The First Art

Chapter I

                Inside our classroom, I was sitting on a chair, writing words on my black notebook. I was in my senior year in the school in which I called the “The School of Judgmental Minds”.   This is my formal words of Gossip School.  This is a school where gossip has the larger number than the students.  Nothing mysterious going on in here but there were unbelievable things to believe.  To avoid the bluffs, I do my best to be glued on my chair.

                You don’t have any idea what kind of living we had in this classroom.  I was studying in a public school.  The bad thing about it, the school was lacking of classrooms.  And I—and my classmates in my senior year --were studying inside of vacant abandoned house. This was what we call “Classroom”.  It was very creepy inside.  If you take a look at the facility closely, it seemed that it will collapse anytime.  There were neither lights nor window glasses.  We couldn't even focus when it’s raining because it drenches us either.  We were so crowded and that, also, was the home of smoking students.

        Not to mention, the strong odor penetrating inside our classroom.  Sometimes it would be smoke, sometimes it may be a body odor but most of the time, it’s like human manure.  We can smell those things during afternoon.  We never had any idea where that stinky odor came from.  I know I don’t have any rights to complain because I am blessed with nose but damn!  Who would not complain about it?  It’s very suffocating.

                This kind of odor is really disturbing even the time I was writing this thing. I don’t know what to call this one-A memoir, a journal, a diary, a tell-all or what other writing pieces that includes an autobiography? Maybe that’s the word I was looking for-An autobiography. But I must admit no one would give a damn about my life story. I am not a celebrity that makes me uninteresting person. Yet, it is not a dream for me to be famous and to be well known. This is the first time I would write a long enough story to be called a novel, so no audience expected.

                Though, I am grateful for those who encouraged me to do this stuff-the writing stuff. I am thankful for all the support. Because of them, I would never know that writing is not a skill but a talent. There were people who were born to write and people who just managed to learn to put some art in writing. They told me about my unique strokes in writing which, I thought, there’s nothing too great about it. They have said it was the flavor that was unique in it. What flavor, strawberry or chocolate? - A corny joke of mine.

        The time I was working out this stuff, an interruption stopped me from writing. My seatmate-slash-friend was trying to peek what I was doing. You know, when you were writing you have to make it as private as possible and let your friends read it after you finished it. This guy doesn’t have that kind of patience. He was sitting near when he noticed me busy writing on a black covered notebook. He was too curious to look at what I was writing so he tried to convince me to share it to him; but of course, I disagreed. I told him to wait until January and this stuff would be finished. Yet, there’s no assurance for that.

                That dude I stated about was JV (Obviously, not his real name). The fourth year section apple’s class president, one of the brightest in our section especially in Math, also, one of the class clown but I must explain though, that at times he is a good joker but most of the time—FORGET IT!! So then, he stopped asking me and went busy for something.

                That day was November 25, 2011. So what’s up with this day? Aside from I started this stuff this day; it was the day of a big chance. It was the day that I will be living in my fantasies. It was the first time that I will be opening my eyes so wide. The first time I will be feeling the nerves again after being numb. It was the day that my dream will be coming into life. I might exaggerate the words but it was the feeling that day. It wasn't a dream that was as big as the others dream of, but for me it was as huge as the beanstalk which I had climbed and since then and now, I am longing for its end.