High There!
High school, no matter how fleeting the era was to someone
else’s life, could be polarizing to a lot of people. I just realized this after I had a brief
conversation with my high school friend a few days ago about our experiences in
high school, and how a trivial thing for me could bear so much weight to
another. In fact, when I reflected on
the things that happened in hindsight, it sounded like a walk in the park, but
in reality, it was more like riding the struggle bus complete with people all
the way up to the roof of the vehicle, me barely hanging on the passenger
seat.
For some, high school was a traumatic event, leaving an
indelible mark in their core and making them see life in a “half empty” glass to
this day, as if they could not get over a rash that would appear seasonally,
like during springtime when the air would be dense with pollen. But then again we did not have spring in the
Philippines so the rash was really a natural revulsion to things related to
adolescence.
For others, those four years were one of the best years of
their lives creating this bubble that trapped them in the phase and couldn’t
move on to the next, unable to leave behind great memories of the past including
those irritating adolescent habits that went with it, like being annoying for
more than half of the time, or just being always angry with the world for no
apparent reason, eye rolls included.
If you would ask me, high school was somewhat
memorable. I would not say it was the
best time of my life because I hated some parts of it, but I’ve come to like it
as much as I have matured. I thought I
would hate the entire experience because of the culture shock that I had to go
through due to the fact that I was not ready to let go of my childhood ways. I was flabbergasted to learn that there were
no more singing in class, and some teachers gave an exam on the first day of
school. What the F! I was not ready. I felt that I was forced to grow up… and also
study. Eventually, I realized that
singing during our elementary years was a way to kill time when our teachers
were bored of our whining, The teachers
we had in high school just didn’t give a shit’s ass of our pubescent attitudes
because they were so used to it. So
instead at being irritated at our immature habits, they just riled us even more
by giving out pop quizzes and threatening to cancel prom if we misbehaved. That was the best defense system any high
school educator could have.
I went through those four years with this microscopic lens and
somewhat photographic memory that I remembered so many details about it, then
decided to spill some beans of all sorts for your entertainment, including the
trauma, horrors, laughter and tears of this memorable phase of my life.
Ahhh, high school. I
wish I could forget it. But I
couldn’t.
I started my freshman year in a different school and
eventually transferred to another one because I felt that I was being left
behind in my Math skills. For my freshman
Math, we had to write the numbers in words, then in roman numerals before we
could finally right them in figures. We
did this exercise for probably two terms before we were introduced to integers
towards the end of the school year. The
other school meanwhile started on integers and by the time they finished the
year, they were already bleeding out basic calculus from different orifices of
their bodies. I stupidly felt that I
needed the challenge, hence I transferred to that school (among other reasons). Believe me, I faced that challenged head on
and struggled fabulously the moment my Math teacher walked in the classroom and
opened the book to page one. I could
never go past page one. I had this knee
jerk reaction to numbers that every time I’d see them, I just saw black and
passed out. I should have known better and
should just stuck to my writing skills and the roman numerals. I could have been an icon. So much for being an ambitious protégé.
In my own honest opinion, true intelligence was wisdom in
Math. I had this obsession with numbers
because I was never good at it. I needed
the kindness of my classmates to tutor me in finding the x,y, z’s (apparently
they have been lost for centuries) because our Math teachers were either always
in a hurry or they only taught those that understood them: the balakayujan experience-
if you don’t get it, Molly, you’re in danger girl. For those unlucky ones that were not very
proficient with integers- it was either luck or favor that made us survive the
subject. I did the latter- I used my
innate look of being frail so I could pass Math.
I was a lanky kid. I
was underweight and did not care for many physical things then. I seldom combed my hair, but then again, my
hair was so fine it did not need combing.
I hated how I looked then because I had body issues. I did not have many
physical evidences of my adolescent existence because I never took pictures of
myself. I hated taking pictures. The few photos I had were the school ID card
which was replaced every year, and the images taken during my graduation day
and one random photo sandwiched in between these years that’s still in the
possession of my friend, proof that I was not a figment of the imagination of
my Chemistry teacher who nominated me for an unexpected award; and we’ll get to
that later.
I had braces during my sophomore year and the only photo of
me with braces on was the previously mentioned school ID card. I was not even looking at the camera: my gaze
was directed to the right because the class clown was trying to mess up the
shot by making faces so I had this stupid grin from ear to ear reflecting a
nerdy row of metal in front of my teeth.
I looked like Betty La Fea in male drag.
My hair unkept and my look was one pair of eyeglasses away from being a
full-fledged nerd. The eyeglasses
eventually found its way into my face during my junior year. That was when a I became an honorary geek, at
least from my exterior. I also remember
that I sported a pair of light blue Sperry topsiders to complete my high school
get up, which was so out of place with the whole look I was going for, but I
didn’t care because it felt comfortable.
By the way, those Sperry’s are
shoes. They looked ridiculous on me with
my high school uniform. And with that, I
just carbon-date myself by describing to you about my fashion.
How I wish my nerdiness translated into my grades, but it
did not do wonders really. I was average
academically I would say. I was never a threat to most of my classmates who
were willing to trade their voices with the Sea Witch for a chance to be at the
top of the class. But in fairness to all
my bright classmates, they were really smart.
