Our Symphonies | satosere

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"Talk about having experiences"

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Teenagehood - Breakups and Makeups, school field trips and house parties. Elders would often recite their stories to us with an oh-so fabricated tone. And no, I ain't disrespecting anyone. Just stating facts.

Those stories about how they used to cross the thickest of copices and rivers for attending school, remember? Come on, you gotta face it.

So weird of them judging how childishly we behave in public but at the same time wanting us not to interfere in some matter because we aren't old enough yet. So, So weird.

I was the symbolic representation of nerds at school. And that experience —was too overwhelming and show-stopping for a pure wimp like me. Certainly.

"Here comes the blonde weirdo."

"Go and get a life instead of novels next time!"

"Lord, you're engrossed in them like 24×7."

"I thought you got spects?"

"Bruh, how can a person even read those pea-sized letters?"

Yet, I could never classify those comments into any signs of bullying. Because none of my schoolmates ever beat me to pulp, tore my notebooks, or even revolved in circles and did those claps and hollers like they show in movies.

Perhaps what I went through was just a result of my stereotypical and unique love for reading and introverted-ness, if that makes any sense. They were just some inbuilt habits I couldn't help but allow to grow. I was petrified to get rid of them at such a young age. It happens.

Indeed, the consequences were horrible just as well. I sucked at physical training sessions, I refused to attend dance classes that my mom used to pay so excitedly for. Come to think of it, I couldn't even do that tounge-touching-nose trick either. Some people consider it as a talent, you know?

It's obvious for a twelve year old to cry when she or even he is being called a freak. And if you're ready to classify me as an actual human, then yes, I did the same.

However, when high school came and the stupid hearsays about me kept on flowing around the campus, I made up my mind not to react anymore. All I used to do was stare the floor while walking through corridors. Maybe ignoring their incoherent words was the only response that my bunch of nerves could come up with.

Now though, that I was in my final year and the senior most batch of the school – the Popular Squad (TM) and the Queenbees (TM) of our grade were too busy hectoring the defenseless, junior wing. They never learn, now do they?

Report them to the staff members you suggest? Absolutely yeah. But what actions are most likely to be taken after that? Absolutely nothing.

Teachers are so, I don't know, bizarre? I mean, they'd pester you for chewing a bubblegum in class, For not tying your hair in a darned ponytail, For not submitting the holiday homework that they don't even bother to check afterwards. But the word 'bullying' seemed to have been omitted from their highbrow dictionaries since the entirety of years. Bleh.

Why won't they let us travail what we wished to, And not what the education counsellors and the number of A's on our report cards told us to?

Now, an age of mere eighteen years is obviously not considered for giving a solve-all-your-problem advice, but still, I'd weave all of my enlightenment and bygone turmoils to teach you something.