The Mastery of Third Place

“The Annual Greenville Neighborhood Painting Contest.” The vibrant banner hung between the tall trees and a telegraph pole, announcing the major event in our neighborhood. Located in the heart of  the city, our neighborhood is surrounded by the constant hum of traffic, skyscrapers, vibrant businesses, and ceaseless movement of pedestrians. The park, however, sits quietly amidst the urban chaos. It is a sanctuary, an oasis, from the relentless demands of city life; it embodied our very own Garden of Eden. A place to escape the chaos of the outside world. 

The idea of the contest was straightforward: participants, all residents of the local neighborhood, were tasked with painting and sketching their impressions of the community. The painting contest always takes place in our neighborhood park, drawing not only participants but also families and friends who gathered and spent the entire afternoon at the park, sharing ideas and canvas sketching.

During the contest, I would often sit under the gentle shade of the oldest tree in the playground. It was a haven within haven, the coziest corner of the park. The afternoon sun would cast a sweet glow on the grass, and the breeze whispered through the leaves. 

Each year, I entered the painting contest with the aspiration of standing atop the first place podium. And each year, I walked away with a bronze trophy. 

“Well, bronze it is. It’s still a beautiful trophy. And most importantly, you gave it your best,” my mom would consistently remind me. 

Despite getting a heavy blow to my confidence, it did not strike as hard until Jin, my cousin, participated in the contest the first time and ended up winning the golden trophy.

It was my third year in the contest. With my sketchbook and a palette of watercolors, I swiftly settled myself onto a picnic blanket, ready to capture the simple and intricate moment of our neighborhood onto paper.

Without hesitation, I sketched the outline of my favorite shop across the park. It was a bubble tea shop with a bright orange neon sign that radiated a lively energy, as the vibrant glow spills onto the azure sky. At the very top, its logo CoCo took the stage as if they were brown, chewy bobas (tapioca balls) that invite us to a dance of Waltz. Back then, the bubble tea shop was our go-to place after a draining day of learning. It takes only NT$20 (approximately 80 Canadian cents) for a splash of content to turn the day around. Completing the background, I moved towards the middle ground where the playground comes into view. It was the enchanted wonderland where I spent my carefree, after school hours. I painted the spring rider, a duckling rocking chair mounted on the bouncy coiled springs. I would hop on and rock back and forth as if sailing through the Pacific Ocean. I was Peter Pan, holding my bubble tea and traveling to Neverland. Finally and delicately, I breathed the finishing strokes onto the foreground of the painting. It was a portrait of myself, marching my imaginary dog. A Maltese, I pictured. It was white and fluffy and with a pink ribbon only to match my childhood fantasy. 

Finishing my last strokes, I carefully placed the paint brush down onto the palette, stretched my rigid fingers, and leaned back onto my mini camp chair. I took in a deep breath, like a sip of tranquility, and looked at my watch. 2:47 p.m. There was only around forty minutes before the final deadline. I settled into my mini chair and tried to enjoy this unhurried moment of accomplishment.

“Just in time! Everything turned out the way I intended and it captured the picturesque sight of our neighborhood.”

The breeze, like a gentle conductor, directed its wand and began its symphony. The birds were chirping, filling the air with their delightful notes. The grasses swayed and the children soared on the swings, harmonizing with nature’s rhythm. As I immersed myself in the symphony, the stirrings of curiosity tingled my mind. Before I could reason this, I was on my feet towards Jin’s seat on the other side of the slide. 

A voice within my whispered, “Just a harmless glance at what Jin’s up to.” 

I tried to convince myself that it was only a quick glimpse to admire his art and share this moment. Yet, I knew that this was a competition, and Jin was not my ally. My steps slowed as I stood behind Jin. He sat with his back straight and shoulders squared. His eyes glued to the intricate details and his hands moved hastily across the canvas. Jin had only started with a rough sketch of the dilapidated house. An hour had passed, and he was still fixing the position of its roof. 

