My Inner Voice

Dear Memories,

Dear School,

I cheated on a test today.

Nothing more horrible, I think, did I believe that me; the-great-smart-person-of-the-High-School is cheating. Though yes, I agree that when you're taking a Language class, it may be tough and difficult to remember. But aren't all classes like that? Aren't all matters of school and life like that too. As I think of that, it came apparent to me. 

How sad is it that you're Hawaiian, yet you have but the utmost difficulty even remembering a simple phrase?

Do you have that same problem? Knowing that you are living and proud to be a culture, yet you may lack the language. I know I may grieve for that for many years. Yet as depressing as it sounds, I find that the more I think about that question; the more it motivates me to keep pushing. To try the hardest I may try. 

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Dear God,

I think You tested me today. 

There was this boy I knew since 6th grade. He was super tall all his life (or so I was told) with a whopping height of 6' 1". 

He was a giant; basically. A gentle, obnoxious, giant. But, if you get in his face and say something mean. It's like watching a 3 year old, spoiled brat, is throwing a tantrum. It's just that this baby is more physical. 

Today, when the bell rang for 1st period, me and the boy were in the same class. I was walking ahead of him, though we were side-by-side earlier, but I didn't want to walk by him. 

He saw it as a sign of dislike towards him. Which was my mistake. 

He said, "Hey."

"Yeah," I called behind without turning my head. Just looking forward.

Another mistake.

"Why are you so fucking mean now?"

I flinched. It was the first time I heard him swear when we entered High School. 

I thought of a lie quickly, "I just don't want to be late to class." 

Thankfully, sweet Lord, he thought that was the reason. 

The whole situation made me remember one time when I had just started 7th grade, back when I didn't see him do a rage, and I was to go to a spring break retreat.

That boy went too.

So we were having fun (I kept a steady distance from him but was subtle enough not to give him the wrong idea that I didn't want to be around him) for the first three days, when it happened. 

All of us, 24 in all, were making shell necklaces. Martika and her little sister were making ones on the same table as me, a few other 7th graders, and the boy. 

Martika's, 11 year old sister, was sitting next to the boy. 

The boy got up and went to drink some water, telling all of us that his necklace is right there and no one is to touch it. 

I went back to sand-papering my shell for a while, not really noticing anything until I heard the boy come back. 

Apparently, someone stole his necklace. 

He accused Martika's sister. She said she didn't know where it was. That's when I realized that the necklace she was holding looked exactly like the boys one. 

The boy kept saying she did steal it and poked her in the shoulder.  (I forgot to mentions this, but the boy loves pressure points. He knows where all you're pressure points are.) She cried. 

Martika was silent, (not like she is a bad sister, but she knew just as well that I did that you shouldn't get in his face or else you would just hurt yourself and the victim.) Until she saw the boy physically touch her sister. 

That's when she said, without standing up from where she was sitting; "Why don't you go pick on someone you're own size!?"

The boy turned beat red and the highest level of fury. You see, he is kind of over-weight, not like super-super fat, but he isn't skinny. And he thought she was making fun of him for being chubby.

He roared, veins popping out of his neck, "What did you say?"

Marika mumbled what she said again.

He got even madder, and......pounded on her shoulder with his closed fist. I could tell it hurt, because you could litterally hear it. But Martiak stayed sitting down, with the boy bearing down above her, without so much as a whimper. 

He pounded two more times, but on her back, and repeated what he said. 

She didn't say anything. Just took the hits. 

Everyone was still, and looking shocked. I was litterally stuck to my seat, not even moving a muscle, and holding my breath. I litterally never saw a boy ever hit a girl before. 

Only until he pounded harder on her shoulder three more times did any adults take action and try to hold him back. Though trying to hold him back was like trying to hold back a rhino. Martika on the other hand, was quitely sitting down. 

When the boy struggled, getting close enough to Martika, he swung his big beefy hand to her head. That was then did Martika stood up, tears sliding down her face, and yelled, "What?! You wanna scrap?!"

The boy seemed to feed on this out-break, and yelled, "Fuck you! Fuck you! I 'goin Kill you!"

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Dear Friends,

Genevieve and I were talking about Sponge bob and that one episode that he was buried under the Asphalt in front of the Krusty Krab, and the only body part sticking out was his "nose".

When I started explaining that Sponge bob was under Asphalt, she said, "What's Asphalt?"

And I said, "Genevieve, the road we drive on is Asphalt."

"No, that's Cement."

"But Asphalt is made out of--"

"It's the asses fault and the semen's fault I'm HIV positive."

Dear God.