Back then, my favorite thing to do was stare up at the admission wall, plastered with the portraits of the seniors. To my eyes, they were effortlessly confident. They were the very picture of having it all figured out.
Think back to August, four years ago. I stumbled through the gates of SCIE, dragging my suitcase behind me. There was so much anticipation; I genuinely believed I was studying at the best international school in China. But there was also this quiet anxiety—the nagging fear that I was always just a beat behind everyone else. I secretly dreamed that, one day, my face might just hang somewhere up there too…
Only at SCIE
Four years went by in a flash. Time here moves fast. With each passing year, it felt like I was shedding an old shell, going through this long, surprising journey of self-discovery, eventually growing into a version of myself I couldn’t have even imagined.
I was incredibly lucky to meet teachers who guided me and believed in me, unconditionally. I used to ask questions that, looking back now, seem hilarious or just plain stupid. But they never talked down to me. They just patiently sat there and talked it through with me. Like Mr. Mark—I am so glad I got to be his further maths student in his final year of teaching. He always listened to my wildest, most eccentric ideas. And Ms. Helen, who always tolerated and even allowed me to run my own little experiments in biology class—and Mr. McCabe, Dr. Scott, Ms. Carla… there are just too many who supported me to name them all. They genuinely protected my curiosity and, in a massive way, shaped my pure passion for science and humanities.
Beyond the teachers, the people who taught me the most were actually the seniors. It turned out I had known many of the guys who later went to Cambridge for a long time. Alexander, for example, was actually my physics peer tutor back in G1. And Denis once came to listen to my club presentation. I met so many brilliant, glowing seniors like them on this campus. Looking back, it all feels like a wonderful sort of fate. Their sheer focus and unique vibe toward physics and the natural sciences quietly, but deeply, left a mark on me.
The Application Season
I used to keep a betta fish. She was stunning—dreamy, mesmerizing. I really loved her. But on what was otherwise a perfectly fulfilling afternoon, she suddenly left. In a period already hijacked by anxiety, it felt like a terrible omen. It was a sign that the upcoming application season was going to be anything but easy.
I practically DIY-ed my entire application process. Somewhere in the chaotic blur of the SATs, Cambridge interviews, and US college essays, I stumbled across the finish line. Driven by a breath I had been holding in, a lot of poured-out passion, and admittedly, a whole lot of luck, I finally got the result that was mine. Looking back now, there are plenty of “I wish I knew this earlier” regrets. For instance, I wish I had been a little more confident. I wish I hadn’t let the external noise and hype make me doubt my own worth.
But I am incredibly glad I chose to do it myself. Because for the very first time in my life, I was pushed into a position where I had to take absolute, total responsibility for my own future. In that process, I saw my strengths and my soft spots with total clarity. I always joke that applying to both the UK and the US put me through every kind of misery available. But I think, pressure is a privilege. It gave me a chance to challenge myself, to shatter the odds when the situation looked impossible.
My Favorite High School Moment
Fast forward to the 800-meter race at my final sports day. I spent the first 790 meters trailing behind. It wasn’t until the final 10 meters—probably fueled by the roars of my Fire House friends on the sidelines and seeing my brothers waiting at the finish line—that I found this bizarre surge of energy. I pushed through and pulled off a comeback win by half a body length. You’ll have to forgive me for showing off this gold medal I’d been dreaming of; I haven’t won much before.Wow, I actually pulled off a buzzer-beater to win a championship. That was, personally, the absolute highlight of my high school years.
Fire House was the first place that ever gave me a sense of belonging to a team. Even though the sorting is completely random, I always felt a strange sense of destiny that I belonged to this House. I used to beat myself up, thinking I wasn’t a good enough Captain. From the very first tug-of-war match I led—the group photo from that day is still my favorite—to the frisbee game where Wood House completely destroyed us, leaving Mark and me standing on the sidelines shedding actual tears of frustration.
It took living through the wins and losses of those House games for me to finally understand what “Burn them all” really means. It sounds crazy arrogant, but it was never about literally burning everyone else down. It’s simply saying: every time you play, you leave absolutely everything out there. You fear no challenge.
Let’s Run
Toward the end of A2, I was sprinting across the first-floor platform, about to be late as usual, a mouthful of half-chewed breakfast still in my mouth. I turned my head, and just caught the sunlight hitting the admission wall. And right there, in the exact spot I had looked up to countless times, hung my own photo.
I stopped in my tracks, and I just found it kind of funny. Even though I finally reached the place I dreamed of when I first enrolled, I haven’t really changed. I am still that same clumsy kid, still running around looking like a mess just to beat the bell; I am still confused about the future and my place in the world, still puzzled about how to be a good Captain or how to navigate relationships. I still feel, in many ways, a beat behind.
But the greatest takeaway from these four years is that I met some incredibly rare and precious friends here. You guys were there with me through the messed-up moments and the growing pains.You showed me that even while carrying all this confusion and uncertainty, I still have the humor and the courage to keep moving forward.
- Article / Sam Chen
