The little girl stood alone in the playground, waiting for her “friends”. When they finally walked down the little paved stone path, the girl waved at them. The small gang made their way and ignored her. One boy sneered at the girl and shoved her, hard. The girl fell, blood on her hands, but didn’t dare to utter a single word. The boy laughed and pushed her again when she tried to stand up. The girl ran away from the crowd behind her, with a few snorts and laughter following her.
“I bet you are going to tell your mom.”
“Tattletale! Liar, liar pants on fire!”
A few other girls watched the little girl being tortured by the boy, but only shook their heads and watched, doing nothing about it and then walked away. The girl ran and ran until she got a stitch. She vowed that she will never go to the playground again. She thought about telling her mother, but her mom couldn't do anything about it and it would only make things worse. When the girl took a rest, huffing and puffing under a big tree, the gang had found her and cornered the girl...
I woke up with sweat all over my body. Over the years, this memory never seems to fade away. I am used to being invisible, ignored. And I have learned to cope with these things and embrace them. But I can’t help feeling lonely.
I love books. What I like about them is that books never mock me. They will never tease me. They never hurt me when I do a wrong thing. They never try me push or shove me. They are only capable of one thing. They make me invisible and remove the pain of the past.
When I was in 2nd grade, I was always the kid that could not stand up for herself. The kid that always ran away when someone said bad stuff about her. The kid that people snatched candy from and never did something about it. The kid that always was last to go pick something out of a bag, the kid that is always being pushed around the hallways. The kid that no teacher liked.
The girl ran away and cried. Some people in the hallway snickered and jeered. Another older girl that was part of the gang said some rude swear words and jabbed her finger in the little girl’s chest.
“You are not going to tell the teacher, okay? You got it, you pathetic little jerk.” The girl can only mechanically nod as the older girl sashayed away in her new tight black skirt. When the little girl got up again, some kids yelled: “ Tattletale!” The girl tried to ignore them and walked at a faster pace. The same boy that pushed her yesterday elbowed her in the stomach so that the little girl lost her balance and fell. Books and pencils scattered everywhere. Older kids started a game of football with her math textbook and 5th grade girls started taking her pretty pencils and erasers, thinking that she wouldn't notice.
Books inspire me. Wendy in Peter Pan taught me to be brave. Alice in Alice in Wonderland told me to be curious. And books taught me to stand up for myself.
“Leona!” My mom yelled, “ Aolin is here!”
Funny thing is, Aolin used to be the girl who wears tight black skirts, and she is always the rude girl who swears and jabs her finger in other people’s chest. She also called me a pathetic little jerk once. But now she is one of my friends.
If you don’t get it, Aolin use to torture me, saying bad things about my mom behind her back, trying to get the teacher to notice that I didn’t bring my science notebook. Three years ago, Aolin use to be my worst nightmare, but now she is one of my best friends. We chat to each other about secrets, make new slangs, and argue about which couple in her grade was cuter. Aolin no longer throw my favorite hair clip in the swimming pool, or step on my barefoot toes, or tease me about my "old-styled" hair.
Later that night I sat quietly in my small bed. I couldn’t sleep. I worried that the dreams would come back. I thought about my memories. I think about the mean boy. I think about Aolin. I think about my future. I think about other bullies who pushed me around.
I was tired of being lonely.
I was tired of being pushed around.
I did tell my other people my opinion.
I did not let my other people tell me what I should do and what I should not do.
Interdependence looked around the village as despair ran through her body. She sighed recognising she needed help. Taking hold of the villagers hands with her hand of flexibility, Interdependence is drenched in ideasonce more. Collaboration spreads through the village as they reflect and listen to each other’s ideas, working together towards their goals.
takes you where you want to be.
I never been to Alaska,
I have seen the wonders of
the snowy peaks and icebergs,
beautiful Northern Lights dancing in the sky.
The great plains and grasslands that
stretched for miles without ending.
I'd seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa,
the Great Wall of China,
the statue of Liberty . . . .