triumph or rejection

Today was Parent-Teacher Conference Day, and it was such a refreshing experience to reconnect with the parents. Many of them I’ve known since 2023, which made the atmosphere honest yet warm and friendly. It felt like a community coming together, and I was even touched when one family invited me to visit Hong Kong for the upcoming holidays.

Among the conversations I had, one in particular stayed with me. A mom shared her worries about her child transitioning to Kindergarten next year. Despite their chosen school already showing hesitation due to past health concerns, the child is now completely healthy. Any previous records of a heart condition have been removed, yet the school seems unwilling to look past that history.

The mom confided how heartbreaking it is to face rejection again, especially knowing how much progress her child has made over the last two years. Instead of valuing that growth, the school relies on a 30-minute assessment to decide the child’s future—either acceptance or rejection. It’s a harsh and narrow process, dismissing all the hard work and resilience the child has shown.

This conversation made me reflect on my own life and profession. As a teacher, I pour my heart into what I do. I stay late at school, organize events, act as an advisor to students, handle admissions, and even speak at open house events. At the end of the day, I’m the one walking around turning off lights or air conditioners left on by others.
But here’s the truth: I’m not the owner. I’m just an employee. No matter how much effort I put in, it often feels like it goes unnoticed. There will always be someone else who gets the recognition, sometimes for no other reason than being of a different race or background.

I know I might sound dramatic, but it’s disheartening when your dedication and sacrifices are overlooked by the very people you work for. It’s hard not to feel betrayed. I can’t help but think that if I were to leave—or even die—my replacement would be found quickly, and my contributions would be remembered only for a brief moment before disappearing completely.

Just like the child whose future is decided in a fleeting 30-minute assessment, it sometimes feels like all the effort, perseverance, and passion we pour into life is dismissed in an instant. The world doesn’t always feel fair, and happiness can seem elusive when your worth isn’t acknowledged.

But even in these moments of doubt, I remind myself why I do what I do. It’s for the children, for the parents who believe in me, and for the small, meaningful connections we build every day. Still, it’s a bittersweet realization that in the grand scheme of things, so much of what we do may go unrecognized.

The world may not always be just, but I’ll continue to press on, knowing that even if my efforts aren’t celebrated, they still matter to someone, somewhere.