Hidden secrets (Part 1)

You know you are old... ... when your primary school classmates re-surfaced after eon years.

You know you are old... ... when all the bitter memories overwhelmed you when you try to recall them.

You know you are old... ... when you hope that the past mischiefs laid hidden in the closet.

I never really enjoy my first schooling experience: that painful period lasted a good whole 6 years. I was an awkward kid with lots of hidden secrets and heavy burdens. I was old for my age, and I was an outcast, be it socially or academically.

I was unhappy.

I know that it was never anyone's fault that I have been forced to grow up quickly. Because of that, I understand human behaviour much earlier than my peers, I lost faith in others, I learnt not to trust anyone, and I have my reservations towards all good happenings. I grew up ruminating in dark corners.

Kids are the most innocent beings, and they could be easily mould by adults. The stark contrast: I grew up pessimistically, while other grew up arrogant and confident. They were mean with their words, and I could still remember the exact words. That smirked face. That jeered tone.

To that classmate whom I remember as an accomplished B_tCh at a tender age of 10 years old;
Why am I inferior to you?
What gave you the rights to torment me with your arrogance?
Who the hell do you think you are to inflict me with such pain?
How dare you try to influence my peers to look at me the same way you did?
Just because I was poor, I was slow in learning, and I was ugly compared to you?

To that teacher whom I still can remember how the "snake brand power" smelled on her shrivelled hands;
Just because the whole class lost the fund-raising due to my meagre donation?
Just because my mother doesn't speak english?
Just because I am not as bootlicking as those kids who knows how to suck up at you?
You failed as a teacher.

I went to bed with quiet tears, and unspoken fears.

I grew up mis-understood.

All those years, my mother thought I was a problem child, rebellious and filled with anger. I was always screamed at for causing problems in school. I never told my mother the truth, for the truth will break her. I am the inconsiderate, bad daughter.

The past is back to haunt me, and I realised I had never let go... I just pretended all these never exist.

My wounds are hurting once more, those thorns that I had buried deep within me has tear through my flesh.