I seriously cooled off during the holidays. Eventually it paid off because we began becoming us again. I think that the thing that really bonded us was him trying to set up his friend and my friend. (We were in two separate schools at this point.)
But let’s just say that good things don’t last. I stopped talking to him as much as I used to because he wasn’t the boy he had been. Around June I cracked though. I couldn’t stand keeping it to myself. I told him that I liked him. I told him that I didn’t feel that way anymore but I just needed him to know.
Needless to say it didn’t go the way I planned. I had hoped that by disclosing all my secrets we’d go back to being friends. Yeah, I know. Live in fairyland much? So we stopped being friends. Everything just crumbled. We didn’t have a fight or anything. We just stopped trying. We stopped caring. We stopped wanting to be friends in any kind of way. In fact I think we became enemies. You think I’m paranoid?
Coming up next: Boy ruins Girl’s new chance at happiness.
Well not next. There’s a lot of stuff that happens in between including yet another turbulent crush and many more feuds.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I kNoW a HoRnY gUy, HeRe'S hIs nUmBeR
I should have just not replied but I am a curious sort of person so I smsed back saying hey. I won’t really go into the blow by blow details of the conversation but I will summarise. I basically assumed he was a stalker guy but eventually suspected it was Boy. I sussed him out after about 5 hours of mindless banter. He said bye, well he didn’t say bye. He said something a lot worse but I won’t put it up. I cussed right back. Then he gave me a number and told me to talk to this horny guy because he wouldn’t mind listening to my f***d up stories.
I got a bit pissed. Okay major understatement. I got SERIOUSLY pissed. And that was the beginning of our feud. It might have blown over if he hadn’t gotten my friends involved and if he hadn’t insisted upon phoning me every minute of the day. I’d get calls during Maths and at 3 in the morning. Eventually I took my SIM card out of my phone. But once again I blame technology. He started bugging me through the medium of emails. I have to be fully honest and disclose the fact that I was still totally and utterly crushing on him. So after the school year ended I ended up bugging him.
I got a bit pissed. Okay major understatement. I got SERIOUSLY pissed. And that was the beginning of our feud. It might have blown over if he hadn’t gotten my friends involved and if he hadn’t insisted upon phoning me every minute of the day. I’d get calls during Maths and at 3 in the morning. Eventually I took my SIM card out of my phone. But once again I blame technology. He started bugging me through the medium of emails. I have to be fully honest and disclose the fact that I was still totally and utterly crushing on him. So after the school year ended I ended up bugging him.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
FrIeNdS GrEaT iDeA
If you were reading this and, for some reason, was curious about what happened to this perfect friendship I had with Boy, you are in luck because I am about to divulge the gory details of our infamous FEUD.
I guess neither of us is to blame. I mean sure he said the first bad thing but it wouldn’t have been bad if I wasn’t totally crushing on him. In fact, if I hadn’t been crushing on him the whole thing would have been one huge joke. So no, he’s not to blame and I’m not to blame either. In fact that only thing that should get the blame is my friend. Actually if I want to go that abstract, the root of all the problems is actually his new cell phone. Yes, it’s all technology’s fault, but let me start at the beginning.
Boy had gotten his first cell phone. This was the age where people still used to sms each other and there was no mxit or chats. He was showing off about his cell phone while we were walking back from KFC. Friend was with us. Naturally he wanted me to have his number but I didn’t have my phone (a prehistoric Nokia 3500 at the time) so Friend had this brilliant idea that she’d sms me with his phone. Unfortunately she forgot to tell me what she put in the sms. That day I went home and got my cell phone and what do you know? I had two unknown senders. The first sms was blank so naturally I assumed that it was Boy’s number. The second said “Hello Safs”.
I guess neither of us is to blame. I mean sure he said the first bad thing but it wouldn’t have been bad if I wasn’t totally crushing on him. In fact, if I hadn’t been crushing on him the whole thing would have been one huge joke. So no, he’s not to blame and I’m not to blame either. In fact that only thing that should get the blame is my friend. Actually if I want to go that abstract, the root of all the problems is actually his new cell phone. Yes, it’s all technology’s fault, but let me start at the beginning.
Boy had gotten his first cell phone. This was the age where people still used to sms each other and there was no mxit or chats. He was showing off about his cell phone while we were walking back from KFC. Friend was with us. Naturally he wanted me to have his number but I didn’t have my phone (a prehistoric Nokia 3500 at the time) so Friend had this brilliant idea that she’d sms me with his phone. Unfortunately she forgot to tell me what she put in the sms. That day I went home and got my cell phone and what do you know? I had two unknown senders. The first sms was blank so naturally I assumed that it was Boy’s number. The second said “Hello Safs”.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
HeY, wAnA jOiN mY bAnD?
