MATRIC 40 DAYS !!!!
A vivid childhood memory / The art of enetertainment
I've never loved school, so much so that many times I am referred to as a part time student. I never liked school because among many other things we have to wear uniform. I love clothes and wearing clothes and being forced to wear uniform took away the very essence of who I am.
OK maybe that's a bit dramatic but still. Civies day (A day where the school feels kind and they allow you to wear normal clothes "civies") was always an anticipated day and while most girls resorted to the standard black tights (While I'm on this topic TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS!!! I'll return to this in another post) with a T-shirt and another shirt tied around them, I pulled out all the stops. I always dressed as it was fashion week because in my head it always is. But after that we returned to normal uniform and I hated it, I still do! Thankfully there are only 40 days left and after that (we have finals) no one is going to tell me what length my fingernails can and cannot be, whether my hair should or should not be tied up and how it should be tied and no one is going to tell me how to sit during assemblies, hopefully there won't be anymore compulsory assemblies but if there is I will happily go and sit front seat in my blood red fur coat, long black nails, excessive gold jewlery and with my hair tied half up and half down, simply because I can!
Sometime last week we were asked to write an essay for English class about a “vivid or moving memory from your childhood”. I thought my essay was rather light hearted and relevant seeing that its 40 DAYS so I’ve decided to share it with you all.
I remember the day as if it was yesterday. To my dismay I was woken up before the crack of dawn itself, well at least it felt like it. The wallowing darkness of the night had disappeared and the pleasantness of the dewy sunlight in conjunction with the cartoonish melody of chirping birds outside my bedroom window, had set the tone for a good day. Until I remembered I had to go to school. It was a Monday and although it was only the second Monday of my pre-schooling career, I had already begun to despise the very thought of it. Before I started attending school, Mondays were quite wonderful. Mondays were like a well-deserved break from the weekend. You see when I was younger weekends not the “mozy”, relaxing, breakfast-in-bed type of weekends most people have, or at least I like to think they have. To put it simply weekends were filled with people. From the moment my parents came home, from whatever magical place I believed then that they went to every morning, there would be adults, children and babies alike strolling in and out of the house. Indian people are not famed to be the greatest artists but INDIAN PEOPLE are absolute masters in the art of entertainment. Whilst I preferred more conventional art, like Picasso and Finger painting, I did participate (many times unwillingly) in my parents preferred art. At this point in my life I was an only child and whilst attention was always pleasant to receive during the week, it was not the case during the weekend. Aunts, Uncles, cousins and family friends all wanted to squeeze a check and tell me how much I’ve grown and participate in other acceptable forms of small talk. They also needed to be tended to and it was my job to tend to anyone who was below the age of “Look, I can tie my shoelaces!”. It was exhausting and so Mondays were my days to relax and recuperate. Now that I look back it seems the rest of the week all I did was eat and attempt to grow. And I was very content with doing just that but I quickly learnt that all good things do come to an end. And so the absolute end to my blissful happiness came with the realization that my parents had woken me up this early to go to school. |
I tried everything in my absolute power to make them not send me to the horrifically plain building where everything had a time and place and no one was safe from the excruciating pain that was, stepping on a single Lego block. First I tried acting sick. That failed. Then I tried a temper tantrum followed by a crying tantrum, which both failed. All my attempts had failed and after all of that I just remember feeling well fed and being upset about something whilst sitting in the back of my Father’s car. As my Father endlessly drove, I remember marvelling at the Jacaranda trees and the soft pink flowers that fell from them and covered the streets as if we were in a Princess movie and mother nature was preparing for some other majestical event. Event! Weekend! Monday! With a sudden burst of rage I snapped out of my pleasant pink and purple butterfly, rainbow and unicorn infested daydream and I remembered why I was feeling so upset! I was going to school! Again!! And to make matters worse I was wearing a dress!!!!!
I had a serious opposition to dressed. Whilst I was still quite the “girly-girl” and I enjoyed all things Barbie and pink. I did not like other girls. I found them pretty and boring so I would always rather play with the boys. The boys didn’t mind that I was a girl. To them I was just another mate, another pirate or soldier but how was I to be the captain of the ship in a dress!? How were we to play stuck in the mud if I was supposed to “act like a respectable lady at all times. . .”? And so I had no other choice to sit with the girls as they giggled endlessly and mundane nothings ad played only with each other’s hair as if to say that playing with toys or stuck-in-the-mud with the boys was to passé’ for them. My teacher saw how I was drowning in misery and I suppose she felt sorry for me so she borrowed me a spider man T-shirt and a pair shorts with multi-coloured dinosaurs on them and I quickly joined the boys outside. |
Perhaps it was not the dress or waking up early in the morning that made me hate school so very much but rather all the complicated unspoken, unwritten and mundane social rules that came along with school that I disliked.
Never the less, that night my parents and I had sat down together and we negotiated and settled on a compromise. I will go to school but only if I’m not wearing a skirt or a dress. After all who was going to lead the boys to victory in the battle against putting on lotion and brushing hair if I wasn’t there?
Never the less, that night my parents and I had sat down together and we negotiated and settled on a compromise. I will go to school but only if I’m not wearing a skirt or a dress. After all who was going to lead the boys to victory in the battle against putting on lotion and brushing hair if I wasn’t there?
Shot by Lwa M
a.k.a Lwa The Great
a.k.a Lwa The Great