Youth π Program | Growth Records of Union Students (Part 2)

In the hallway, Alfredo stood on tiptoe arranging handmade conch lamps, their warm yellow glow illuminating his pristine school uniform. The little boy who once clutched a box of spaghetti in tears three years ago now cheerfully exclaimed in a mix of Chinese and English, "Chinese food is my favorite!"

*Alfredo fascinated by Chinese cuisine

When he first started kindergarten, three-year-old Alfredo would clutch his smartwatch and call for his mom in Italian, pushing away his lunch tray while crying for chocolate. Now, he joyfully wiggles and sings "Big Banana" during free play, fluently says "save the ocean" in English class; from refusing to touch playdough to molding adorable lanternfish; from timidly holding his teacher's hem while learning hopscotch, to leading the whole class in performing Bella Ciao at the International Culture Festival...

*Alfredo leading the performance

When he clumsily wrote the Chinese character "秋" (autumn) in calligraphy class, he suddenly exclaimed in delight: "I am a magician!"

——

Turns out, the glow of growth has always been hiding in every bravely opened little palm.

My name is Tiffany, and I'm 8 years old. To me, every hike is a magical adventure. This summer, my parents and I completed a special journey of growth—one made up of three unforgettable treks.

One day, we found a mountain trail that felt magical. It started high at the peak and wound all the way down, with a mix of dirt paths and rocky stairs. Along the way, there were beautiful trees, and we even spotted eagles and squirrels! On our first hike down, we discovered a stunning dam that quickly became a favorite spot.

Later, a local told us there was another route back to our starting village. So, on our second try, we brought friends and followed the signs. We trekked along a stream, past bamboo shoots, rock pools, and forests… but we got lost! We'd already hiked over 6 km and were exhausted, with no energy left to keep going.

We climbed to the mountaintop, where a bamboo forest waited. Then we followed a rushing stream downhill, crossing small waterways and rocky spots. Beautiful flowers lined the path. After two hours, we found our way back—safe and proud!

Not giving up taught us something special: every wrong turn brings new discoveries. That’s why I love hiking—it’s like a puzzle where even mistakes feel like winning.  As the saying goes: Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

After failing a sixth-grade math test, two extra workbooks appeared in my backpack. During breaks, I chased classmates for explanations, used pizza slices to understand fractions, and even simulated "meeting problems" with toy cars in my neighborhood. By midterms, my error notebook proudly displayed 37 handmade "level-up stickers" – each marking a conquered challenge.

Persistence paid off in unexpected ways. At the science fair, my teammates and I earned school-wide recognition for building a functional kayak using just bamboo and cling film. As student council vice-president, I led recycling initiatives where we transformed trash into treasure – later exhibited at the charity art festival. When the British principal visited, I confidently represented our school as spokesperson.

But the greatest reward came when I saw the bonus problem on my math test—it was identical to Question #38 in my error notebook. In that moment, I knew—the fidgety boy who used to scratch his head in frustration had truly grown.

That summer break in third grade when I first tried breaking, I had no idea what challenges awaited. Nonstop training from 9 AM to 9 PM nearly broke me—I almost quit. After illness forced a six-month hiatus, I still returned to the dance studio.

The move that took me two years to master became my greatest teacher. Countless failures, harsh critiques, and "punishments" (extra conditioning drills). My parents' support anchored me, even when practice felt forced. By sixth grade, I'd often train until 11 PM—yet never felt tired.

Now in seventh grade, academic pressures and my changing body have transformed once-fluid moves into daily battles. The real struggle? My wrist - swollen with fluid after every session, throbbing with each pop and lock. Doctors insist complete rest is the only cure, but the dance floor still calls me.

This is the athlete's paradox: passion and pain intertwined. Street dance has become my teacher of resilience - where every drop of sweat, every aching joint whispers the same truth: greatness demands sacrifice.