Foreign teacher ... and therapist?

I heard a soft rapping and thought it was my upstairs neighbor chopping vegetables. But the knocking continued so I opened the door just as the girl was about to leave.

“Can we have a chat?” she asked, and I let her in.

I didn’t remember her name but I knew her face. She was one of my better tenth grade students. I remembered her because her English was very good and she participated a lot in class. Whenever we ran into each other in the hallways, she greeted me cheerfully, her round face all smiles.

Today she was different. This chat, it turned out, would be an emotional unloading.

She sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, her eyes not leaving mine as she spoke. First she told me that she really wanted to talk to me because she felt like she related more with adults. There was no one in class she really connected with.

“Everyday I sit in my seat and I am -- ” She searched for the word in English. “Silent.”

She brought up her parents, who she said both worked so hard for her to go to school. She had just tried calling them on a school payphone, but all of the phones were broken except for one and now there was a long line to make a call. I asked what her parents do, and she told me they both work in a factory in Shenzhen. She repeated her previous statement, that they worked very hard. For her. She seemed pained as she spoke this sentence.

To fail at school was to fail her family and make their sacrifices all for nothing. The stress of performing well on the national college entrance exam or gao kao – more than two years away – already weighs heavily on her. Now she was doing terribly in science, she said. She spoke her worries about what would become of her if she didn't do well on the gao kao. The pressure was pushing her down, she said.

“I am falling and falling,” she said in Chinese and made a downward motion with her hands. She didn't always feel so helpless. In the past, she was like “Superwoman.”

But lately her health has suffered, she told me. I had noticed last week that she had gotten her hair cut into a short bob. I found out the cut was not to try out a new style. Her hair was falling out. She wanted to cut it to make the hair loss less obvious. She told me every time she washed her hair about 150 to 200 strands fell out. She had other problems too, like headaches and stomachaches. She couldn’t eat the dining hall food. It was too oily and made her throw up.

She was trying not to cry in front of me, constantly bringing her hands over her eyes, but the tears came and I handed her a tissue.

In English, she said, “My heart is tired.”

I spoke little the entire time as she shifted from Chinese to English and back. I didn’t know what to say, except some general encouraging statements, like, “Have confidence in yourself. You are a good student.” At the same time, I felt like this pressure to be the good student was the source of all her physical ailments. In a softer voice, I said, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Just do your best.”

I stood up finally and told her I had to get ready for class. She thanked me for the chat and I watched the back of her bob as it descended the stairs.

As foreign teachers, what are we equipped with? I can sit and I can listen, but ultimately I can only silently disagree with the educational system in place here and watch as my students struggle not to be swallowed whole.