You wanna join my band?
I always smile when I think of this, maybe because it was the beginning of the end for a beautiful friendship. It isn’t a completely happy smile (I have to admit) it’s mostly nostalgic and partly condescending. Whenever I look back on past crushes I have the same smile. It isn’t identical but the essence is the same.
I had a friend once. I guess he’s still my friend but it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of him that way. Yes, it’s a he. Can you guess what happened? If you can’t I’ll give you the clichéd summary of it.
There’s a boy and there’s a girl. Both pretty average. Love talking to eachother and talk all the time. Boy broken hearted and girl comforts. Then BAM! Girl likes Boy. Only thing is, Boy doesn’t like girl. Girl waits, tells boy, gets rejected. No more Boy and Girl. The end.
Okay, it didn’t go quite like that but I mean, that’s sort of the core of the story. Well, it’s not even close. I don’t know why I’m being evasive. I guess it’s because if I have a crush it makes me like every other girl. It’s makes me normal. I don’t want to be defined by one thing though. Even nerds and rebels fall in love. Well like at least. I have yet to encounter a lasting love.
So about this guy, before I go and get all philosophical I’ll just spill about him. He’s ordinary, Total guy-next-door, epitome of normal. That’s probably what had me attracted to him. Who doesn’t want a nice, kind, normal boyfriend? I could totally talk to him about anything. It was dumb and totally superficial but comforting at the same time.
Well that was then. He’s changed a lot so I’m definitely not going down that road again. He’s changed and I’ve changed but not in the same way. Endless games of table soccer and playing chess in the library will never change that fact.
I can’t really single out any one special moment between us. Maybe because it all just felt normal. The only thing that sorta stands out in my memory is us walking down the same corridor like we always did during our numerous “study periods”. The corridor was totally empty and we’d just come out of the library because he was feeling hungry and I wanted to get one of our tuckshop’s World Famous chocolate chip cookies. I remember how grey that dumb corridor looked and how I was wondering if we’d be able to eat outside that break. (we’d been kicked out the music room again) He and I were talking, I don’t remember what about. It was just normal when he asked me if I played drums. I laughed and said no. He didn’t look too sad but instead asked if I wanted to learn. I said that I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t have to learn from the school teachers (whole other story). He smiled and then said something I’ll still be laughing at when I’m in my eighties. He said – and I quote – “I was wondering if you would join my all boy band”
In case you didn’t know this already, I’m a girl. Not a particularly feminine one but a girl all the same. Now you see the humour?
In case you were wondering I did not end up joining his band. He did not even get the chance to start it. He might have started it if he hadn’t been so concerned about getting a girlfriend but them is the breaks.
I always smile when I think of this, maybe because it was the beginning of the end for a beautiful friendship. It isn’t a completely happy smile (I have to admit) it’s mostly nostalgic and partly condescending. Whenever I look back on past crushes I have the same smile. It isn’t identical but the essence is the same.
I had a friend once. I guess he’s still my friend but it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of him that way. Yes, it’s a he. Can you guess what happened? If you can’t I’ll give you the clichéd summary of it.
There’s a boy and there’s a girl. Both pretty average. Love talking to eachother and talk all the time. Boy broken hearted and girl comforts. Then BAM! Girl likes Boy. Only thing is, Boy doesn’t like girl. Girl waits, tells boy, gets rejected. No more Boy and Girl. The end.
Okay, it didn’t go quite like that but I mean, that’s sort of the core of the story. Well, it’s not even close. I don’t know why I’m being evasive. I guess it’s because if I have a crush it makes me like every other girl. It’s makes me normal. I don’t want to be defined by one thing though. Even nerds and rebels fall in love. Well like at least. I have yet to encounter a lasting love.
So about this guy, before I go and get all philosophical I’ll just spill about him. He’s ordinary, Total guy-next-door, epitome of normal. That’s probably what had me attracted to him. Who doesn’t want a nice, kind, normal boyfriend? I could totally talk to him about anything. It was dumb and totally superficial but comforting at the same time.
Well that was then. He’s changed a lot so I’m definitely not going down that road again. He’s changed and I’ve changed but not in the same way. Endless games of table soccer and playing chess in the library will never change that fact.
