“…and our Most Improved Young Artist award goes to… Lily!” I awkwardly shuffled on stage, face hot as I grasped the paper certificate. Turning the emblazoned side into my stomach, I made sure only the blank beige was visible to the audience. Nine years old and I already knew that “most improved” was a participation trophy. Second place was the first loser, bronze was mediocre, and I was a talentless hack, not even managing that.
Mechanically, I walked offstage, too embarrassed to even look up at my homeroom teacher, Mr Tom; after seeing some of my art, he was the one who recommended me for the 3-day national contest.
I ran over to my mum and with a childish pout, stuck my head into her skirt.
“I couldn’t do it,” I muttered.
To my surprise, a deep male voice replied.
“I never expected you to win in the first place. You couldn’t do it. You can’t do it… yet.”
For the first time, I understood that what I lacked was not talent, but experience. As an amateur artist who never took any art classes and just doodled during my break times, it was pure hubris to believe I would win first prize.
With Mr Tom’s advice, a world of opportunity opened up to me. I learnt that hard work, not innate ability, is what truly sets people apart. Looking around, I began to admire the work around me. I realised I had learnt a lot from this contest, such as that oil pastels needed to be layered to look smooth and of high quality; what I gained was knowledge that in the future would allow me to win.
Bearing this idea in mind, I learnt to not shy away from failure, seeing each experience as a chance to expand my expertise. I cultivated a growth mindset towards all of my studies from mathematics to history. Each red cross was a lesson I’d never forget. Rather than saying, “I am not good at xx subject”, I say, “I’m not good at it… yet.”
Although I do not draw much these days, I continue to pursue my creative interests in other fields. When I participate in piano competitions, I soften the pressure on myself by embracing the mistakes in my performance. By refusing to be ashamed of my inexperience, I found that I became a better pianist, trying more and learning from errors to eventually win gold medals.
Mr Tom’s one word, ‘yet,’ completely changed the way I looked at my and others’ achievements. Now, as I lead and tutor younger students in academia and our Junior Youth (and Leaders) Group, I try to pass this lesson on to them too. With them, I never frame mistakes as a bad thing but rather as an opportunity to grow. The ability to have compassion for yourself when you fail and learn from it is the greatest gift that Mr Tom ever gave me. I can only hope to give it back to my own students.
Unnamed charcoal portrait of a student from 2022 by Lily Xiao Linzhi
