; she's half-Chinese. She always worked her hardest, but got half the scores at best.

There was an event at school where we were encouraged to bring our parents. The adults stayed at the back and happily chatted about their kids. Laughing about how hard it was to take care of them, and now they've grown enough that they've made their own friends. Patiently waiting for the time these kids they raised to eventually rebel against them.

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It was all smiles at the back as far as I remember, besides from one pair— it was Alex's parents. The air around them was heavy, a stark contrast to the general positivity circulating around the room. It's clear on their faces how disappointed they were of their child.

Nobody from my class noticed this besides the young version of myself, probably. Everyone else was fixated on impressing their parents. I didn't come up with this conclusion at that time exactly, I'm not that much of a genius. It's something I noticed much later in my life.

I graduated from preschool with a silver medal and nearly secured a place at the top 10 podium. I was not upset about it, that I nearly made it on stage. I did not feel like I needed that extra attention from the school. My goal never was to be acknowledged. The medal was more than enough. My parents hopefully shared this feeling with me.

Alex, meanwhile, remained seated as if part of the audience. The only time she had the chance to walk on stage was when it was time to grab the certificates. Not a smile on all three of their faces.

We sang a song directed to our parents, prepared by our teacher; dance steps also included. It was a terrible performance to put it bluntly, but it was a precious moment for the parents.

The event concluded as soon as the school hymn finished and one of the teachers has completed their closing remarks.

My parents afterwards took me to the nearest restaurant, and I don't remember eating much.

At the time, I was a supremely picky eater. I would eat nothing but fish, meatloaf, nuggets, and chicken skin. Eggs and Sausages were also on this narrow list. Fried Bacon was one of my childhood favourites. I never ate chicken meat, and pork, and beef.

Vegetables were obviously a no-go.

The meal prepared onto our table was rotisserie chicken that looked absolutely savoury now that I think about it. I wish I could smack my younger self for solely choosing the mac and cheese. The current me would no doubt demolish that chicken in seconds!

A couple of my classmates were also at the same restaurant as me, along with their own set of loved ones. The place became rowdy with all the children gathered in one space. I, too, was guilty of contributing to this racket. Was it to impress someone? I don't know.

We left the restaurant a mess. I feel bad to whoever was in charge of cleaning that day. It might be, no, it's obviously too late now, but please accept my apology.