I can’t really single out any one special moment between us. Maybe because it all just felt normal. The only thing that sorta stands out in my memory is us walking down the same corridor like we always did during our numerous “study periods”. The corridor was totally empty and we’d just come out of the library because he was feeling hungry and I wanted to get one of our tuckshop’s World Famous chocolate chip cookies. I remember how grey that dumb corridor looked and how I was wondering if we’d be able to eat outside that break. (we’d been kicked out the music room again) He and I were talking, I don’t remember what about. It was just normal when he asked me if I played drums. I laughed and said no. He didn’t look too sad but instead asked if I wanted to learn. I said that I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t have to learn from the school teachers (whole other story). He smiled and then said something I’ll still be laughing at when I’m in my eighties. He said – and I quote – “I was wondering if you would join my all boy band”
In case you didn’t know this already, I’m a girl. Not a particularly feminine one but a girl all the same. Now you see the humour?
In case you were wondering I did not end up joining his band. He did not even get the chance to start it. He might have started it if he hadn’t been so concerned about getting a girlfriend but them is the breaks.
FiRsT fReAk OuT
A lot of people weren’t happy with this whole “mix the classes thing”. You know how people complain about being “uncool” and “invisible”. Well try being the most hated girl in your grade. A grade that you have known since grade R by the way. No, I wasn’t the “untouchable” for the rest of the year. I wasn’t even the untouchable for more than two hours. But hey! It was enough. By the time the bell rang my self-control was almost out the window. I ran onto the field. Thank god it was raining. I was by myself, having a totally record-breaking freak out session, when someone starts walking toward me. I’ll tell you one good thing about being the most hated person in school : It shows you who your true friends are. As it turns out, I have a lot more friends than I have enemies, Which makes me wonder why I couldn’t have been sitting next to them instead of the dark side, but I guess this whole thing was a big part of me becoming myself.
By the end of the day it had died down and people weren’t at each others throats. One thing was more apparent though: The tension between the two classes. Man, it was a good thing they DIDN’T mix the classes. It would’ve been seriously messy. I still don’t know how the school found out. Maybe they just realised the error of their ways. Yeah Right.
By the end of the day it had died down and people weren’t at each others throats. One thing was more apparent though: The tension between the two classes. Man, it was a good thing they DIDN’T mix the classes. It would’ve been seriously messy. I still don’t know how the school found out. Maybe they just realised the error of their ways. Yeah Right.
DiViDeD
There was a girl who I didn’t know particularly well but she wasn’t totally stupid, she’d only joined my school the year before and hadn’t totally crossed over to the dark side. Anyway one day, while I was hiding from the posse of airheads after me, she came up to me and asked me a question that actually ended up changing my entire perspective on life, she asked me if I’d noticed that there weren’t any white kids in our class. Naturally I hadn’t been paying attention but now that it had been pointed out to me I realised that it was true. And not only in our grade but in the entire school, the classes had been divided into white and non-white.
What would you have done if you were me? Would you have left it alone or would you have done something? Well I was all ready to just leave it alone, I mean what’s the big deal right? After all it’s not like we’d stop being friends with each other. But then I looked around at the kids walking up and down the corridors. And I realised that there were no friendships between mixed races, everyone was with their group. My grade had always been so close and if high school was going to do this to us then I wasn’t prepared to just let it.
Unfortunately, I was the only one. I couldn’t believe that it had been so easily brushed off. They were HAPPY to have an “black” class and be separate from the “white” class. Which makes me think that I missed out on some brainwashing tape or something in high school because I was totally stunned…I just didn’t get it. Immediately I was labelled as one of those “disaffected rebel-type people” and dropped.
A normal person would have dropped it, a normal person would have ignored it, a sane person would have just left those airheads to do whatever they wanted. I think we have all established by now that I am not quite sane or normal so obviously I didn’t let it drop. Instead it went to our SRC, now somehow I hadn’t gotten any nominations but people had voted for me, not enough votes to make me part of it but enough to make me vice, not that the vice ever did anything, the grade rep never did anything in the first place so it was more of a title than a job.
Besides the only thing we did the whole year was try to get new mirrors for the girl bathrooms. Whatever, out class had voted in the queen of airheads and the most politically aware person in our grade as well as two bimbos from the other class. I knew it would be stupid to approach them period but it would be stupider to approach abimbo. At least the guy was sorta friends with me.
