酷我-北美枫

[Wenxin]

'Parlez-vous francais?'

Despite what I'd like to believe, I am no prodigy at French. Therefore, in an attempt to show some initiative, I have signed up for a French-speaking contest.
My entry is due March 3. I have not yet started writing it.

I'm getting a flashback to exams - there is the same sense of impending panic, the familiar thought of looking forward to staying up late because I know I won't be productive until at least 10 p.m.

Except this time, all the dread, anxiety and last-minute frenzy is self-induced and ill-founded: my chances of passing exams were good, but my chances of winning this competition are not.

But what if I win? Do I really want to win?

The worst thing about this contest is not all the effort I'll put into it, nor all the sleep I'll miss, but that, in the roomful of nervous, jittery contestants, there will be only one winner.

If I win, I am preventing someone else from winning, someone who would also have spent hours of their evenings preparing their speech, someone who would also have fostered hopes of bringing fame and glory to their school. Someone, it is likely, who needed to win more than I did.

It is a contest and, by definition, regardless of how hard everyone tries, there can be only one winner.

Especially for a teen, life itself far too often becomes a contest. It seems that, in order to prove ourselves, we must always first disprove someone else. Whether I am seeking a spot on the honour roll, a position in a university, or a part-time job, I cannot avoid competition.

We live in a world of rivalry: rival businesses, rival governments, rival sports teams.

Nor is this problem unique to our age group. Before they even know how to spell their names, preschoolers learn to compete against each other in games of tag and musical chairs.

My student planner tells me to "think win-win". How can I, when every aspect of my life, from passing courses to playing board games, involves beating others? My success, it would seem, can only come from another person's failure.

The best thing I can do then, I suppose, would be to participate in the contest expecting, and trying, to lose. That way I can impress my French teacher with my devotion to the language, while remaining morally secure in the knowledge that I'm not threatening the futures of my fellow contestants.

In fact, I would only be doing a public service by clearly defining the bottom of the barrel.

So, when the word spreads that a 15-year-old humiliated himself by somehow forgetting an entire speech on the podium, comfort yourself in the knowledge that he did it for a greater cause.

Instead of feeling sorry for me, rejoice. Rejoice that because of my selfless act, the world has become a less competitive place.

Parlez-vous francais?

(North York Mirror Feb. 28, 2003 )

[[许文辛]]

'Parlez-vous francais?'

Despite what I'd like to believe, I am no prodigy at French. Therefore, in an attempt to show some initiative, I have signed up for a French-speaking contest.
My entry is due March 3. I have not yet started writing it.

I'm getting a flashback to exams - there is the same sense of impending panic, the familiar thought of looking forward to staying up late because I know I won't be productive until at least 10 p.m.

Except this time, all the dread, anxiety and last-minute frenzy is self-induced and ill-founded: my chances of passing exams were good, but my chances of winning this competition are not.

But what if I win? Do I really want to win?

The worst thing about this contest is not all the effort I'll put into it, nor all the sleep I'll miss, but that, in the roomful of nervous, jittery contestants, there will be only one winner.

If I win, I am preventing someone else from winning, someone who would also have spent hours of their evenings preparing their speech, someone who would also have fostered hopes of bringing fame and glory to their school. Someone, it is likely, who needed to win more than I did.

It is a contest and, by definition, regardless of how hard everyone tries, there can be only one winner.

Especially for a teen, life itself far too often becomes a contest. It seems that, in order to prove ourselves, we must always first disprove someone else. Whether I am seeking a spot on the honour roll, a position in a university, or a part-time job, I cannot avoid competition.

We live in a world of rivalry: rival businesses, rival governments, rival sports teams.

Nor is this problem unique to our age group. Before they even know how to spell their names, preschoolers learn to compete against each other in games of tag and musical chairs.

My student planner tells me to "think win-win". How can I, when every aspect of my life, from passing courses to playing board games, involves beating others? My success, it would seem, can only come from another person's failure.

The best thing I can do then, I suppose, would be to participate in the contest expecting, and trying, to lose. That way I can impress my French teacher with my devotion to the language, while remaining morally secure in the knowledge that I'm not threatening the futures of my fellow contestants.

In fact, I would only be doing a public service by clearly defining the bottom of the barrel.

So, when the word spreads that a 15-year-old humiliated himself by somehow forgetting an entire speech on the podium, comfort yourself in the knowledge that he did it for a greater cause.

Instead of feeling sorry for me, rejoice. Rejoice that because of my selfless act, the world has become a less competitive place.

Parlez-vous francais?

(North York Mirror Feb. 28, 2003 )

[晓鸣]

这篇带点自我解嘲的文章发表后的第二个星期, Wenxin地获得了多伦多市法语讲演竞赛十一年级组的第一名. 随后得了全省的第二名和由法国政府赞助的500元奖金.

[[自己的敌人]]

这篇带点自我解嘲的文章发表后的第二个星期, Wenxin地获得了多伦多市法语讲演竞赛十一年级组的第一名. 随后得了全省的第二名和由法国政府赞助的500元奖金.

[星子]

Good.

But there will be only one winner, I don't agree.

Never. Those students involved all learned by trying.
_________________

[[ANNA]]

Good.

But there will be only one winner, I don't agree.

Never. Those students involved all learned by trying.
_________________