Page 38 of Psync
“Everyone here has a right to their opinions as long as they don’t trample on anyone’s right to be themselves. We welcome everyone for who they are and respect their thoughts. And”—one by one, Raina made eye contact with all of the newcomers—“we expect all of our members to do so as well.”
Eli breathed out a sigh of relief. He could do that.
“I think we picked the right club, guys.” Alice’s soft smile made the ball of anxiety that had a near-permanent home in Eli’s chest unravel a bit.
“I think you’re right.”
“I know we were right,” Nate said, with his eyes on two women sitting at the table next to them.
“Be polite.” Alice warned. “I’m not having your lecherous ways get us kicked out on the first day.”
“I’m always polite.” Nate put a hand on his chest, offended. “I save all of my rudeness up for you, dear.”
Alice gave him the finger.
The next half hour went by as each member talked about current projects and the progress they had made so far. The only other new member, a small, mousey girl named Helen, said she was mostly interested in making snacks that paired well with tea. She looked at the floor when she said this, as if half expecting to be kicked out.
“Finally!” Kate pumped a fist in the air and exchanged happy looks with a club member whose name Eli had already forgotten. “We’ve been waiting for a snack-maker! I’ve been keeping room in the budget for this just in case.”
Helen’s eyes left the floor. “Really?”
“You have no idea.” The nameless club member jumped in eagerly.
Eli tuned out of the conversation as they chatted happily about what equipment they could afford to buy to aid Helen in her quest. It was his turn next—he had to prepare himself for what was about to happen.
It was really a crapshoot whether or not he’d be able to say anything coherent in a large group of people. Sometimes the stars aligned properly, and he’d be able to control what came out of his mouth. Other times he froze up so bad he’d barely be able to say anything.
Finally, the conversation died down, and it was Eli’s turn. He tucked his hands deep inside his sleeves and dove in. Sometimes if he just started talking without thinking the problem sorted itself out. “Hi.”
. . . And then other times his entire English vocabulary deserted him.
Like right now.
Desperately, he cast around the room, and his eyes fell on Alice who smiled broadly, gave him two thumbs up, and mouthed,You got this!
He took a deep breath and tried again. “Um, I’m a language major and . . . I like to write.”
Excellent job, Eli. Keep it up.
“Right now, I want to improve my skills in writing kanji, but . . .” And the words were gone again. Stupid fear of public speaking. He pushed forward. “Sometimes I get stuck in thinking that I’m wronging the Japanese language by writing it so badly, and I give up. But when I do it right, I’m really happy so . . .” He trailed off. That was it. He’d used up all of his words at the moment. Hopefully it was enough.
For a few nerve-wracking heartbeats no one spoke and then . . .
“H-have you tried practicing what you want to write in English first?” Helen asked, eyes just to the left of where Eli was sitting.
“Actually, no. Usually I just dive into it and get frustrated halfway through when it doesn’t come out right.” Eli’s fingertips peeked out from his sleeves.
“Helen’s got a good idea, Eli,” Raina said. “Try practicing what you want to write in a language you’re comfortable in first. Once you feel confident, switch over. Or you can do what I did. I had the same problem when I first started learning hanzi. I treated it like I was transcribing something sacred, and my Chinese teacher teased me saying he’d given me his grocery list to practice with. When I started treating it like a utilitarian function instead of art, it got easier. It’s all about reframing.”
Eli let out a small laugh, surprising himself. “Thanks.” He liked Helen’s idea more. Kanji was too pretty to ever be utilitarian to him.
Once the group broke up to work on projects, Eli scrolled through Pinterest, looking for something that inspired him. If a project wasn’t interesting, he wouldn’t finish it.
He scrolled past cute kitten videos—reluctantly—and various K-pop stars—even more reluctantly—until he came across a quote that stopped him in his tracks.
He ran to grab a brush and paper and hurried back to his seat. As soon as his brush hit the paper, he lost himself in the peaceful dichotomy of brisk motion and stillness. The background noise fell away. He didn’t have to think about anything else, only the gentle swoop of the brush and the slight resistance of the paper as it gave way to the ink.
When he was done, he leaned back to examine his work.
