... How To ...

Chapter 5

Highest, Lowest

It was as if Pailin were in a world war, but instead of the sounds of gunfire and bombs, it was the sound of children screaming and crying in competition. It started with the voice of one boy, then spread throughout the room, leaving only a handful of survivors sitting in a daze.

Today, Pailin was dressed in a plaid dress that extended past her knees, shiny leather shoes, and high socks—of course, it was a school fashion outfit that was ordered from the internet at an affordable price. The girl sat with a well-mannered posture, her long hair tied up high, the ends left free to give an active look. Her neck was long, and her arms were slightly longer than those of the other children, possibly because she had foreign blood, causing her to grow faster than the average Asian child.

As the mass hallucination escalated beyond the teachers' ability to control, the most senior teacher decided on something.

One side of the children's room had windows, while the other was a glass wall that allowed visibility to the hallway outside. All the children's guardians had been called to stand on the side. Upon seeing their guardians, some children quieted down, while others left their seats.

None of the surrounding teachers stopped them. They all stood at a distance, and some held notepads in their hands.

Upon seeing it, the atmosphere felt so familiar to Pailin.

Back when Pailin was still Passorn, she had undergone an IQ test. However, it wasn't the kind of test where one reads and answers on the internet. A full-scale IQ test was quite far more complex and was conducted by psychologists.

At that time, she was taken into a silent room. There was one interviewer and another three to four observers. There were image-based questions and general questions, such as being given a sequence of alternating English letters and numbers—without a paper—and then Pailin, or Passorn at the time, was being instructed to reorder them from smallest to largest or vice versa. The difficulty lay in the fact that while reciting from A to Z, she had to remember the alphabets in the questions simultaneously. One hemisphere of her brain was used for memorization, while the other had to organize the data in order. It was such a headache.

Or even a question like, "What is the value of Earth's gravity?" As an actress, would she have memorized whether it was 9.81 meters per second or 9.81 meters per second squared?

And the behaviors of foot tapping, nail-biting, hair flipping was all recorded.

Pailin thought that the group of people holding notepads and taking notes now were likely child psychologists.

Taking it this seriously… were they looking for scholarship students or child prodigies?

The test papers were distributed. There were only twenty questions—not beyond the capability of someone who had already grown up once, like her.

The paper contained no alphabets, but there were blank spaces for participants to write something down with pencils. For example, the line in the first picture was a slanted line leaning to the left, the next was a straight vertical line, and the following picture was left blank for the answer to be drawn. Any child who sat in confusion would be kindly guided by a teacher. The teacher would then step away.

However, some children did not even attempt to write an answer. As for the parents of those kids who were waiting outside, their expressions were quite ugly.

Pailin tackled twenty questions with full effort, pretty certain that she had answered them all correctly. Then, she set her pencil down. Before long, the teacher announced that time was up, and the children were led by their parents back to the waiting room.

Next was the individual interview for the children. Each child was taken into the meeting room without their guardians. At first, Pailin thought it would take a really long time, as each child should take at least fifteen minutes. However, in reality, some children were inside for less than five minutes before walking out in tears.

Pailin believed she understood. Not every child could be separated from their parents. Some were always with their guardians. To step into a room full of strangers, without a single person they knew, was more than they could handle.

Finally, it was Pailin’s turn.

"Pailin Kamonanan," a female teacher called out.

"Fighting." Pimploy made a fighting gesture to encourage her daughter.

"Fighting!" Pailin smiled, nodding at her mother before sliding down from her chair. The girl followed the young female teacher into the room until the door closed. Pimploy could only watch until she disappeared from view.

The room was quite dim. At the front was a stage, brightly illuminated by spotlights. Below was a long table where several people sat—some young, some elderly.

Pailin was led onto the stage. Because the lighting above was so bright, the area below became a faint shadow that couldn’t be clearly seen.

"Hello. Could you please introduce yourself to the teachers?"

"Hello." Pailin curtsied beautifully. "My name is Pailin Kamonanan." Standing in an open space like this, even if she had been a Miss Universe in her past life, she probably still wouldn't know what to do with her hands.

"What is your nickname?" the same teacher asked.

"My nickname is Pailin," the girl replied, still smiling. The room was quiet, and her voice echoed. There was no need for a microphone.