I couldn’t catch up with them so I just surrendered to the fact that I could
never become one of the chosen ones- those academic gods and goddesses who
collected medals of merit that announced “Best in Science, English, Home
Economics, and what have you”. Most of
the time, these medals were monopolized by a single person, which was always a
yearly tradition from any graduating class.
And there I was in the audience, clapping and cheering for the true
smart people, wishing that I could have been that person if only I studied
harder. Or sometimes, if only I had
better influences. (Ohh, the shade).
That frail persona earned me a medal as The Most Behaved
Student during my Junior Year. As I
mentioned, that award was unexpected.
Since my Chemistry teacher was our adviser and she favored me very well,
she decided to nominate me for the award during the 3rd year
ceremony. I guess I fooled her into
thinking that my cachectic built translated into a kind heart. When I was in my senior year, I received the
award again, like Tom Hanks winning the Oscar for Philadelphia, and then for
Forrest Gump. And like Tom Hanks, I felt
that somebody else deserved the award on the second go-round. On my Senior year, I was more of a rebel
(well at least to my standards). I thought
that my other classmate deserved it, and I think he expected it. But I did not concede because I think that it
was the only chance I could go up the stage on my final year in high school and
have a medal to myself. He might have
other medals to brag about because he won other contests for being smart. But before I bagged that final consolation
prize of my high school life, apparently one teacher lobbied hard against me. It was because she never forgot a
micro-second glimpse of me with my hands around the neck of one of my
classmates as we joked around entering her classroom. Me and my classmate were literally being
silly and having fun. This particular
teacher was glaring at me the whole time, and decided upon her good heart to humiliate
me in front of everyone. She pointed at
my direction, asked my name and said that she would ask my adviser to subtract
a good chunk of points away from my grade because I was strangling my
classmate’s neck. I was just standing,
shaking my head, trying to voice out an inaudible, “No!....”, wanting to defend
myself but too scared to speak. But she
did not bother asking me what the whole scenario was about. She just walked away. As for my classmate who was part of the joke…Nothing. My classmate just stayed quiet, never
defended me or spoke for my behalf. I
couldn’t blame any of us because we were both afraid.
This same teacher did not want me up the stage collecting my
Most Behaved Award for my senior year.
She remembered that one snapshot of a moving film and interpreted it the
way it looked. To us, we were having fun. For her, I was being murderous.
I still got the award, though. She did not sway the voting committee to deny
me that prize. I guess they knew
better? And my teacher? She is dead
now. Of tuberculosis. At least that’s what my other classmates
would say. You know how kids that age
would weave a story and make it believable, and you tend to believe it because
that was part of your memory? That was
how she died in our own version of reality, coughing all the way into her
grave. She liked to cough. A lot.
And she did not even bother covering her mouth while spraying half of the
class with her very capable fits of hacking.
She was also so brittle you’d think she would fall over when you blow
her a kiss. I guess as kids, we equated
her built and symptoms together and formed this immature conclusion that she
died of TB. Urban high school
legends. And she was a legend, as I did
not forget her. Sometimes, she still
haunts my dreams to this day.
Speaking of haunting, there are people that are born to
torment you no matter how hard you try to avoid them. I remember the official bully in high school
who pestered almost everybody at campus, me included, because that was his way
of entertainment. But instead of me
feeling like a victim, I felt more annoyed at him. He was not the violent bully, but someone who
just liked to irritate the crap out of you.
And since I ignored him all of the time, he got tired of taunting me and
would go on to the next available nerd. I
seriously think that this was his way to defend himself from being teased
because he had a way funnier anecdote about himself than any of us all
combined. He did not want anyone to make
fun of him because he was literally not a good sport. Let’s just say that he got famous because of
his digestive organs and to him, it was horrible being called a specific body
part, so he prevented that by being irritating.
I tried avoiding the school bully for the longest time but
fate always played tricks on me. Like
the time I came for a visit home four years ago, and bumped into him while I
was outside my childhood home. He still
called me the same name he did back then.
It did not bother me really because it did not ring true anymore and it
sounded so futile, which I thought might have frustrated him because he did not
succeed at annoying me. When he realized
that he did not get the effect that he had been hoping for, he retreated into
small talk, asking me how I was, and what I was up to now. I just said, “same old, same old.” I didn’t think it was worth my time to make
him realize that he was still in the same spot when we left him 15 years ago,
while the rest of us have moved on, because by the time my ride pulled up to
the driveway, he already had that realization.
I don’t think that
high school is something merely as a phase.
Sure it is, but it is also more than that. Although cliché, and I am cringing now that
I am typing this because I have probably said this gazillions of times already:
whatever happened during those four years made me what I am today. So whatever fashion choices I made, and
whatever drove me to decide not to have my photo taken at all cost; and whether
my teacher believed that I strangled my classmate to death or that I didn’t
deserve the Most Behaved Award, I’d still go back to those four years. Even though there were no singing involved, I
would still haul my ass in those classrooms knowing that I could either bump
into my terror teacher or the bully that wreaked havoc on all of us because I really
like where I am today. Because if I change one thing from the past, be it my
Sperry shoes or my nerdy glasses, I would probably be stuck somewhere else in
the universe.
April 18, 2021
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