My first true identity crisis came as early as when I was in my second term of the first year of senior high. We had this major students relocation plan which picked me and a bunch of other equally academically well-performed rookies out from the mediocre students classes and squeeze us into a new class called “the Rocket Class”---literally speaking, it means that we are supposed to fly higher and faster than the rest of the pack. Actually, we did, and we fell harder. I, a first place student in the average class, was replaced dramatically to the No.53, out of 60 of all. IDENTITY CRISIS. Not only did the identity crisis hit me as a tornado, but also left as soon as a tornado should be in that I climbed back to the top three in the first semi-final and the first place in the first final as the rest of the peer did not perceive the resentment brought by the gap from the place I plummeted. It carried me forward for the rest of the high school years, to Entrance Examination. It outweighed the puberty crisis so much so that I did not even have the slightest idea about what puppy love tasted like. The pink-hued teenage girl’s bubble fantasy was overwhelmed by the yearning for higher placement, better mathematics score and dreamy university.
The second identity crisis found its way into my life when I was in my first graduate year. Post-graduate life could be, as I have long imagined, full of interactions between the distinct brains, while it was not. This time, I ended up burying my head into the tomes that I should and should not read. The second year came and it washed away the monotonousness of the first innocent year. That mild transition brought me close to what being alone was truly like and closer to myself.
My third identity crisis sneak attacked me when I first entered the work world. Since I had been taught to be a honest person over my entire early life, I did not manage to switch the mode with dexterity.
Once we had a business dinner with two CEOs from other firms, my boss, in an attempt to break the freezing ice, started to ask questions about our hometowns. The best scenario could be that everyone just talked about where they were from and the people and special food were like in that specific place. My boss, the game’s initiator, was too bored by this routine to keep the ball rolling at a normal speed. He is 80% of a typical Chinese officer and 20% of a businessman. So his nature started to work its way up to connect the guests present. When one CEO said things like, “I am from Beibei...”. His eagerness to establish the connection was so strong that he blurted out that “Xiao He is from that place too. What a wonderful coincidence!”. Here came the social fiasco of my life! On hearing this, I did not nod yes and smile as I was supposed to because I was just scared of the chance to be asked about details about that place, to which I did not do any homework beforehand.
My inhibition and integrity got the upper hand of me, so I shook my head and retorted “NO, that is not my hometown.” The whole dinner table could not contain their laughter over this awkward answer, which was 100% to the opposite of their social etiquette of being smart and sophisticated. I could not even pluck up courage to eye my boss whose face was fire-burned.
Such social or diplomatic fiascoes cement my belief that I don’t belong to the officialdom, nor the business circle. But it took me the third identity crisis to come to light to the truth.
To this day, I am still undergoing the identity crisis and will be under its spell in the coming years. How long will it last? ___2BD. (to be decided.)