Even though Pailin’s brain was that of an adult, facing a situation like this, all she could do was be confident and hold onto her composure tightly.

Yuwadee, the youngest referee at the table, watched as the little girl in a plaid skirt walked onto the stage. Compared to the others, this child gave off the highest sense of stability, showing no fear or surprise whatsoever.

The child introduced herself. Her nickname was the same as her first name—Pailin. She had a cute face, fair skin, and was taller than the other children, looking like a mixed-race child. Her eyes were also an unusual color, making her stand out noticeably more than the others.

“How old are you?” The teacher sitting in the middle asked the girl.

“I’m three years old,” Pailin answered swiftly.

Yuwadee marked excellent in the personality category and articulate in the communication category. For a three-year-old, this was already countless times better than her own son.

“What special talents do you have, Pailin?” That teacher was probably in charge of asking questions since she was the only one speaking.

“Acting.”

“Then, what kind of acting can you do, Pailin? Show me a little.”

“Can Pailin perform a musical theater piece?” she asked. She had spent a whole week preparing for this.

“Go ahead.”

Pailin closed her eyes, clasped her hands at the center of her chest, and then slowly let out a clear, resonant voice, singing a song she had written herself.

♪ Watching the sun disappear beyond the distant horizon, my heart still reminisces about the stories of the loving moments, the happy moments, the sorrowful moments. I’m still sad. It all passed by, leaving us to remember them ♪

The girl put on a sorrowful expression, crying even as she smiled. It felt as though she was recalling times of love and joy, yet at the same time, she was still saddened by memories and every story.

♪ You, are you there, where we once bonded? Today, I can never return, but I only ask that you don’t forget me ♪

Pailin thought of her past life. Her tears continued to flow as she looked forward, as if she saw someone standing there—someone from her imagination. Someone she loved. The friends she once had. The things she had once been attached to. Today, she could no longer return.

For the final hook, Pailin used a high-pitched voice, one that was difficult to sing. The melody echoed through the entire room. The girl reached out toward the emptiness in front of her.

♪ You, are you there? I watch you from far, far away. I have never left, I only ask that you don’t forget me ♪

Pailin closed her eyes gently, slowly sat down on the floor, and wrapped her frail arms around herself. She looked desolate—so lonely it was unbearable.

Some of the judges placed their hands over their chests, their faces showing that they had witnessed something beyond their expectations.

Yuwadee was the first to stand and applaud.

…She felt as if she had just seen a little angel filled with talent…

The other teachers clapped for a while before stopping. Thus, Yuwadee realized that she had acted too much, so she slowly lowered herself into her seat. She saw the girl on stage stand up. The little one carefully wiped her tears with the back of her hand, like a child secretly crying away from their parents.

"Thank you."

Pailin raised her hands in a wai, saying thank you for the applause. The judges asked her a few more questions before letting her go.

"This one is a dark horse." Small conversations always occurred while waiting for the next candidate. Several judges nodded in agreement.

"I like this one. Our school has never had a student receive a scholarship for performing arts before. I think she can pursue many areas," one teacher said. If she was this talented, she could easily represent the school in front of cameras or on television.

"I agree," Yuwadee took the opportunity to join the conversation, nodding along.

Stepping outside, Pailin felt like she was breathing in pure oxygen. She walked towards her mother with no hurry, followed by a teacher.

"Guardian, Pailin’s afternoon interview is scheduled for 2:00 PM. Please meet us in the small meeting room on the second floor. We kindly ask that you arrive about ten minutes early," the same female teacher informed in a good manner.

"Understood," Pimploy replied.

Mother and daughter exchanged glances. There were still more than two hours to go. They couldn’t go anywhere far, but even if they wanted to go somewhere close, there was nowhere they could visit. The sun was hot, the air was unpleasant, and even strolling in the school didn’t seem appropriate. As they stepped outside the school, they spotted an ice cream shop. So, the two of them sat in there to wait for the time.

"What did the teachers have you do in there?" Pimploy asked her daughter. She herself had no idea about the schedule, but the other parents seemed much more prepared. Perhaps they had intended to send their children here from the start and had received insider information she had never known before.

"Not much, Mom. The teacher asked what Pailin could do and had me show it to them," Pailin recounted. She chose not to go into too much detail, so she scooped a mango sherbet ice cream into her mouth. She savored it slowly before she discovered that the taste was quite good.

