“If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you'll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.” 

- Michelle Obama 

I used to sleep in China Dragon.
I've been working at China Dragon, a Chinese-American restaurant, alongside my parents since my early years. My grandma from Hong Kong came up with the name when my parents first immigrated to the United States. Since then, it’s been an establishment for hungry friends wanting to chat and try out food that I eat every day, people running late to buses and flights, bodybuilders stacking up on protein to achieve their dream bodies, as well as people trying to eat healthier in this ever-growing fast-food supplied country. It's the perfect place for a quick bite or for friends looking for a casual hangout. It’s where you see the biggest Goliaths, but also the smallest, and sometimes loudest, David’s. At times, it’s even the dream reunion spot for old friends that you never thought you’d see again in your journey that is life.

China Dragon was my favorite place to play Lego Batman on my Nintendo 3DS, sitting behind the counter on two black metal chairs stacked on one another, watching Robin smash sepia boxes with his jabs and right hooks to collect gold studs. When I wasn’t doing that, a roaring war was occurring between my Marvel action figures behind the counter, waving them frantically against each other, while muttering the commentary of the affray.
“閰艾德溫將不得不開始接受命令...... 佢不可能永遠喺呢度踢波.”
(“Oh, Edwin will have to start taking orders soon… he can’t play here forever.”)
The words I heard my mother whisper to my father in the kitchen in the middle of June, in my last year in elementary school. While I prayed that I could remove those words from my head, it became evident with the thumping of black shoes against the dirty, yet sturdy floor; that I was going to have to bear witness to a long conversation.
“Your brother already started taking orders when he was your age!” my father stated.
“If your brother was doing this at your age, you have to do it too!” my mother said in agreement.
“You have to help out the family business!” They both repeated.
The next order that came in had to be taken by me, they reiterated.
As I heard the familiar dinging and donging of the door when it opened, I cried. I cried because I couldn’t escape the words of my guardians echoing in my mind. I cried because I realized more responsibilities had been placed upon me. Through my sobbing tears, I looked up and saw the couple that I was supposed to take the order from. A young white couple: the man has slick, blonde hair, and the lady has medium-length, red hair that runs to her shoulders. Their skin was flawless, their postures were perfect, and they were everything I wanted to be in that moment; on the opposite side of this green counter speckled with white dots. I felt wetness running down my cheeks as I hid beneath a storage area under the counter, the exact place I used to sleep. My older brother, Jason, goes to take the order from my shaking hands. I’m crying because I’m a disappointment.

As my first year of middle school began to roll around, I couldn’t help but imagine what I wanted to be like, similar to all my friends. It was a new school year, one that provided the most opportunities for new connections, new classes, and unforgettable experiences. I wanted to be the best. I wanted to be the most popular. I wanted to be perfect.
Nonetheless, I got an A- on a math test, and my perfectionist ego couldn’t handle it. While my mom was picking me up outside of the Princess Anne Middle School building on a windy November day during the first semester, I remember hearing the car drive smoothly along the road as I complained about how stupid the questions were; despite many peers in my class getting perfect scores. Sixth grade was the year to define myself, and if I was making mistakes, I wasn’t putting up the image I wanted. I vividly remember being stuck in my head for the rest of the week, as if a mouse was chasing a piece of cheese that’d bring me happiness, but just wasn’t fast enough to ever grab it.
“Why couldn’t you do that simple problem?!”
“You were the smart kid in elementary school, what are your old friends gonna think of you!?”
“Do better.” 

However, it was only a few months later that the spread of Coronavirus in the United States led to an early dismissal from my pre-algebra class. All students had to evacuate the building and continue the rest of the year virtually. I distinctly recall the chatter on the 422 bus on the way to my stop near China Dragon. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. As I gazed out of the window, having no one to talk to, two thoughts swirled through my mind: one reflecting on what I did that year, and the other wondering about what lies ahead for me. I didn’t meet a lot of new people, getting a school-wide name that I dreamed of. I didn’t get officer positions in a club, stopping my dream of being that perfect student I aspired to be. However, I did achieve all A’s by the end of the third quarter, but that was expected of me. My parents expected that, knowing my achievements in elementary school, and my friends from there expected much the same, holding up my image of being intelligent, yet timid. When I thought of the future, I wondered what this pandemic would cause – what I would and wouldn’t be able to do anymore. Would I ever be able to have a normal school and social life again? What would happen to the restaurant in this time of distress?

China Dragon shut down for a month in April during the pandemic. It was around this time that I was always at home, doing my homework on the brown, carpeted steps that led up to my second-floor bedroom with my Skylanders blanket. When I wasn’t doing that, I was playing video games. Even then, Each day felt like a year, and each week stretched into a century. But it wasn’t always like this. When my parents informed my brother and me that they’d installed a wall made out of wood and glass so that we could start up the business safely, the thoughts of me having to take orders, especially now that I’m even older, were one of the first things that popped into my mind. Such as lice to hair, for the rest of the time we were closed, I couldn’t help but keep scratching on what would be of the coming time.
When China Dragon reopened, I couldn’t help but feel self-pity. Maybe it was because I knew a lot of other kids my age had already succeeded at amazing feats, yet I couldn’t complete a simple task such as taking orders on the phone. Perhaps the reason behind it was my fake facade of reaching for the stars when, in reality, I wasn’t even off the ground. Whatever it could’ve been, I felt it. I felt it eating at me, and I wanted to try taking an order. Around eight-thirty on a July night, I told my family that the next order that came in would be one taken by me. It wasn’t five minutes later until the phone rang. The sound that I never got to stop, the sound that was always in the background, never in front of me. The sound that I was never able to be in control of.
I extend my hand to pick up the phone.
I feel it’s cold metal slowly wrap around my hand.
I’ve picked up the phone.
I put it next to my ear. 

