It's 2015. Happy 2015. I set a resolution to not be so broken, which is vague like shit.
Yesterday night, I've been thinking about life (as usual). The same shit over and over again. I thought I've known everything about my life. Indeed, I do. But knowing doesn't change anything. Actions speak louder than words; it's a damn cliche saying.
I have to understand, not just know.
I was born in a perfect family, with loving parents and a really good environment. I wasn't rich (and no, I'm still not rich now), but we were (and still are) a happy family. I was the only child (and still am; like, really, I hate the fact that using past tenses sometimes causes misunderstandings). Back then, the world revolved around me; mistakes I made were easily forgiven, parents wouldn't get mad for more than ten minutes, I had almost everything I wanted.
Living in a home without siblings is different; I didn't exactly knew how to communicate with peers. Well, I'm sure I had friends in kindergarten, but at that age, almost every kid's the most innocent thing in the world. There are good kids and there are naughty kids. I was a good kid (I'm still a good kid, I think?).
I learned how to talk to people. I learned about "friends". What is a friend? I didn't know. I learned that friends were people that are good to me (oh wow). But to me and my innocent mind, everyone was my friend. Yes, this includes adults, who normally wouldn't be associated as friends. I talked to teachers, to parents, to air stewardesses (okay, this is getting weird) like I was talking to "friends".
There are no bad guys in this world, it's so good!
Alright, about the air stewardesses. I distinctly recall that I went over to a bunch of air stewardesses and talked absolute crap to them when I was six. You know, kids' crap. Oh, I told them about my watch. The watch topic lasted exactly three seconds. The entire conversation lasted the whole flight (I think it was a flight from Indonesia to Malaysia). It doesn't help that it was a fucking empty flight.
Everyone was good.
Well, innocence can't last forever. I entered primary school and the teachers were so fucking mean. They had wooden canes and obnoxiously loud voices and perpetual frowns on their faces and oh my gosh they looked like monsters damn look at those fierce eyes they're gonna eat me oh nononono.
Frankly, I still hate most of them now. Some were genuinely nice, but the majority were shit.
And what's with staying in school for fucking six hours a day? Fuck. I wanna go back home and be with my parents and play video games and live a good life.
I was terrified. My parents know that. My dad actually had to talk to the class teacher. The talk was productive. She can't scold me. She can't punish me. She can't hit me with that fucking long cane. The reason? I was a good boy. Okay.
But I was still scared. I was in a prison. Every adult in that prison was angry. Where are all the good guys? Oh my gosh, I'm going to die.
So much homework. What the fuck.
I hated primary school so much. I still hate it now.
When I think of it now, yes, most of my primary school teachers were genuinely fucking mean. And no, I'm no longer the innocent kid like I was back then, but that doesn't change my opinion on them.
A kid got caned ten times because she forgot to bring her book. She cried. The teacher was mad. She caned her some more. And more. Not just to the hand, but to the abdomen, to the arm, to her knees, thighs, back. I counted. 58 times. If a teacher does that to my children, I'll sue her to hell. I'll embarrass the fuck out of her in front of the whole damn school. I'll also embarrass the principal too, and make him feel so bad that he might just kill the entire teacher's family out of pure spite. I hope he does.
Or I could just repeatedly stab the teacher in the neck with a ballpoint pen, or scissors, if that's legal.
Yes, some people might say "well, getting caned 58 times is better than being fired by your boss for not bring some important documents"; but for fuck's sake, they're fucking kids.
You see, I'm still mad now, although this happened back in 2005. This, along with many other undocumented cases of teachers not respecting children, made me fearful of teachers.
Nah, not really, I still liked them. I was close to many of my teachers all the way until secondary school.
Well, here comes the broken part. My mind believed that everyone is still good, that this world is good, that I'm living a good life; my subconscious is the one that feared teachers. After a while, this fear extended to pretty much all adults except my parents and anyone in my family tree.
Okay, so I kinda hated adults, but my friends were alright...?
So I had this close friend. He was probably my "best" friend. We were friends since 2003. We talked about everything, if "everything" is defined as "video games".
There was an incident.
It happened in primary school, I think it was the year 2006. I was still pretty damn innocent. I believed that everything everyone say is good.
"Hey, I can throw this pile of chalks further than you can!"
It was a friendly competition. I was happy. We were on the second floor of a building lined with classrooms, facing the field. In between the building (us) and the field was a stretch of road. All are within the school's compound.
Okay. It was a fun game. There was almost no one in the school back then (we were there for some extra-curricular arithmetic classes). I happily went back home. I didn't know that what I've done was vandalism. To me, it was just a game.
So life goes on. The vice-principal discovered chalks on the field and road. She announced about it during the weekly assembly. Me and my friend promised not to tell anyone.
Somehow, I still didn't know that what I've done is a punishable mistake. I didn't even think about the aftermath, nor feel any guilt.
Imagine you're playing a video game and you kill three virtual men. I'm pretty sure that most of you probably will not even think about being charged for killing three real men, cause there's a pretty big distinction between reality and fantasy. So, yeah, that was pretty much me during the incident.
A few weeks later, this very friend suddenly went and made a report on this. He told the prefects that he knew who was behind this incident. He told me, right at my face, that I'm in trouble.
Okay.
I tried pleading with him, but he didn't care. He seemingly did all that out of pure amusement.
Again, I was scared. My mind outright refused to believe what happened, but my subconscious was fucking terrified. However, my mind casually ignored my subconscious, and life went on pretty well.
So he told the vice-principal that I was the sole perpetrator of the incident.
Okay.
I'll end this post here. This is probably, like, part 1 out of 5. I think. Maybe. I don't know. But my life is a pretty interesting story.
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