Being Me

Stage #1

Stage #1 - The Curiosity That Killed Us All

I am eight years old when our teacher tells my class that she needs a poster on the perks of honesty. She tells us she needs pictures on it, and mind you, colorful pictures. And so, being the responsible young girl I am, I raise my hands in the air, waving it like a flag in the unattended sky.

My teacher, who is only more than happy to get the load of her head, accepts and the very same day, I begin my job, like a faithful employee. I switch on the computer and search up 'honesty' in big, capital letters for what I think will be better efficiency. I hit the enter key. In the blink of an eye, a million different posters drop down that read the very same thing.

"Honesty."

Some are in bright colors that pains my eye, while some are more subtle and shows understanding to its viewer. I like the ones with cursive fonts, but the pictures I am looking for aren't coming.

Then as I continue my hunt, my eyes drop on a cartoon of two stick figures talking to each other. I barely skim through the dialogue boxes before printing it out. I write sayings onto my white sheet of paper, flawless handwriting and all.

When I'm done with my poster, I am thoroughly impressed. The little specks of glitter I sprinkled on the corners, my special curvy font and the big, blaring picture I stuck on it, all seem to align well together. For some reason, I don't show it to my mother and sister. It just doesn't cross my mind.

The next day at school, girls in my class walk over and peer over at my poster that is neatly laid out on the table. I don't know why I do this, but I just do.

Then while I expect everyone to shower me with their kind words and praise, I am tremendously shocked when the girls begin giggling and a few start turning red in their cheeks like they are being stung by horents from all around. I am confused, which then leads on to being even more confused and finally, I am annoyed. I demand they tell me what's so funny. They all snap their heads towards me. None of them seem to be able to stop giggling and they aren't able to speak.

Then one girl with a fringe covering her forehead, Michelle, walks up to me and whispers something in my ear.

"Y-you know what's written in that picture?" I can tell she's trying not to laugh, but I ignore her and shake my head. I honestly don't know. She holds out my poster just in front of my eyes, and I back away just a few steps before reading through it.

Apart from the fact that it doesn't have the word honesty in it, and that I can't see how in the world it relates to the word, I don't see anything wrong with it. Google showed this to me in its search engine and I am trusting it.

"You don't understand?" Another girl, Irene, asks from beside a girl who has her hands wound tightly around her mouth.

"No, I don't." I say, reading the dialogue box for a second time. This time more carefully, and this time, I realize that it's not just any conversation, but it's a conversation between a stick man and a stick woman.

There is a building drawn in front of the girl and in bold letters was the word, DINER, scribbled on top of it. The stick woman is saying, "Um...no thank you."

And the stick man is saying,"The word for the day is legs. Let's go to my place and spread the word."

I don't get it. And I am certain that no matter how many ever times I read it, I still won't. 

Why was the girl refusing to spread the word? How did it affect her? What was going on?

I am stressed and confused and so I voice my questions. The three girls stare at me dumbfoundedly for a second, like I am speaking a language from out of this planet. Then probably making out the desperation on my face, Michelle walks up to me, her face turning red like the traffic signal.

She explains to me something I fail to understand miserably. Well, she doesn't really explain all that much. Just mentions a three letter word that practically changes my life.

But all the while, I am embarassed by it all. Although I still don't get it, I do know that it's something related to babies. Michelle says it's something very bad, and asks me why I didn't show it to my mom. She says my mom would've saved me from making such a blunder. I am sure my mother doesn't know anything about such things, but I refuse to let them know that. I plead to them that I hadn't a clue what it meant and before I can catch myself, I ask them how they know about it in the first place.

Irene laughs when she says, "Everybody knows, Tina!"

I frown at her reply and then attempt to tear the picture of my project. But the girls are quick to stop me. They say it'll destroy the paper. I say I don't care. But they don't listen.

So there the paper goes into my teacher's hands. My heart is beating fast in my chest as I pray with folded hands that she doesn't see the picture and won't understand. And she doesn't I conclude, because the next thing I see, she is putting it up on the front door of our class.

I cringe every day as I pass through the poster but then one day, I look at it, and the words in the cartoon are scribbled off with black marker. I sigh out in relief, but never for once look up at my teacher for the rest of her class. She doesn't ask me to look up either.

But soon enough, life throws me some lemons and my family leaves the country to return home. I leave back that horrid memory that seems to have taken up a permanent position in my head.

Then one day when I am 10 years old, I happen to unintentionally hear a group of girls talking about the very same subject I have wanted to forget for so long. The girl who is talking seems to have an all-knowing air about her and her words begin igniting all the awful memories in me all over again.

I hate it, so I run away from the very place. But too bad for me, I have already heard everything she had to say.

And word after word, throughout the years, a lot more words begin adding themselves to my vocabulary. And none of them are appropriate to use in my literature classes.

Remember the time when 'gargle' was a bad word? I miss those days.

And there you have it. That is how the curiosity killed us all.

The curiosity killed our innocent, young minds.