And I mutter the words I’ve never been able to say up to that point, “China Dragon, how may I help you?”
It’s a quick process in real-time, one where my family helps me navigate the one-hundred-twenty-five menu maze that is our selection of items. It’s also one where I realized the storm was merely a passing shower. In three minutes, it was all over. 

When I hung up, I was engulfed in a wave of euphoria. It wasn’t the exhilaration of getting an A on a test, nor the joy of hanging out with my friends. This time, it felt as if the whole world burst into light, as though I inhabited a world rendered entirely in shades of one color. 

Perhaps it was the intensity of that sensation pushing me forward from that moment on, feeling its vibrancy radiant in every part of me. It was only one order for that night, yet I went to sleep looking up at my white ceiling with my fan drawing circles, feeling proud of myself. 

I finally did it.

Or so I thought. Over the course of the following days, I felt myself slipping back into my frightened shell. The idea of taking an order was once again a foreign thought for me. Even when I told myself repeatedly, “I’ve done it once; therefore, I can do it again”, the armor trapping me stayed enclosed. Even forms of reward from my parents hadn’t been enough for me to walk up and pick up the ringing from my left. I wanted that feeling of gratification I got before, but in many ways, I was stopping myself from getting it. I couldn’t understand why.
It was at this time that my brother was on the verge of graduating from college. This meant that I’d have to take all the orders myself, or so was planned. I knew he was a significant amount of the reason why the restaurant was still able to function, with the future without him burning a hole inside of my mind. I wanted to do better and prove to people that I could be more than what they thought of me, but the vision I had of myself was too much to change.

Christmas time was always the most packed part of the year for China Dragon. It was when we got the most customers, and usually made the most sales. It was also the time I felt the most pressure from customers and my family to take orders. Usually, I was left observing the crowded restaurant while customers waited for their food, with my brother marking down orders, and my parents coordinating the cooking.
That Christmas Eve was one of the biggest, longest rush hours we ever had. In the middle of it all, I couldn’t help but feel bad for my family. They were working tirelessly to keep up with the influx of incoming and ongoing orders from walk-ins and calls, and I felt like I had to do something.
I don’t know exactly what compelled me to start taking orders from that point on. In fact, I don’t know what made me continue doing so from that point onwards. When I reflect on that part of my life, it’s hard to grasp exactly what was going through my mind. All I remember is the hectic rush hour that was going on, the continuous noise from the phone that never seemed to stop, and the number of times I had to apologize for long wait times.
Perhaps deep down, I was doing it for my own sake. I like to think that I realized I wanted to change, but hadn’t I always wanted to change? Maybe I was doing it for others, but I’d let them down in the past when they saw my potential. It still questions me today what I was looking for; however, the feeling of knowing that I pushed myself past such a strong mental boundary has always stuck in my mind. It's the nectar that attracts all the bees, serving as the wellspring of inspiration for all my daring ideas.

Not long after that, my brother left for college. Regardless, I had already accomplished what I had set out to do before he left. It wasn’t the most volatile goal, and I was definitely worse than my brother at taking orders, but it was still something to be proud of.
In the coming months, I took most of the orders. I got more used to knowing where all the menu items were and grasped a better idea of how long a certain order would take depending on many external factors, but most importantly, I got better at talking to people.
Maybe it was someone like Mr. Mark, a customer with whom I had bonded over Star Wars since I was young, who pushed me to be my authentic self. Perhaps it was someone like Mr. Chappell, who despite his old age, always reminded me to enjoy the small things about life. It could’ve possibly been Ms. Wearren, my former computer teacher turned assistant principal, who taught me that progress and your past don’t always confine you and that there is always something new you can reach for if you want to.
I like to think it’s a combination of everything. All of the conversations, the food given, the money received, the time shared, all of it. It’s everything. It’s the laughs, the smiles, the lessons, the reflections, everything. 

It wasn’t long until this translated into peers my age. Going to school meant more than just grades; it was about making friends. Taking the initiative to talk to new people was still challenging, and it remains so. However, the growth I've experienced is what keeps me moving forward. When I wasn’t able to stand on my own two feet, it’d be my friends supporting me and making the first moves. Maybe it was them showering words of encouragement that led me to talk to that person, or maybe it was them helping me get introduced. This continued all through middle school, with my social circle growing. I realized I was at the point where I wanted to be at the start of middle school without me even knowing.
When the year ended, and I made the choice to attend a different high school than all my friends, I thought about the person I had become. I wouldn’t see any of them at this new school I was headed to, yet I still felt confident that I’d be able to thrive socially.
When the said school year rolled around, it was different from sixth grade. Inadvertently, I found myself making the first move. The first move with clubs, the first move with self-improvement, but most drastically, the first move in making new friends. Sometimes, it didn't work out, and fear still kept me enclosed. However, more often than not, I found myself breaking out of my shell and making progress in ways I had always dreamed of.