What a joke that turned out to be! He was the biggest pretender out there. Somehow, and I have no clue how, it got to the principle. Lemme just say that it hadn’t had anything to do with me. There was talk about mixing classes and we had to vote on who we wanted in our classes if they were mixed. They never ended up being mixed.
What would you have done if you were me? Would you have left it alone or would you have done something? Well I was all ready to just leave it alone, I mean what’s the big deal right? After all it’s not like we’d stop being friends with each other. But then I looked around at the kids walking up and down the corridors. And I realised that there were no friendships between mixed races, everyone was with their group. My grade had always been so close and if high school was going to do this to us then I wasn’t prepared to just let it.
Unfortunately, I was the only one. I couldn’t believe that it had been so easily brushed off. They were HAPPY to have an “black” class and be separate from the “white” class. Which makes me think that I missed out on some brainwashing tape or something in high school because I was totally stunned…I just didn’t get it. Immediately I was labelled as one of those “disaffected rebel-type people” and dropped.
A normal person would have dropped it, a normal person would have ignored it, a sane person would have just left those airheads to do whatever they wanted. I think we have all established by now that I am not quite sane or normal so obviously I didn’t let it drop. Instead it went to our SRC, now somehow I hadn’t gotten any nominations but people had voted for me, not enough votes to make me part of it but enough to make me vice, not that the vice ever did anything, the grade rep never did anything in the first place so it was more of a title than a job.
Besides the only thing we did the whole year was try to get new mirrors for the girl bathrooms. Whatever, out class had voted in the queen of airheads and the most politically aware person in our grade as well as two bimbos from the other class. I knew it would be stupid to approach them period but it would be stupider to approach abimbo. At least the guy was sorta friends with me.
What a joke that turned out to be! He was the biggest pretender out there. Somehow, and I have no clue how, it got to the principle. Lemme just say that it hadn’t had anything to do with me. There was talk about mixing classes and we had to vote on who we wanted in our classes if they were mixed. They never ended up being mixed.
FrEsHmAn YeAr
It was totally crazy, the way my year started. I was invisible again, merely overlooked by anyone I knew. I was so strange because for the first time in my life, I noticed and I felt it. Not only that, I also hated it. No one likes to be invisible, sometimes we wish for it but we never actually want it to happen.
After this really weird first week I gradually became accustomed to high school and its laws. See a grade eleven, turn around, late for class, crack a joke. Want to jam someone, ask to go to the bathroom. Yeah I understood high school pretty well and of course I didn’t want to be here, with these…superficial narrow-minded fools. What I didn’t know was that high school had different people in it. Dramas, geeks, jocks, Goths and even rebels like me…sort of. I ended up hanging out in this really small music room with twenty-three other sophomores and juniors. There were only two freshmen and both of them were in my classes so, naturally, we became really good friends.
About two weeks in to school I stopped being invisible, and I can tell you this, I missed it. Hanging out in the music room was better than being shanghaied into some weird cult of make up and shopping. I did everything possible to be invisible and avoid being sucked in. I wore shorts, sneakers and cut my hair short. It didn’t work; the populars were just waiting for their chance. It came a few weeks later in the form of our bonding tour, officially the worst three days of my life. Ever.
Going there wasn’t totally awful, there was a lot of really stupid pop music blasting and a lot of off-key karaoke singers but it was bearable. The trouble came when we had the afternoon off to unpack. Whoever ran this camp had to be the stupidest person on the planet because someone with half a brain cell would know that it’s a really stupid idea to put all thirty girls into one dormitory and leave them there without cell phone reception. When unpacking ceased to interest them, they merely changed to attacking some poor soul who didn’t know better. I had tried to sneak out before they caught me but I could only walk around a cold and wet camp so many times. Someone smarter than me would have stayed in the rain rather than risk going back but I couldn’t bother to fight the oppressive grey weather anymore. I went back.
Big mistake. I was subjected to relentless quizzing about a couple guys I knew and then humiliatingly interrogated about my music room “groupies”, apparently me hanging out with older people was not good. Once again the competition was on to see where I’d be spending my breaks. A few of them were spent watching my “guys” cussing at the soccer table and many more were spent in the library and the music room. I was trying to get invisible again and just be left alone but everything went wrong.
Personally I blame that coward who claimed to want to do something but like I said, the only person I can truly blame was me.
After this really weird first week I gradually became accustomed to high school and its laws. See a grade eleven, turn around, late for class, crack a joke. Want to jam someone, ask to go to the bathroom. Yeah I understood high school pretty well and of course I didn’t want to be here, with these…superficial narrow-minded fools. What I didn’t know was that high school had different people in it. Dramas, geeks, jocks, Goths and even rebels like me…sort of. I ended up hanging out in this really small music room with twenty-three other sophomores and juniors. There were only two freshmen and both of them were in my classes so, naturally, we became really good friends.