The mother observed her daughter, who kept the food in her mouth until her cheeks puffed out. Some children had come out crying, others looking nervous, yet Pailin seemed far too relaxed. Her daughter hadn’t done anything odd to the interviewers, had she?

"And what did you do for the teachers?" she asked her daughter.

"I sang for the teachers," Pailin replied, giving her mother an oblivious expression.

"Oh." The mother made an exaggeratedly shocked face. "You sang like in cartoons? How talented. Whose child is this?" Pimploy stroked the little kid’s head out of cuteness aggression.

Lately, Pimploy had been showing her daughter Disney cartoons. Sometimes Barbie too, there were a lot of singing scenes in them.

Pailin mimicked an exaggeratedly shocked demeanor back at her mother.

"Pailin sang just like in cartoons, Mom," she said cheerfully, while browsing the menu to see if the shop had lemon-flavored ice cream. Out of nowhere, she suddenly craved it. Deep inside, the little one was calculating merit and sin.

...By the way, how much sin does lying to one's parents carry?...

Before 2:00 PM, Pailin and Pimploy returned to the school. They sat waiting outside the room for a while before being invited inside. The afternoon session was an interview with both the guardians and the scholarship candidates. This time, the room Pailin entered was a small meeting room. At the center of the room was a polished wooden round table with chairs facing inward.

Five senior judges were already seated, waiting. Pailin and Pimploy sat down on the opposite side of the table, facing them. The young woman handed over her daughter's portfolio to the person, who had led them in, for the person to pass it on to the judges who were on the other side.

"The judges will review the portfolio for a moment.”

Each senior teacher took a folder. The contents of each were different. Pimploy had organized the first folder to contain commercial work and photoshoots for clothing brands. The second folder contained her acting work, including the most recent music video she had filmed, as well as various motion picture projects. The third folder showcased Pailin’s artwork, which she had been drawing since she was little. Pimploy had arranged the drawings by date because, recently, Pailin’s skills had significantly improved. She could now use pencils to sketch people, animals, and landscapes, and they came out quite similar to reality.

The judges nodded as they reviewed them. They had already internally agreed among themselves from the morning's solo interview that this child stood out more than the others. She had a very high chance of receiving the scholarship.

Pimploy was then asked, as the guardian, about Pailin’s developmental progress and how she supported Pailin's talents. She answered clearly and convincingly.

"How did Pailin receive each of these jobs?" the judge sitting at the edge asked while flipping through the file.

"For photoshoots, it was mostly from direct proposals. But for more formal work, like starring in a music video, she had to audition herself."

"And where did you hear about these news?" a male judge asked.

"Mostly by chance, but some jobs were recommended by others."

Pailin, who had been sitting quietly, thought in her head, 'There’s no such thing as chance, Mom.'

The truth was, Pailin had created several fake Facebook accounts and secretly added herself as a friend on Pimploy's Facebook account. Then, whenever she found news of audition for background actors in private groups, she would repeatedly share the news across all her IDs until her mother noticed.

Pailin strongly believed that everyone had Facebook friends they were confused about when did they add the person as their friend. And since her dear mother was the type to accept friend requests randomly, there was no need to worry. She would never figure it out in this lifetime.

"From what we've seen, she has remarkable talent in this field. Very impressive," the judge at the edge complimented.

"Thank you." Receiving such praise, what else could a mother do other than saying thank you? She could only smile and accept it.

"What is your relationship with the scholarship applicant?"

"I am Pailin's mother," Pimploy answered.

The judges in the room exchanged glances and fell silent. They all furrowed their brows, their expressions were not quite good.

"The application states that you are 23 years old. May I ask what your occupation is?"

A stern-faced male judge questioned. The child was three years old. Didn’t that mean she had a baby at twenty?

"I am still a university student," Pimploy answered truthfully.

The atmosphere in the room clearly worsened. Some judges turned to whisper to one another. The voices were low, so they couldn’t make out the messages.

The male judge quietly flipped through both the portfolios and the application before turning to the senior female judge seated in the center. He then softly whispered something to her. The elderly female judge lowered her eyes and then nodded.

"Pardon me, may I ask—where is Pailin's father currently?"

"..."