Never mind the fact that I missed last year (which i totally forgot about), I thought I would do something slightly different this year (a week early).

A recollection of a past event.

It was about 12 years ago, when I still schooled and was using this platform rather often. My life had begun to pick up again as I started to prioritize my education. Away from the stray that devastated me in my younger days, though that, perhaps is a story for another day.

Taking lessons seriously, it was one fine assignment that I somehow remembered even till today.

English. One of the many subjects I have the least confidence about, one of those that I preferred to shun and do the bare minimum. But as I said, my life was picking up then and I was striving to be better at everything I can do in terms of grades, and even English was not going to stand in my way.

The task was simple. A composition assignment. One that requires students to craft a story, to display their grasp of the language. One that frankly speaking, has been around since the beginning of compulsory education.

But to me it was different.

I wanted to do something special (much like today I guess), I wanted to be better than all I had ever done. I wanted to write a story.

And so I did.

I can't remember the exact details, but the word count was measly (but considered heavy to students of that age). It was either a 2-pager or a 4-pager (perhaps 500 words?) that I had to tell my story and I was determined to do a damn good job about it.

I didn't know about drafting outlines, re-reading and making revisions then, so I more or less wrote the story in one seating, but it was a story that I was proud of (at that time).

To me, it had a setting, a scene that was clear in my mind as I wrote it. It was characters that wasn't just some xiaoming that I fall back on for all of my assignments. It had a plot. It had mystique. It had a plot twist.

It had an open ending.

God knows how I put all of that in within a 500-worder (or 2/4-pager), but I clearly remember having some of those.

Sadly I can't barely remember anything from that story now (who can remember what they wrote for composition assignments more than a decade ago?), but I vaguely recall it involving a small young boy, a chess game and a revered, old man as his opponent.

The plot twist had something to do with the old man, but despite no one ever getting to read the story again (including myself), I shall not reveal it.

But perhaps what was defining was how proud I was at the work I had done. I had submitted it on time and eagerly waited for it to be graded. To me, it was my best work and should clearly earn the best marks I have ever gotten.

Except that it didn't.

Sure it was above average for my standards, but it was nowhere near the top scoring essays written for that particular assignment.

I was pained.

I wanted to know why. I wanted to know how I could do better. I had a hunger for improvement then.

So I did something I had never done before in my life at that point in time.

I stayed back after class and asked my English teacher how I could possibly improve it. Change the ending? Would that help? Include more suspense?

Of course in hindsight 12 years later, the answer is probably "use better English, have a better flow" (which sounds simple but can be incredibly hard to do).

But right there and then the answer was nothing like it. It was nothing I was expecting and it was disappointing to say the least.

In fact, based on what I can recall, the Caucasian teacher at that time couldn't even remember what I had written, not specifically nor in a broad sense. It was simply put, just another essay to him.

Now I'm not blaming him for his response then, it was 40 essays he had to grade from my class alone and I have no idea how many classes a high school teacher was supposed to take simultaneously. It probably wasn't like he graded them the night prior so really, would have been hard for him to recall.

But a 15 year old mind wouldn't think like that then. And even as I re-read my story again, I thought it wonderful, thought he numeric figures in red at the corner indicated it average more than anything.

It clearly affected me more than I thought and perhaps in typical millennial fashion I kind of gave up and think writing was not for me.

So perhaps I should be grateful today that I have re-discovered how fun the process of writing can be. And while recognition would certainly increase the overall experience, I now know it isn't necessary.

There's nothing wrong with being average if one enjoys being average. Some may chide for the lack of ambition, but why should ambition come in for a hobby?