The first game I learned to play
Growing up in Hong Kong, education was gravity.
You couldn't miss the signs. Literally. Giant portraits of celebrity tutors wrapped around buses, stretched across buildings. My dad told me the same thing for years: “My dream is to see you graduate from university,” though I don't think he meant to pressure me.
By Year 2, teachers would start giving me advanced worksheets, special reading assignments. They made me feel capable, which compounded.
Grades turned from letters into numbers. A 91 felt good but 97 was better.
People started telling me I'd be fine because I always do well. The expectation meant failure became a character flaw. I started avoiding things not because they were hard but because not being instantly good at something felt so wrong.
Yet the entire discourse demonising grades misses the point. Without grades, the entire incentive system collapses.
Why do you think it's so addicting for the high achiever to continue achieving? What do you think motivates the person in second place to keep going? Grades are effective because it quantifies something unquantifiable. They create confidence and confidence fuels effort.
The real enemy is in believing grades are the only path forward. It's in tunnel vision, the lack of imagination, and the mistaken belief that the first game you learn to play, is the only one you'll ever play.
Rewiring incentives is impossibly hard. Better to leverage grades than fight them.