Stupid

Author's Note:  This is a short story, which means there will be no additional "chapters" to this. For added effect, feel free to play the video on the right panel.  It's entitled "I'm Just A..." by Yiruma.

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He was stupid.

Everyone said he was, and he believed them.  He was told that he would never graduate.  He was told that he would never find a wife and start a family.  He was told that he would never land a good job.  He was told that he was an embarrassment to his family and a burden to his teachers.  He was told that he would never become successful in life.  In the eyes of many, he was a failure.  And he was told all these because he was stupid.

He was stupid because he could not construct a simple sentence that did not contain any grammatical errors and misspelled words.  He was stupid because he could not solve a simple algebraic equation.  He was stupid because he could not memorize all those important historical names, places and dates that he was made to memorize.  He was stupid because he could not even remember what H stood for in the periodic table of elements.

When he brought home his report card to show to his mother during card giving day, his mother’s face crumpled and she began to cry.  His stepdad took one disdainful glance at it and told him he was stupid.  He failed all his subjects, except for one: Arts.  But his parents did not care about that since they believed that Arts was not an important subject that could help him find a good, stable job that offered a good, stable salary.  When he told his stepdad that he wanted to become a painter, his stepdad grimaced at him and told him it was a stupid career choice.  Their hopes for him to become a fine doctor or lawyer had all but shattered.  One could not be a doctor or lawyer if he were stupid.

They never realized his potential in Arts.  Only his art teacher saw how skilled and talented he was.  What he had, in her opinion, was a gift from God.  His paintings were breathtaking, although they always depicted loneliness and spoke of melancholy.  His art teacher was the only one who constantly praised him for his brilliant work and continued to encourage him to pursue his love for art.  He loved art class since it was the only time he was free to truly express himself.  And he loved his teacher because she was the only one who ever made him feel special and loved.  With her steadfast encouragement, he joined an interschool poster-making contest and won first place.  When he showed his medal to his mother and stepdad, they brushed off his accomplishment and ridiculed him instead since he was stupid in all his other academic subjects.  If only he did just as good in all his other academic subjects as he did in Arts, then maybe he would not be such an embarrassment to his parents anymore.

A few more times, he came home with more medals accompanied with prize money.  Every time this happened, he would always offer both the medal and the prize money to his mother, silently hoping that maybe this time, she would be proud of him.  She would accept the meager amount scornfully, telling him that it was the least he could do to help out with the family’s financial needs since he was too stupid to do anything else.  The medal she would toss back, announcing that it was worthless.

 If only he were like his kuya, Benjie.  Benjie had been an honor student his entire school life, graduating as class valedictorian in both elementary and high school, and suma cum laude in college.  Benjie was presently a very successful neurosurgeon with a beautiful and equally successful wife and three intelligent children.  If only he were like Benjie, his family wouldn’t be burdened with him and would instead be proud of him.  But this could not be so since he was stupid.

 The news came as a hard slap to his art teacher.  She could not believe he would do such a thing.  It had only been the other day when he had come into her classroom after class hours and insisted on giving her all of his paintings and medals.  When she had asked him why he was giving them all to her, he simply shrugged and said he did not need them.  She should have seen the sign, she thought miserably now.  She was sitting in the teachers’ faculty room, together with the other subject teachers.  The principal had gathered them there to announce that he had jumped off the skywalk and was hit by a speeding bus, dying instantly.  The other teachers shook their heads in pity, muttering to one another, He was such a stupid boy; while the art teacher sat in stunned silence, grieving for the most intelligent student she ever had.

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