He was in his room playing when he suddenly ran out into the living room where his gong-gong and po-po were watching the tv. His ears had somehow picked up strains of the new national day song playing.
Placing himself strategically in front of them and cutting off a portion of their view, he began to sing.
Warbling words that I couldn't quite make out, he belted out strings of lyrics, singing along to the new song that he had (presumably) learnt in school.
I observed him from the dining table as he stood there, gustily singing along to whatever lyrics he remembered from his music lesson. In between breadths, he would shout for us to look at him whenever he thought our attention strayed.
"Look at me! I'm singing the song! Look at me!" He would exclaim proudly.
His enthusiasm was infectious.
I watched as he sang his heart out, tone deaf in some parts and off-pitched in most.
I watched as he took deep breadths whenever he thought he should, following each new breadth with a loud burst in volume.
I watched as he sang loudly and softly, with high notes and low notes, pausing whenever there was a break within the choruses.
I watched his hand gestures poised, I assumed, like his music teacher in school as he waited for the cue to start singing the next chorus.
I watched as he stood in front of the tv, proudly singing and performing what he had learnt in school.
Others might see a boy who was singing out of tune, and with over-enthusiastic gusto.
But as I watched him standing there, singing with the big wide smile on his lips and pure enjoyment radiating from his face, I saw a boy who sang beautifully.
I saw my boy exuding confidence and happiness.
And I realised that for all my exasperations - the narrow scrapes past each school term, the barely passed marks his term assesment papers scored, the dog-eared crummy worksheets he squished into his file every single day, the dirty pencil box smudged over with black stains, constantly filled with broken pencil leads and rubber shavings, and all my constant picking up after him. For all they were worth, my boy enjoyed his school.
Basking in our applause after the song had ended, he executed a bow and grinned from ear to ear as he said '谢谢'. Then he ran back to the cars that he had so abruptly left awhile ago.
That night as I looked through his bag, flipping through his messily scribbled diary, straightening out the crumpled pieces of worksheets, and sharpening up his blunt, broken pencils, I felt heartened in all the mundane motions.
Because, although clean pencil boxes mattered, neat worksheets mattered, and grades mattered, I almost forgot that him enjoying school was what mattered most.
As much as I wanted S to be able to overcome his difficulties and excel in school, he had to first enjoy learning and the journey along.
So far, we seem to be on track.
And I am thankful for that.
