The High School’s English Department recently held a ‘Tiny Memoir Contest’ for staff and students to share a true story about their lives in less than a hundred words. The response was immense with hundreds of submissions from students and staff on subjects ranging from pets, treasured moments, holidays, embarrassing memories, to the dangers of technology. Each memoir was a snapshot of life within the school community and a piece of the writer’s personality. Over the course of two months, students developed their pieces for submission, all while exploring the art of storytelling in a concise and impactful way.
Year 9 Inspiring stories
Which World Am I In?
Henry Liu
Morning alarm… waking before computer… neck cramped…keyboard print on my face. Buzz! updated game.
Breakfast, edge a glob into my mouth, not caring what is on my plate. Buzz! a new video.
With my backpack, out the door, eyes glued to phone and asphalt street. Buzz! a text from friend.
Walking to school, noticing the up-hanging sun by checking downward-to phone weather forecast. Buzz! selfies of crush.
To school, I panic, to find, to see, the finals is today.
To my horror, do I scramble away. I look for “pause”, or “restart”, or “home”. But. There is none.
Torii wandering
Jennifer Liu
All way up to the end of road it was like a long tunnel of light, leading from mortal to deities.
It was the Fushimi Inari Shrine. In the long-passed tales, Inari was who caring for human lives.
Walking along the Torii Residence, surrounded by forests, it was varying greens that fills the surrounding. With birds singing, leaves rustling, cicadas chirping, it was the final song of summer.
So bless me Inari, by building myself a torii in my heart, for that everything wins.
Morning Training
Agnes Liu
I sighed. Morning training. Plucking you out of warm dreams at 6 a.m. in October.
Sleep-deprived, pressure-driven, and energy-sapped, staggering onto the field took
sheer force of will.
Yet as I began running, summer’s last wisps of breath curled around me like a familiar,
welcoming friend, while the early sun spilled onto me like an effervescently golden potion.
Gradually, my hair billowed out from its careless knot, lips parted to inhale the crisp morning
air, feet slid into perfect position against the track.
And gradually, my heart crashed against my chest, exploding in a cascade of golden,
Dopamine-filled fireworks.
Year 10 Inspiring stories
Forgetting the Forgetting
Bobo Ma
“Steamed bok-choy, dried pickled mustards” Those are the dishes that tremble softly out
my mouth.
My waipo lies unmoving in our dim apartment. Her eyes glazed over as she stares thoughtlessly at us. Her family.
Her gaunt body lies still, interrupted by grunts that leak out of her mouth. Desperate, I plead the name of foods she loved, praying for a glimmer of recognition in those vacant eyes to cling onto.
It never comes.
Instead, my words disappear as she watches my lips tremor with motionless empty eyes.
This is the only clear memory I have left of her.
ROSES
Isabella Chi
We visited Great Grandma every year.
I wanted to buy her roses, but Mom picked a delicate gold necklace instead – and I gave it to Great Grandma. She laughed heartily as she handed me a red envelope stuffed with money, her rough yet warm hands caressing my cheeks softly. They somehow felt like silk.
I got to give her two golden necklaces.
The third year Mom didn’t ask me which necklace I thought Great Grandma would like. She headed into the flower shop and asked which bouquet of white roses I liked the most.
We visit Great Grandma every year.
Bloom and doom
Sharon Liang
In spring, I bought a bag of sunflower seeds and planted them in my backyard. Under my meticulous care, vibrant leaves pushed through the soil, reaching for sunlight. I relished sitting in the yard, watching them sway in the breeze.
But one day, I was terrified to see my baby sunflowers gnawed by insects seriously. The myriad holes in their leaves are like mouths with fierce teeth, pleading for help. Feeling defeated, I no longer gave the flowers as much care as before.
In autumn, a typhoon swept through, uprooting what remained. Then, I refilled the space with grown sunflowers.
Year 11 & Year 12 Inspiring stories
Chinese nonsense
Laura Lou
The Spaniard showed me his fan. I squinted.
“How do you say that in Chinese?” The fan was made of cheap plastic----the kind we give out in supermarkets. Yet he was holding it as though it was the jewel of the Spanish crown.
“Uh----“ I concentrated on the tiny Chinese characters. “Wang Chuqin?”
“Ahhhhhh~” The old man beamed, satisfied. “One, two, three?”
Months later, I sat watching Wang Chuqin secure another gold for Chinese ping-pong. Across the continent, a Spanish old man would be cheering, in perfect Chinese nonsense: “That’s One Two Three. I’m his fan!”
Sanxin North Road
Melanie Wu
Soaked, from head to toe. My shoes were wet pudding. Glasses? Massacred by raindrops. The rain pelted me like needles.
I cursed the loathsome creature that had stolen my umbrella as I ran across the street. I didn’t even notice the red traffic light –– until a car skidded to a stop right in front of me, coating me with a fresh layer of mud-water.
Windows were rolled down. “Watch where you’re going, girl!”
Before I could respond, a hand held out an umbrella. I hesitated, then grabbed it. “Young people these days,” I heard him mutter as he drove off.
My Condolences
Angela Xu
Even though two months have passed, my thoughts are still in that ethereal and pure mourning hall, filled with tears and sorrow. That was a funeral in August, the first funeral I attended in my sixteen years of life. The one lied peacefully in the coffin is my lover, who will selflessly dedicate all his love to me. I inherited the university he wanted to go to, which became my goal. Whenever I feel like giving up, I think of this goal and make up my mind to live a good life. Death is not the end of life.
