I really needed to get out.
I didn’t know what I was doing.
Just making a fool out of myself.

I merely remember how it all happened. Kind of a blur. This happened every morning, but I remember this day the most. After the compound bus dropped our compound’s crew at the school’s front gate, we all emerged into school with smiling faces, ready to enjoy ourselves at the park. It started with the stampede of young and indiligent first graders roaming around the playground, before the morning bell, on a dusty dayspring. The squeaking swings, the lovely spring breeze, and the laughter of children were what made up every morning. And in the midst of all the chaos, deep into the park, I spotted three recognizable faces intensely glaring into my eyes. Lauren, Mada, and Iman. Oblivion as to what their eyes were fixated onto, I plopped a friendly wave at them and forged ahead. Little did I realize the outcome of my little greeting.

“WAHH!”  Boom. Right in the face. A little push was all it needed, and I lay there, motionless. Motionless because the echo of laughter surrounded me. Motionless because the feeling of humiliation overwhelmed my body. Motionless because if I moved, I would regret it. Motionless, because, I didn’t know why this had to happen to me. So I just lay there, lay there with my braided hair against the concrete floor. Lay there with the world at a literal blur at sight, with my glasses meters away from my fingertips. Lay there with absolute hopelessness that I can get by a day without this happening.

And there they were. Lauren, Mada, and Iman.

“Loser!” They yelped. And ran off. But why was I not amused? Why was I so still? So calm?

Because the question was: why was I pushed onto the floor, humiliated, degraded as a human, verbally abused, at the age of six, because I simply said waved?

RING!RING!RING!

It was the morning bell. And as the crowd of first graders dispersed to their designated classrooms, I, lay there for minutes. And when I got up from the ground, I headed to the classroom.

Knock, knock.

“Come on in!” Mrs Mock yelped. Oh, my. Mrs. Mock was going to be mad at me for entering so late. As she swung the door open, I already saw the rise of her rage. “Why are you so late! Come on! Walk in! Sh! Don’t disturb your classmates!”

I scurried over to the carpet, where the entire class was gathered, and sat there in the corner. Smirking and whispering. Smirking and whispering. Mrs. Mock took her seat and continued with her little math lesson, but all I heard was smirking and whispering. Smirking and whispering.

While others discussed issues as 1+1=2 or the times table, I lay there wondering about how I would get myself to speak. To answer a question, even, that the teacher asked. There was a social block, somewhat an anxiety. There were so many thoughts going through my mind, thoughts a six year old should have never had.

Should I answer? Oh, no. It’s too early. I can’t. I’m not supposed to talk now. Everybody will laugh at me. Was I not supposed to say hello? No, no. I wasn’t supposed to say hello. They were too far. I’m so silly! Why can’t I say things properly! Um, okay, they’re definitely laughing at me now. Ugh this is getting way too out of con---

“Darling?” Mrs. Mock openly exclaimed. But she wasn’t sitting in her little stool, in front of the board.  She was inches away from my face, wiping my tears that have so loosely oozed down my cheeks. 

“Let’s take this outside,” she suggested. She took me by the arm (attempting to be soft, but it was still a lil aggressive I must say). And it was in that moment that I realized. That I truly saw and witnessed the grudge and pain I held for so long. This pain that I was so accustomed to, that I considered it normal because I was used to it. And once I realized that, I realized it was because I was allowing myself to be degraded. I allowed myself to stoop to the lower level because I never reacted; I just held all my emotions in.

The very next morning, I marched into school, with carelessness. I waved hello. And I was pushed to the ground again.

The only difference was.
I got back up.
Smiled.
And continued walking.
As if nothing had ever happened.

“Kill them with Kindness.” - American Proverb