No doubt, going to Chinese school every Saturday morning for the past eight years has truly helped my foreign proficiency and understanding; however, the road that leads to today was truly one bumpy and chaotic ride. Sarcasm is occasionally involved!

Every Saturday morning, I find myself enduring a long and treacherous two hours in my Chinese Class. Pulling open the squeaking gray door, the words "Alpharetta Chinese Cultural Center" glint off the walls like daggers. I lug my 50-pound backpack stuffed with heaps of repetitive work up the stairs and into the hallway.

"Here we go again..." I mutter.

Stepping into the classroom, I was immediately hit with a blast of Arctic Air square in the face, marking the beginning of my Chinese Class Prison Camp. Three main conflicts prevent me from retaining any information: the ongoing North Pole climate, the shrilling yells of my teacher's and that one class clown.

First, I am sure that the freezing temperatures of my classroom are the perfect environment for a colony of penguins and a pack of polar bears. In the first 30 seconds of entering, my hands have already been frostbitten. Without the right "North Face gear," my classmates and I would be singing Asian Olafs in no time. The teacher usually passes out a large packet of work for us to complete as our chilled hands scribble out wobbly Chinese characters to the best of our abilities. Crooked lines and stray dots lower our quality of work, but of course, Teacher Zhang blames us for "not practicing enough."

Second, a health hazard linked to learning Chinese at Chinese school is the eardrum-busting yells of teachers who have a reputation of speaking slightly too loudly in shrill voices. Fortunately, my teacher has a soft and melodic Taiwanese dialect that provides a soothing contrast to those next door. On the other hand, due to the lack of good soundproofing, Teacher Chen next door has quite a different approach and unleashes her fury with the doors wide open, exposing the entire building to her wrath. Sitting near the back door of my classroom, I have to experience the splitting howls that ultimately leave my ears ringing. Hopefully by either firing them or recruiting them to etiquette class will they ever be purified of their unappealing attitudes.

Finally, there is always that one kid who wants to be recognized as the "dufus" or the "class clown." Distracting us from work, Mr. Funny has claimed the official title of "stupido," as our class has established. Purposely acting hot-headed and mixing up words, he proclaims the world revolves around him and pesters us until Teacher Zhang loses her usual, graceful nature and drags him into the hallway. Even worse, he has slept not once, but 20 times in class while snoring away after he has finished his annoyance session. Not to mention the drool pooled on his desk afterward, which I have to clean up on occasion! Yuck!

On the other hand, the class clown becomes insanely hyper after he consumes any sweets. An untamed horse, he will not calm down and prances around like a rabid kangaroo, knocking over chairs and breaking desks. When he does sit down, his legs jiggle like bowls of jelly as he continues to devour another chocolate Twix bar. To discard unnecessary distractions, the class must restrain him from any sugar entirely, but the last resort was to send him to boarding school, which sadly was exactly where he went when his parents discovered his behavior. A win for us!

Although my experience at Chinese School is not the best, I am extremely grateful for this opportunity to learn and interact with the Chinese culture. Chilled fingers, busted eardrums and exploded annoyance meters are merely my battle scars. Welcome to the Alpharetta Chinese Cultural Center!