About two weeks in to school I stopped being invisible, and I can tell you this, I missed it. Hanging out in the music room was better than being shanghaied into some weird cult of make up and shopping. I did everything possible to be invisible and avoid being sucked in. I wore shorts, sneakers and cut my hair short. It didn’t work; the populars were just waiting for their chance. It came a few weeks later in the form of our bonding tour, officially the worst three days of my life. Ever.
Going there wasn’t totally awful, there was a lot of really stupid pop music blasting and a lot of off-key karaoke singers but it was bearable. The trouble came when we had the afternoon off to unpack. Whoever ran this camp had to be the stupidest person on the planet because someone with half a brain cell would know that it’s a really stupid idea to put all thirty girls into one dormitory and leave them there without cell phone reception. When unpacking ceased to interest them, they merely changed to attacking some poor soul who didn’t know better. I had tried to sneak out before they caught me but I could only walk around a cold and wet camp so many times. Someone smarter than me would have stayed in the rain rather than risk going back but I couldn’t bother to fight the oppressive grey weather anymore. I went back.
Big mistake. I was subjected to relentless quizzing about a couple guys I knew and then humiliatingly interrogated about my music room “groupies”, apparently me hanging out with older people was not good. Once again the competition was on to see where I’d be spending my breaks. A few of them were spent watching my “guys” cussing at the soccer table and many more were spent in the library and the music room. I was trying to get invisible again and just be left alone but everything went wrong.
Personally I blame that coward who claimed to want to do something but like I said, the only person I can truly blame was me.
HiGh ScHoOl
I was supposed to find myself in high school. Discover who I was. I’ve been in High School for two years and I still don’t know who I am. As much as I wish I never left primary school, I’m grateful that I could at least get some semblance of a grasp on who I am. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I thought that when I went to high school, I’d do something or become someone, learn something about myself. I did. I learnt that I am a coward, a fickle coward that failed at everything. Throughout the past two years I have never once accomplished something that I am truly proud of because I never did anything that I actually wanted to do.
Having the worst reputation possible, I really didn’t care about popularity. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have a zillion people watching me all the time. At least people listened to me when I had something to say. But like always, it wasn’t enough. I can blame everyone, everything, anything but the truth is that the only person I can actually blame is me, nothing will ever change that.
My freshman year at high school was completely different to what I expected, it started out the same, progressed to bad and then suddenly good and bad didn’t matter anymore because it was the experiences I had that changed me into my own person.
I thought that when I went to high school, I’d do something or become someone, learn something about myself. I did. I learnt that I am a coward, a fickle coward that failed at everything. Throughout the past two years I have never once accomplished something that I am truly proud of because I never did anything that I actually wanted to do.
Having the worst reputation possible, I really didn’t care about popularity. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have a zillion people watching me all the time. At least people listened to me when I had something to say. But like always, it wasn’t enough. I can blame everyone, everything, anything but the truth is that the only person I can actually blame is me, nothing will ever change that.
My freshman year at high school was completely different to what I expected, it started out the same, progressed to bad and then suddenly good and bad didn’t matter anymore because it was the experiences I had that changed me into my own person.
PrImArY sChOoL - pArT 3 oF 3
When I went back, something changed inside me and I became even more reclusive than before, not distinguishing one day from the next, not caring, just ignoring those girls all over again and spending inordinate amounts of time in the library. The moment I found myself becoming something of a teachers pet, I rebelled against it, not in a obvious way but my work became sloppier and my participation less and less apparent. The only time I ever remember being myself was with another girl who, for a very brief period, was my friend. Until the end of the year when her parents moved to Cleveland, somehow I’m beginning to see a pattern.
I think I spent most of grade five and six in this reclusive and isolated persona. My teachers had mistaken it for shyness and I was careful to be open enough to deter any real worries from forming. More and more of my time was spent in the make-believe world of books until the librarian took special interest in me, allowing me to spend my breaks inside the library and appointing her my unofficial deputy. No one knew the library better than me and it was something of a sanctuary…or rather a thing that kept me away from the world of my peers. I was labelled as a bookworm, a loner and eventually left alone but as my final year of primary school approached, people began to try and break that barrier once more. As I began to help people with school work, they began to feel more comfortable around me, accepting that there were some things they could not change about me. And because they accepted those things I slowly began to become less reclusive even though I never truly opened up.
