Critique my context piece?

[soopertaco]

Thanks in advance
text: growing up asian in australia
Angelo Labrador
‘Adapting to our environment and situation is what maters most’

Communication is vital.
As you walk through these cold and stale corridors you put one foot in front of the other. You carry yourself with a sense of urgency as though you have somewhere to be, but you don't. Weaving your way through the crowds of people you catch a glimpse of the social hierarchy of the school. The bogans, the emos, the smokers, the fashionistas, the sluts, the rockers, the jocks, the wogs, the wannabe gangsters and the bookworms, its the longest corridor you've ever seen. You feel as though you’ve landed in a jungle, placed at the bottom of the food chain. Unintentionally you stare at the jocks for a second too long and cop a few dirty looks and condescending stares back, you keep your head forward and continue on walking.

The urge to pee suddenly takes your bladder hostage, you hastily run to the nearest toilet. Upon walking into the cubicle the rancid smell of urine permeates the air and invades your unsuspecting nostrils. You hold your breath as you struggle to undo your belt, buttons and zip. One satisfying piss later, you come up to the wash station and see another group in the mirror. The smallest group to ever interrupt this schools perfectly cliché world of social clicks. You see an Asian, the only Asian, an individual, the newly migrated, yellow skinned Asian with designer glasses on, you see yourself. 

Only one month has passed since you and your older brother migrated here from China. You love your brother like no other; he is your hero. He has raised you from the time that your parents died tragically in your family’s house as it burnt down; you were only four. He carried you to safety and waited for Baba to make a heroic escape with Ma but unfortunately, his cries fell only on burnt ears. Instead, he and you watched the fire ravage the entire house. Even at such a young age you felt your heart as it wrenched violently in your chest. Still in shock, tears streamed from your eyes as your brother came to terms with your parents’ death. At that moment he decided then and there that he would raise you just like Baba would’ve, he had just turned sixteen.

As the bell rings loudly echoing through the halls you walk out of the toilet and to your first class of the day. Being the only Asian at the school is no easy task, you feel detached and isolated by your difference. With little knowledge of the English language you find it hard to fit in. When you approach your classmates it’s obvious their understanding of Asians is little to none. “Ching chong ling long ting tong” are among the taunts you receive in the first few weeks. The insults burn you on the inside and despite the vague understanding of what they are actually saying; the laughing and pointing definitely give it away. At times you wonder why your brother has chosen this oriental wasteland of a town to live in, where were all the Asians?

As you struggle with the tones and pronunciation of English words, your frustration starts to grow. All you want to do is learn the language; all you want to do is find your place. The only thing you do afterschool is sit in front of the tv. Not for the entertainment but to learn, your homework suddenly becomes a mission. You fantasise about sounding like the newsreader on channel ten, such a deep, confident and ‘normal’ sounding accent. In your progression the frustration starts become confusion. In your mind you think in English, you talk to yourself in English, you dream in English but as soon as you open your mouth all that comes out is a messy collection of English sounding words with hard Chinese tones. “Good, now repeat that” Miss Woods, your English teacher would patiently say.

While bored in class you look out the window into the calmness of the oval illuminated by the bright sunlight of a spring morning. Your eyes focus to the foreground and your reflection becomes visible to you. With your slanted eyes, deathly straight hair, flat nose and yellowish complexion you don’t just see a ‘that asian’ looking back at you, but you see an individual who stands out from the crowd. Earlier that morning your brother had told you to stop caring so much, because it is in this very concern that we potentially deny and destroy our true identity altogether. With this in mind you read the passage that is given to you by Miss Woods; “Very good, you’re doing really well”. At that point a hope rekindles, impatience becomes patience and taunts become motivation. Maybe one day you’ll be something other than a ‘fob’, maybe one day you’ll excel and prove everyone wrong. If there was one thing you remember from Baba that is to ‘never forget who you are’. You gain comfort in knowing that somewhere your parents are looking over you proudly because for now you decide to just be you.