“There’s no way you’ll finish in time.” I mumbled, shaking my head in disbelief.

Silence.

And it seemed as if Jin existed in a different universe, oblivious to my skepticism. Leaving him to his unfinished universe, I strolled away with my finished painting. 

As the clock struck 4:00 p.m, the entire neighborhood seemed to have gathered at the center of the podium. A sense of anticipation hung in the air as the chair of the neighborhood association stepped onto the stage. 

“Good afternoon. It is with my immense pleasure and honor that I stand before you today, as the chairperson of our neighborhood, to celebrate our shared community and present the awards for our painting contest. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to every artist who took part in this contest…” 

I exchanged impatient glances with Jin, hoping that the chairperson could soon conclude his speech. 

Finally, he resumed, “I am delighted to announce the winners of this year’s painting contest.” 

A renewed sense of liveliness swept through the crowd. And the participants, including both Jin and me, were eagerly awaiting for the moment our names would be called. 

“In third place, for their captivating and vivid depiction of our high street, let’s give a round of applause to—Elizabeth Choo.”

“I’m sorry.” I muttered beside his ears, casting a pitiful glance. At that moment, I decided to share the secrets of my techniques and strategies with him next time.

“Taking the second-place spot,... let’s congratulate….” I tuned out momentarily, my attention captivated by the gleaming bronze trophy as the staff member was presenting it to me. 

“And now,” the host finally declared, “the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The first-place winner, whose artwork is an extraordinary display of technique and a brilliant capture of both the present and the history of the Greenvale neighborhood. Our winner is—Jin Choo!” 

As the words hung in the air, my eyes widened, leaving me suspended in disbelief. The crowd bursted into cheering and applause. I stood frozen and almost breathless, gazing at Jin who gracefully ascended towards the stage and raised the golden trophy. My mind had lost its script. My words fluttered out of my reach. 

The moment was surreal.   

Standing on the podium, I clutched my bronze trophy tighter in my hands, as if the weight could anchor my turbulent mind. 

Our families were cheering and shouting, “Way to go, Jin! Lizzie, well done!” 

Jin was beaming. I tried to force a smile across my face as I tried to grapple with the moment of disappointment. My eyes, however, betrayed the waves of emotions within. My envious gaze lingered on the golden trophy in Jin’s hands.

“I-A-M–S-O-R-R-Y” Jin moved his lips as he uttering each syllables, mocking an apology. 

“...I hate you JIN!” I gave him a punch on his arm, trying to play cool. 

“Guess, I am just better than you,” Jin lifted his chin, put on a smug face, and couldn’t conceal his sense of triumph.

Deep down, there was an urge to scream, “I wish you weren’t here!” In fact, I felt my throat burning, the desire to unleash a resounding roar. The thought nagged at me—if Jin hadn’t been among the participants this year, the silver trophy would have been mine. Or so I believed.

Unable to contain my disappointment any longer, I dashed to the public washroom. There, in a fit of frustration, I crumpled my certificate of merit and tore it into pieces. As if responding to my despairing soul, the sky began weeping and the rain cascaded from heaven. The Neverland was flooded by the heavy downpour, and the once vibrant Garden of Eden blurred into obscurity alongside my tears. 

Years later, as I strolled past my neighborhood park, I felt a complex blend of embarrassment and regret washed over me. I realized that my disappointment and envy had clouded my vision and reasoning. Jin’s victory was not a reflection of my shortcomings; it was not a discouragement of my achievement. My achievement, however, is a journey distinct from his. My achievement is about my growth and improvement through the previous trials. It is about the goals I aim to accomplish in the continuous journey. It is about the journey and the appreciation of the journey itself. My neighborhood park has transformed from an innocent Neverland to the Garden of Eden. It now stands as a continuous reminder that my own achievements can be celebrated without being overshadowed by comparisons or by a single failure. 

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