Grade seven was a really great year and we all became very close friends but the barrier between boys and girls was blurring and suddenly hormones had erupted, I was left out of the spin and intended to remain as such. Many things happened because of this but none of any relevance. At the end of the year, my ritualistic shattering of friendships occurred. Two of my best friends were leaving and the three of us were separated in three different schools. Primary School was over.
I think I spent most of grade five and six in this reclusive and isolated persona. My teachers had mistaken it for shyness and I was careful to be open enough to deter any real worries from forming. More and more of my time was spent in the make-believe world of books until the librarian took special interest in me, allowing me to spend my breaks inside the library and appointing her my unofficial deputy. No one knew the library better than me and it was something of a sanctuary…or rather a thing that kept me away from the world of my peers. I was labelled as a bookworm, a loner and eventually left alone but as my final year of primary school approached, people began to try and break that barrier once more. As I began to help people with school work, they began to feel more comfortable around me, accepting that there were some things they could not change about me. And because they accepted those things I slowly began to become less reclusive even though I never truly opened up.
Grade seven was a really great year and we all became very close friends but the barrier between boys and girls was blurring and suddenly hormones had erupted, I was left out of the spin and intended to remain as such. Many things happened because of this but none of any relevance. At the end of the year, my ritualistic shattering of friendships occurred. Two of my best friends were leaving and the three of us were separated in three different schools. Primary School was over.
PrImArY sChOoL - pArT 2 oF 3
Whatever it was, I was so glad to escape it, even it was just for three months. My parents took a teaching job in New York for three months and we left in September where school was just starting. I never finished grade three but was instead moved up to grade four where I found something completely different than what I had back home.
I had found friends. Genuine people who actually cared about one another and also about their lives and the world around them, I will never ever forget that moment when I realised that it was okay to just be me and to be alone sometimes and to just be accepted and accept everyone else. I’d never felt that way before.
We were given an assignment to write to one of the presidential candidates that we supported and tell them why we wanted them to win. Naturally I didn’t know anything about South African politics, let alone the whole Bush/Gore race. The kids in my class, all a year older than me and from the same country, all knowing each other and their worlds, didn’t make fun of me or ignore me. They explained every single thing to me. And it wasn’t just about the elections, it was baseball teams and dodge ball games and how to eat a pretzel or make a candy apple, how not to cut yourself when using a saw and most importantly, to choose between the Yankees and the Mets.
There was a rule in our school that was probably a really big deal to our teacher and it was that no one could share their lunches with anyone else. She had a box of crackers and a supply of milk if anyone did forget their lunch. Something I only did once but I’m glad I did because that was when I discovered what having real friends was actually about. When they found out I had forgotten my lunch, every single person gave me something and one guy took out his whole lunch box and gave it to me, telling me to take whatever I wanted. The actual meaning of this never hit me until after I left and came back home. The most special part of it all was that we didn’t get caught, our teacher thoughtfully looked the other way and continued to do so even though we were totally pathetic at sneaking and ended up making a racket. The games we played here were never about choosing the people on your team; they were about playing so that no one was quite sure which team you supported and finishing with a draw. I wish every moment in life was like that, even if it mean that I had to stay eight forever.
I had found friends. Genuine people who actually cared about one another and also about their lives and the world around them, I will never ever forget that moment when I realised that it was okay to just be me and to be alone sometimes and to just be accepted and accept everyone else. I’d never felt that way before.
We were given an assignment to write to one of the presidential candidates that we supported and tell them why we wanted them to win. Naturally I didn’t know anything about South African politics, let alone the whole Bush/Gore race. The kids in my class, all a year older than me and from the same country, all knowing each other and their worlds, didn’t make fun of me or ignore me. They explained every single thing to me. And it wasn’t just about the elections, it was baseball teams and dodge ball games and how to eat a pretzel or make a candy apple, how not to cut yourself when using a saw and most importantly, to choose between the Yankees and the Mets.
There was a rule in our school that was probably a really big deal to our teacher and it was that no one could share their lunches with anyone else. She had a box of crackers and a supply of milk if anyone did forget their lunch. Something I only did once but I’m glad I did because that was when I discovered what having real friends was actually about. When they found out I had forgotten my lunch, every single person gave me something and one guy took out his whole lunch box and gave it to me, telling me to take whatever I wanted. The actual meaning of this never hit me until after I left and came back home. The most special part of it all was that we didn’t get caught, our teacher thoughtfully looked the other way and continued to do so even though we were totally pathetic at sneaking and ended up making a racket. The games we played here were never about choosing the people on your team; they were about playing so that no one was quite sure which team you supported and finishing with a draw. I wish every moment in life was like that, even if it mean that I had to stay eight forever.
