By Hsu-Ming Teo
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Immediately, Gibbo kicked her foot under the table. ‘We can’t,’ he said. ‘We’ve got exams coming up. Remember? ’ Gillian said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Tien. But Nigel is right. You should study. ’ ‘It’s okay, Mrs Gibson. In Asian culture we respect the elderly and treat them with consideration,’ Tien said virtuously. ’ ‘Crawler,’ Gibbo muttered under his breath, but she just smiled smugly. She was uplifted by the novelty of her altruism until she, Gibbo and Mrs Yipsoon started the return journey up the steep slope.
Then she came towards Tien, put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and shook her. ‘Mrs Gibson rang. You are so naughty,’ she sighed. Then she took Tien’s hand and led her towards the sofa. ‘Tien,’ she said. ‘This is Linh. ’ The woman stood up and looked at her. ‘I have to punish you, Tien,’ she said. ‘The first time I see you in eight years, I have to punish you. ’ Tien simply stood there and stared at the carpet. This was the woman who had given up a place in the refugee boat even though it meant giving up her daughter.
The only notice they tossed his way came via the occasional well-aimed missile—a scrunched-up brown paper bag, an empty drink carton, a browning apple core— hurtling towards his head. By Year 3, he had learnt that school was about survival. All he had to do was survive until the last bell rang and he could scurry back home, safe. He couldn’t afford to look ahead to the long years of primary and high school that stretched before him. One day at a time was best and, by the age of eight, Gibbo knew that he could live through almost anything, even the scatalogical atrocities children were sometimes driven to perpetrate.