Ah middle school… Everything seems boring and funny now, actually. Playing hopscotch, collecting stickers, and drawing odick. At every step in our grade. You see, people often forget that detail about childhood, because it doesn't seem fun or innocent. But I don’t think middle school without a picture of my class is trying to have fun with a wonderful life. it is almost full and hidden behind books because the teacher is watching the angry rage drawn on the board. and that's what I loved about high school - courses. Go ahead, call me a nerd, I'll try. I have never been a teacher's animal or had ever been a child like homework, but I was often the only child who succeeded in the unity of the shenanigans class. It didn’t matter if you were ginger, oil, weirdo, nerd, cool baby, or prep. The Shenanigans were something the whole class was.
Postpartum periods were a special country. there have been groups of cool kids, popular kids, nerdy girls, and preppy girls. They were sitting at the windows, crowded into a restaurant discussing a brand new rumor, arriving at the toilet trying to put the naughty boys inside the girls ’bathroom. Not letting go. To lock it. It made them feel trapped. and that's how I felt - I used to get trapped.
Don’t get me wrong I still had my share of hopscotch and trading stickers. We were all kids who wanted to play, but I was often the last resort. The person you choose to have the same number of players. devour the wallflower, place it in a bowl of beautiful tulips, and toss it quickly because it seems to be part of the flowers.
The thing about cliques is that you just get into the archetype. I had to come in a certain way, think a certain way in a certain way. Even nerds allow only the cleanest in the class to have them. I had a middle man. That was my archetype - in the middle of it all. He’s not stupid, but he’s not smart enough to be one of the nerds. Not bad, but also not so good. In fact, if this were not the history of the human race, I would probably be a supportive character in everyone's story. In the background.
I was an important definition of wallflower, which is strange now. In high school I used to stand on the wall and watch the music you tried to hide. Now whenever I lean against a wall, I find myself in the middle of love. the object of desire. in a sense, you can say that I too was perfect. Someone who wants to be kicked, ridiculed, cheated. Someone who can make fun of him to find out who can kick me in the ass over and over again. Now I’m not saying I just stood where I took it. I told the fuckers. I picked up each one of them and destroyed them. It is easier to focus on one thing than to feel insecure and keep talking about it until it is too late. Hello, you! Bad nose! should you be treated like a Jew even if you are born with a nosebleed? Obviously, I’ve been better than them, picking them up, and making fun of the little ones. That leaves a bitter taste in my mouth to this day, but a girl has to protect herself. It didn't work out when the gang surrounded me, but telling the teacher was less effective.
"Wow, you know, boys are going to be boys," and "They want attention, sweetie." And what I like: "It just means they love you!"
"They love you" my ass. it's not that "boys will be boys." it's not "Oh, that's part of growing up." Harassment. Exploitation that leaves lasting scars and memories abated. I feel sorry for my tongue, but I warned you not to tell the truth. If I survive until I buy where I am now and live to appreciate this story, you will survive reading it.
Like I survived maths. I’ve never been so bad about it, to be honest, I loved it, but I missed one day in college to know this story. varsity did not interfere with its ease of placement. Home was not the easiest. Bullying? I will be able to survive after a while alone. After all, I had skin in my childhood. But I have never found anything that I wish so much for. Shouting, followed by a crash, followed by knocking on doors, and noises - these are the sounds I accompany in the reception. Constant suspicion and harassment. Alcohol that burns fire and turns war into war. Mom drinks tons, dad doesn't drink enough, they both waste it completely. that's the home I'm back in. and that I asked Jesus for help. I don't even play jokes. Go ahead, I'll still rest to laugh. Religious hooker, welcome to the 21st century world, partner!
We went on vacation with my parents once. Yes, we went on a few vacations, but this was something that could not be fought for. For a whole week we were paralyzed on the road and I felt like I was always part of a happy traditional family. I do not remember the exact details of what kind of car we drove in Britain or where we met, but I do remember the last stop.
It was noon, but it was summer when the wind was blowing on the beautiful, comfortable side, so the windows inside the car were low. The sky is blue with almost no clouds and white cliffs appear like clouds on the horizon. like the sea so the sky has changed places. I had my head out the window, my hair was falling all over and that I could see that it was a line where the world collided. Deep blue, with a hint of green, dark and light shade with a hint of blue. when i think of summer, i hear about this picture.
As we approached the cliffs and left all the green fields behind us, there stood a monastery. The road was eroding all thanks to the front gates and that I thought my dad was lifting a car and flying high on Capitol Hill the way I was at a certain Disney movie. Something I have always dreamed of.
To be honest, the monastery was out. Everything is quiet, very moving, adults everywhere, and the usual tour guides with their dates, names, and everything else a nine-year-old girl doesn’t care about.