PrImArY sChOoL - pArT 1 oF 3
Now we get to the part of my life where I go to school, after moving and after leaving my old life behind, Time to get a new one. Which I do, sort of, I end up moving in the last three months of the year and end up being the loner because I wasn’t new long enough for people to get to know me. Instead I end up being the kid who can’t colour in the lines and makes grass pink. That’s until someone takes pity on me and invites me into the group. I sit there for most of the year until I mysteriously begin to colour properly. In fact it’s so amazing that the teacher decides to hold up my work, which sucks because that’s never happened before. That and I was using my “friend’s” pencil crayons. Imagine how great she must feel. So I get kicked out of the group and around then my brother is born. That’s in October so not that much left of the school year to be alone.
In grade two I move up a little on the social scale because I’m not totally alone anymore, instead I end up with all the shy new girls. Yep, it’s good to be me. The rest of the year passes in a blur with me loving my teacher (the dork that I am) and getting a care award (aaawww…bleh). Basically nothing special happens and once more I enter the new school year with no friends. Why? I have no idea.
I continue into grade three relatively unchanged until I discover something, a library. To be quite honest I never actually liked the library, or the librarian. In fact during my brief stint as a monitor I became so irritated with the place that I refused to enter it for a good three-months. I’d always liked books, more so the stories they had. About lives that were so exciting and glamorous that I could pretend I was right there with them.
There seemed to be a competition that sprung up when I was in the middle of grade three. A competition to see which group could get me to sit with them. The populars, the out casts and of course the wannabes. There was no “different” group, you either sat with the unholy trinity or you didn’t. Except when you were a guy, then you played soccer. This game seemed to have an unlimited entertainment capacity for the girls I knew and I perpetually pestered to sit with one group or the other. I sat with the non-populars for about three days, the populars for one day. I don’t know which was worse but my brief duration on either side had not quelled their need to win the game. It continued with no signs of letting up and it irritated me. I had no wish to be with anyone and I have never understood why. Maybe it was just me being me.
In grade two I move up a little on the social scale because I’m not totally alone anymore, instead I end up with all the shy new girls. Yep, it’s good to be me. The rest of the year passes in a blur with me loving my teacher (the dork that I am) and getting a care award (aaawww…bleh). Basically nothing special happens and once more I enter the new school year with no friends. Why? I have no idea.
I continue into grade three relatively unchanged until I discover something, a library. To be quite honest I never actually liked the library, or the librarian. In fact during my brief stint as a monitor I became so irritated with the place that I refused to enter it for a good three-months. I’d always liked books, more so the stories they had. About lives that were so exciting and glamorous that I could pretend I was right there with them.
There seemed to be a competition that sprung up when I was in the middle of grade three. A competition to see which group could get me to sit with them. The populars, the out casts and of course the wannabes. There was no “different” group, you either sat with the unholy trinity or you didn’t. Except when you were a guy, then you played soccer. This game seemed to have an unlimited entertainment capacity for the girls I knew and I perpetually pestered to sit with one group or the other. I sat with the non-populars for about three days, the populars for one day. I don’t know which was worse but my brief duration on either side had not quelled their need to win the game. It continued with no signs of letting up and it irritated me. I had no wish to be with anyone and I have never understood why. Maybe it was just me being me.
ThE sTaRt AnD pRe-ScHoOl
The Start
I have no memory of being one or two years old and very few between the ages of three and six. The only memory that I truly have is of moving, of change, from one city to another, one life to another. Shuttling back and forth, losing friends before even making them.
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Pre-School
When I was about three, maybe four, I went to a pre-school where almost everyone spoke Afrikaans and I spoke English. Yet somehow I could make friends with these kids, never mind that we couldn’t even say hello to each other, and even back then it wasn’t like I wouldn’t play with boys or girls, I just liked everyone. And everyone liked me…until they found out I was a girl. Yes, it was somehow possible for people to realise that I wasn’t a boy but when they did, they stopped liking me that much.
