A Replicated Time

Bad memories that came back to haunt, translated…

During the simplistic time of when kids start to learn to speak and to read and write, I was, in a very plain, countryside elementary school, spent years of being discriminated against, the time I’d wanted to fast-forward away from the most.

Recalling how when I was in the third grade, my younger brother just entered into the first, on the first day of school, after the classes were over, he’d come to my class, as he’d heard a couple of my classmates making fun of me, calling me “sissy!”, he’d spoken angrily at them, “How can you talk about my older brother this way!”, being very tiny in size, he’d immediately run up to the guys who called me the bad name, and started swinging his fists, and hit my classmates, and his fists made a huge sound, shocked everybody who was present.  As my classmate was stunned and got over the shock, he’d bitten my younger brother as a fight back too.

After school, I’d taken my younger brother’s hand in mine, on the way home, he not only didn’t cry, he’d kept saying, “Older brother, I will protect you”, I just, cried, silently.

As my mom saw how there was a bite mark on my younger brother’s rosy cheeks, along with the battle scars on his brand new uniform, she’d inquired about what happened.  I’d plainly told her, “oh, he got into a fight with my classmate (because of my persona).”  My younger brother said, still feeling the anger rising up, “His classmate called him a bad name, so, I’d beaten him up (these words got etched, so brightly, onto my heart).”, my mother’s heart ached, as she wiped off his face, and helped him changed into clean clothes, I’d gone and done my homework.

Up until today, my mother would still replay the words of that day, as she’d laughed and told, of how that uniform got dirty, and how she could still see the bite mark from my classmate, clearly, imprinted on my younger brother’s cheek.

I will never forget that every time after an exam, as the papers got returned, there would be a dozen pair of eyes like vultures, examining my perfectly scored tests, to see if there could be blood, smeared onto it, a slanted stroke!  Wrote a character wrong!  My classmate would zoom in, and take my papers away from me, to the teacher, for her, to deduct from my perfect score.

I’d watched, coldly, my classmate showed of the bliss that’s even more ecstatic compared to winning the lottery, my mind was filled with doubts.  I’d told my homeroom teacher back then, and, all I received was, “You are on a higher level than they, don’t keep score with your classmates, just do what you’re suppose to, and say what you’re suppose to, and that’s enough.”  In the higher grade levels, the child who became weakened, with education, I can only use the countless certificates of achievements as my talisman, quietly hoping, that I can get into middle school sooner, so I can have a brand new beginning.

Later on, I’d become a sign language translator, and I’d gotten the opportunity to accompany a hearing impaired child to his elementary school to help him study, it was, I’d gotten a do-over for my elementary years; the teachers of the different grade levels, giving the child different guidance, from the orderliness of the younger grades, building up to the steady growth of the middle grade levels, and, into the higher grade levels, to become aware of the self, and one’s relation with the peers, along with the rest of the world too.  I’d accompanied the hearing impaired children, seeing how they longed for friendship, and growth too, from being passive to active, from asking the outside world to change, to creating changes in themselves, even on the smallest matters, the child will share with me, his moments of glory or when he was beaten and defeated, and I would always, give him a ton of supports, to NOT make the judgments for him, because that, is his big news, the matters that are important in his life.

Every time I was reminded of myself in the elementary years, I’d think about, how I would hold conversations with him, to think about how I can accompany him, and, in this process, it seems, that I had, healed myself too.

And so, you were hurt by your classmates, because you were different, and, growing up was hard for you, and, you had a younger brother who stood up for you, to keep your classmates from picking on you, and, now, you’re a teacher’s aide, to those students in need.