I had to pick my sister up at school last Monday and we had to commute because my mom and dad went somewhere so we didn’t have a ride. Worse, I had to carry her huge bag. You know how elementary kids’ bags are nowadays. They are humongous! What do they need all those stuff for?
I remember when I was in fifth grade I had (I think) almost 10 notebooks, plus 5 or more books excluding my paper, raincoat, extra shirt and other things I HAD TO bring. Some of my books (math, reading, english) were not your regular thin elementary books, they were thick, so you could just imagine my frail little body carrying all those stuff. That was the year when “bags with wheels” started to get popular. It was a gift from heaven and it made my things more manageable and not to mention, tolerable.
When I reached my sister’s school, I realized I was 30 minutes early. I anticipated I would be early so I bought a book with me to kill time. What I didn’t anticipate were the children running and playing and doing crazy things so enjoying a book there would be next to impossible. I didn’t have anything to do or anyone to talk to, all I did was observe so naturally, remiscing was ievitable. Going back to my old school, memories of my childhood there came rushing in. I was surprised I was a bit bitter about it. I knew I was a happy child, I had fun while growing up but then I realized it was because of my family who were always supportive and school sometimes got me down. I remembered how elementary teachers were so mean and scary, how I felt like they didn’t like me and favored other kids than me, how I sometimes felt like I didn’t fit in, how one time I will never forget when I just broke down into tears because of frustration from doing an unbelievable pointless assignment. We were in a special class, the brightest among the batch and we were given loads of school stuff and sometimes the pressure just sinks in. What’s even more frustrating and this is something that hurts me until now is how favoritism, shameless pasipsip, public humiliation and other mean things are tolerated and rampant in my old school. Much like corruption; everybody sees it, everybody knows about it, but somehow everybody just ignores it and feels it’s a part of the system. Now I realize how fragile children are, as a 20 year old I can say that those things that hurt me when I was younger sometimes still linger.
But I will point out that my elementary life was not entirely that bad. Let me put it this way, the bad slash semi traumatic part sums about one sixth and the entire five sixth is spent in learning, having fun, and discovering the joys of childhood. I’ll never forget all the contests I joined in, the annual programs, the “touching ball” games, the art workshops, and the parties. Life was a bliss.