I don’t remember much but I do remember sulking, hiding from all those kids, not understanding a word of what they said. I think I moved between at least 3 classes that week but maybe the two things were unrelated. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
Somewhere along the line my parents decided to draft me into a modelling course, I have no idea what they hoped to achieve but maybe it wasn’t them, maybe it had been me who had wanted it. Either way, it was around then that I met two really great kids, I don’t remember their names or where they live, and only vaguely what they look like but I do remember a few things about them. When I was there, Apartheid had only jus ended and I had been too young to understand it, after all my pre-school was mixed. It’s really scary to think that back then I didn’t understand anything about race, it didn’t matter.
The only taste I had of apartheid was that one of those kids I found so great, her parents were forced to get divorced because they belonged to different race groups. No one out of the three of us ever talked about it and my parents only vaguely mentioned it but I wish they had. I wish that they had sat down and explain everything to me then before I left.
When I moved again, I left behind two friends and many other really great people who had gotten over the fact that I was a female, but my five-year-old brain didn’t really get it. I always thought that we’d be friends. Of course we never saw each other again. If they passed me on the street today, I wouldn’t even give them a second glance. That’s the only sad thing about change, moving on.
I have no memory of being one or two years old and very few between the ages of three and six. The only memory that I truly have is of moving, of change, from one city to another, one life to another. Shuttling back and forth, losing friends before even making them.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pre-School
When I was about three, maybe four, I went to a pre-school where almost everyone spoke Afrikaans and I spoke English. Yet somehow I could make friends with these kids, never mind that we couldn’t even say hello to each other, and even back then it wasn’t like I wouldn’t play with boys or girls, I just liked everyone. And everyone liked me…until they found out I was a girl. Yes, it was somehow possible for people to realise that I wasn’t a boy but when they did, they stopped liking me that much.
I don’t remember much but I do remember sulking, hiding from all those kids, not understanding a word of what they said. I think I moved between at least 3 classes that week but maybe the two things were unrelated. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
Somewhere along the line my parents decided to draft me into a modelling course, I have no idea what they hoped to achieve but maybe it wasn’t them, maybe it had been me who had wanted it. Either way, it was around then that I met two really great kids, I don’t remember their names or where they live, and only vaguely what they look like but I do remember a few things about them. When I was there, Apartheid had only jus ended and I had been too young to understand it, after all my pre-school was mixed. It’s really scary to think that back then I didn’t understand anything about race, it didn’t matter.
The only taste I had of apartheid was that one of those kids I found so great, her parents were forced to get divorced because they belonged to different race groups. No one out of the three of us ever talked about it and my parents only vaguely mentioned it but I wish they had. I wish that they had sat down and explain everything to me then before I left.
When I moved again, I left behind two friends and many other really great people who had gotten over the fact that I was a female, but my five-year-old brain didn’t really get it. I always thought that we’d be friends. Of course we never saw each other again. If they passed me on the street today, I wouldn’t even give them a second glance. That’s the only sad thing about change, moving on.
RiCh GiRl
There’s a story, it’s like a standard thing, about rich girls, or just rich kids in general. We don’t know anything about life because we were born with silver spoons in our mouths and we don’t have to look any further than what we have because to us, we are the world. I’m not poor, even though I’m not totally loaded, my dad doesn’t abuse my mom and my parents aren’t divorced. I don’t do drugs, or go clubbing or drink. I don’t even smoke, I’m just an average kid who doesn’t do anything accept live in her own rich-girl world.
This is the way it seems, all the time, every minute of everyday, there’s no escape from the cold truth. I don’t matter because I don’t make a difference in the world. I can’t even make a difference in my own class, how would I be able to change the world? The shameful truth is that as much as I want to do something, to be someone, I’ve gotten sucked into a world I swore I’d never enter and it’s almost impossible to escape.
For the fifteen years I’ve lived on this earth I’ve got nothing to show for them, maybe an article, a failed newspaper and a activist club that refuses to take off, but those aren’t successes, they aren’t even attempts. They’re just excuses for something I never once had the courage to even try and accomplish. And I hate it.
This is the way it seems, all the time, every minute of everyday, there’s no escape from the cold truth. I don’t matter because I don’t make a difference in the world. I can’t even make a difference in my own class, how would I be able to change the world? The shameful truth is that as much as I want to do something, to be someone, I’ve gotten sucked into a world I swore I’d never enter and it’s almost impossible to escape.
For the fifteen years I’ve lived on this earth I’ve got nothing to show for them, maybe an article, a failed newspaper and a activist club that refuses to take off, but those aren’t successes, they aren’t even attempts. They’re just excuses for something I never once had the courage to even try and accomplish. And I hate it.
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