I was nine. I remember the day clearly, well, why wouldn’t I? This wasn’t an everyday normal occurrence. A lot happened that year and the memories are all tucked away in my brain.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and as usual, I was out playing with my siblings. Either hide and seek or cops and robbers! I was running as fast as I could ( maybe I wasn’t) and I just stopped short. I felt it. Right then and there. My heart felt as if it was being clenched by an angry fist. An image immediately flashed into my head. White pages. My stomach twisted into knots. I knew what was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I remembered. All too well I remembered.
I remembered that I had homework due for the following day and I couldn’t deny that the talons squeezing at my heartstrings was non other than dark, dirty depression.
From that day began my uncomfortable relationship with…
School. Big school. Homework school.
All these swearwords travelled through my nine year old brain and helped me nought. The depression was still there. Playing with my siblings, once seemed like the fun-nest form of entertainment in the world now seemed like something so far fetched, like I would ever be allowed to do that again, with homework and stuff in my life!
Yes, I took it very personally.
The best school year of my life was Montessori and I was 4. I looked forward to it and I thoroughly enjoyed myself!
After that, I’ve always strongly disliked school and I would not recommend it to anyone. It’s not that I struggled or had a learning disability, I always found our subjects really easy but All the unnecessary information children are force fed, the social and emotional trauma often accompanied by bullying and being exposed to vulgarity is really a put off. You either become a bully or end up being bullied. Let’s not even get started on the homework. Oh the homework that denied us our playtime.
In primary school, being very talkative and jokey, I had lots of friends and everyone was friends with everyone.
High school is another story. Grade 8 was an experience and a half AlHamdulillah. I was the outcast and I was glad. I was friends with the quiet kids and one teacher asked me if I was always this quiet ( haha). I was convinced I was going to fail grade 8 so naturally I hated school. (It was accounting).I begged my mother to take me out and she was very keen. Of course, mum doesn’t agree with school either. (That’s another story for another day)
But when it got to the last few days, our teacher ( who I was in love with) told us that we all passed! AlHamdulillah! Now I hated school a little bit less! So I asked my mum to rather leave me in school but mum had already notified the teachers that I wasn’t coming back. Oh well.
And so began some of the best days of my life to date, AlHamdulillah!
[ School should not be imposed on children. It is hurtful and a form of bullying and it kills beautiful qualities like passion, hope, moral excellence and helps create a zombie generation.- Wise words extracted from me ]