Web of Originality.

Chapter 1: Horrible stages of misunderstanding.

While all the other kids were busy playing, I was writing letters or asking for more work. I wasn't the nerdy type, I just liked learning new things. Besides it was in kindergarten. 'Nobody should be learning in kindergarten.' People would say to my parents, like I was doing something wrong.

My mother, my sweet and soft mother, told them to fuck off and sent them straight to the door. She was always, and I mean always, telling me how proud she was of me. That's why I felt closer to her on this planet than anyone else.

I'd always like to think that my father was happy with me from the start. But he wasn't. Don't get me wrong he did everything for us. But he had this look, this weird look like I was a mistake, a disappointment to him. He always, and I mean always, said I was too soft and too kind for a boy. Always forced me to play sports. So that's why I kept my distance from him, because out of all these people in the world. I was afraid of him the most.

The only reason I couldn't transfer to a higher grade was that I was too young and I used to be so loud and talk too much. I wonder where that went sometimes.

I used to get put outside every day. Look at the teacher's who were passing by and hope that one of them would actually talk to me instead of ignoring me and walking by. But that was their job.

You see, from the moment you set your first foot into a school everything changes, you get a taste of how the society works around this school. And that's exactly what I got. It didn't matter how many times I would get put out or how many times I'd do something wrong, nobody would ever ask: "Are you okay?"

Because we get taught that if someone misbehaves it must be because he or she is just plain bad or naughty or whatever word you could staple onto it.

And once people start to see you in a certain light, they will put you in that corner forever. Problematic was one of the words that would be used to describe my situation.

'His grades are so good but his attitude is going to be a problem once he gets to another grade.'

My mother, my sweet and soft mother, was devestated. She always wanted to talk to me, about school, about how things were going. But the morning was mostly used for showers and breakfast and since she worked all night every night there was hardly any time for talking. That's why I liked the moments she was home so much, we used to put a big matrass in the living room, turn on the tv and watch movies all the time.

And as time went by, my little sister who was a newborn at the beginning of my schooladventures was old enough to go to school in search for her own adventures.

Teachers praised her over her behavior but they didn't see much progressing in trying to give her things to read or write.She'll get there with the right structure and discipline in learning. Were their words about her.

I knew why she kept quiet, it was because it was the only way she knew how to respond to things happening around her. It was the same reason I was so loud and outspoken. She cried too many tears for a child her age. And I learned to scream hard enough to be in a few horror movies.

Which it looked like when we heard that our father wasn't coming back for awhile, because the police had brought him in, took him to jail and left us with the broken glass to clean up.

People everywhere said nothing, they knew, I know that they knew. But any support? No. Because they were teachig you that no matter how rough shit gets, you should deal with it.

So I did, on my own terms. I did.