Let’s start from Z

Who doesn’t like Disney? At age six, I knew Part of Your World (Little Mermaid theme song) and A Whole New World (Aladdin theme song) by heart. When my family moved from Queenstown to Jurong, I sang these songs to impress my new friend Z at the new kindergarten I was attending. The problem?  She started talking to me when we were supposed to sit quietly while waiting for our parents to come to fetch us. The teacher made her stand at a corner as punishment. Poor Z was crying silently when her dad came to fetch her.

I like Z. She was outgoing, well-mannered and pretty, so my family liked her too. The best part was that she turned out to be my neighbor. But what about the not-so-great part?

My family had a habit of comparing me against her. Or rather, they enjoyed using her to make me feel bad about myself.

* * *

We ended up in the same primary school, where I became overweight and had short, bushy hair. On the other hand, Z remained cute and often wore her hair in two pigtails. Honestly, I was okay with my family always discussing how pretty she was – even when I was told that I looked like a giant beside her. Looking back though, I do realize a few things. I realize that my family does want me to feel bad about myself because their taunts grew increasingly cruel over the years. I also realize that Z likely saw me as a rival despite her being so much more well-liked than I was.

In general, I was doing okay in my studies but was dreadfully slow in my work. When I was ten, I had to borrow Z’s homework as I couldn’t copy down the answers from the board in time. I brought it home and after I was done copying down the answers from her homework, I dropped her a call to tell her I was heading to her place to return it (she literally lived downstairs). However, it turned out that my mom was in a sullen mood (bickered with dad) and decided that I was not allowed to step out of the house at all.

So, Z came up to my place to get her worksheet instead. She was in a pretty pink dress with her hair tied in a neat bun. My parents were delighted to see her, “hi, Z!”

“Don’t dream about borrowing anything from me again,” Z hissed at me, ignoring my parents, and stormed off.

“Why did you make her angry?” my dad demanded. But before I could explain, my mom picked up the phone to call Z’s home. My parents took turns to apologize to Z in their saccharine voices as I started crying.

“Please forgive Wan Jing, she is crying now.”

The next day in school, Z told me that my high IQ would never be enough to compensate for my lack of EQ. She also shared the whole incident with our classmates sitting around her.

* * *

Epilogue

On top of sending Z to a few enrichment classes, Z’s parents eventually transferred her to another school as they felt the previous one wasn’t good enough. She did well for her PSLE and I congratulated her mom (who told me about it when she saw me at the void deck), but she was disappointed Z did not do as well as me ( since unlike her, my family could not afford tuition).

Does it matter though? We went to the same secondary school. During that time, specific brands of calculators could be used for Maths exams, so we all used a standard calculator. My dad gave me a spare calculator but its model was not allowed for exams, so I only used it for homework and classroom practices.

Once I was going to have a Maths test, so before leaving for school I deliberately left the spare calculator at home to avoid mixing up my two calculators. My mom, who was uptight about grades but rather uninvolved in my learning, must have panicked when she saw the spare calculator on my desk shortly after, not realizing that I had already brought along with me the correct model.

That morning, as I walked rather idly from my classroom to the assembly ground, I saw that Z had just arrived at school, slightly out of breath as she was running a little late (and still had not deposited her bag in the classroom). For some reason, she was walking towards me instead of her classroom.

“I saw your mom at the bus stop. She said you are having a test today and asked me to hand you this,” Z held up my spare calculator.

“This calculator cannot be used for the exam!” I was exasperated.

A smirk formed on Z’s face.

* * * 

I grew up in a toxic environment in which unrealistic standards were imposed upon me. In closing, here are some habits to overcome perfectionism

1. Go for good enough.
2. Realize that you hurt yourself and the people around you by buying into myths of perfection.
3. Accept that you are human and so are everyone else.
4. Compare yourself to yourself.
5. Do what you think is the right thing.
6. Shape an environment of human standards around you.
Reducing or cutting out the sources that try to reinforce perfectionism in you.
Spending less time with nervously perfectionistic people.

Source [x]

* * * 

This is the first of seven stories
I intend to write for 7H, a collection of
unpleasant memories from my youth that 

I hope to get out of my system as I turn 30. 

H stands for Horcruxes,
which immortalize you
but fragment your soul.

H also stands for Hybrid, 

merging narrative text with

informational text in each piece.