 We continue on our journey through public school. This one may end up a little more jumbly than the previous post, because there are many overlapping layers and energies. I have a harder time separating events from one another. Before we begin, it's entirely possible I am mixing people's names up throughout this entire exercise, and that's probably for the best. I remember last names, but I won't share them for the sake of privacy. So, if names get jumbled too, well, that's also for the sake of privacy. There's a reason certain names are coming across with certain people. Now, I shall not worry too much about it and keep going. You know who you are if I'm talking about you. I sat thinking about Matthew and his strangeness after writing the previous post. I talked to my soul about him, and she believes he was a Solatian step-down. This is why his parents were in their 60's, but somehow had a child who was so young. (I remember being puzzled by their age as a kid.) Why all of them had the same white hair and bright blue eyes. And why I could never seem to find out much about his home life--also why weirdly enough, we never visited each other's houses. Nevertheless, his family liked me an awful lot and I liked them an awful lot. And I get the strong feeling now they were very careful about permitting their son to spend time, especially romantically, with just anyone. Anyway, thank you, all three of you, for the experience. It helped my soul heal some of its loneliness from earlier years and lifetimes. You gave me an energetic and cultural "taste" of home, and I suppose I did the same for you as you were a long way from home yourselves. And here I am with a signature close enough to home and an energy field the size of a small city. Now I'm sure his ears are burning right now, and they're gonna burn some more, because he features quite a bit in this part of the story. Don't worry, I'll do you honorable justice, my friend. Let's go onward...to sixth grade. Where I live, sixth grade is the start of "middle school", which comprises 3 years of schooling with the intended purpose of preparing children to adapt to the more rigorous schedules and concepts of "high school". For me, this was a very tumultuous time. I mean, for everyone it was, but personally it was a bit topsy-turvy. Anyway, sixth grade means I have a locker. Mine is on the west side of the school near my "home room". It also means I have different classes in different rooms throughout the day, so the idea of being "late" for a class becomes a thing. Home room, for those who do not know Earth school structures, is the first room you go to each morning where you receive overall information for the day. This is where updates to your schedule are presented, changes in classrooms, and any other information you might need about school functions and announcements. We call it home room, but let's face it, it's a briefing room. (I'm giggling at this idea now. Like we're all in the military.) I like having a locker, because it means I don't have to carry everything with me and I have my own "territory" in the school. There's a moment, however, a magical moment at my locker. One day, I drop my books on the floor and there's papers everywhere. And I say "Shit!" Then I panic. I wait for the hand of God to punish me for swearing. Nothing happens. I relax, and enjoy the fact that I just said a cuss word and nothing bad happened. Of course, I quickly realize I can't say this in front of teachers, but I do find myself employing an expletive every now and then. Feels good. Unfortunately, I find out my Spanish friend from fifth grade is not in this school. She's going to another one. This happens a lot in childhood on Earth. But Matthew is here. He's on the opposite side of the school where the older kids are. That side of the school ends up becoming a "dangerous" side to me because of the number of drug busts in lockers in later years. But that hasn't happened yet. So, now it's not dangerous. Just out of the way. We have all the same gifted classes together, which is nice. And because the school we're going to is bigger, we don't go to another school for those classes. Instead, sixth grade, gifted class is once a day and held outside in a trailer. Yes, the school is bigger, but they can't fit everything in one place. I recognize other kids from my classes, too. And other kids who weren't in the gifted program before are now. Samantha is another one who comes to mind. And a Vietnamese girl who ends up becoming a good friend to me in this time, I want to say her name was Sam. She's so tiny! And spirited. I just want to cuddle her she's so funny and excitable. (Hello little me.) I remember at one point, she teaches me to write in Thai, because I love their curly script. My gifted teacher in this year is a very unusual woman, even for me. She tells us on her first day in class that her dream way to die is to climb to the top of a tree and be struck by lightning. I think this is a bizarre and funny thing to share with children, but okay. You do you. She also likes to sing while she grades our papers. Her voice is lovely, and I like that she does this. Much of this year is spent learning psychology and how the mind works and is structured. We're given lots of interesting tests to discover how our selves are configured. I love this part. I learn that in Myers Briggs, I'm an INFJ. That in terms of brain functions, I am right in the middle of being left-brained and right-brained with a slight preference to the right. I discover that a couple of other kids are like this, but most are one or the other. I find this interesting even at 11. Things that make you go "Hmm..." Other classes are interesting. I take algebra and do well, except when it comes to arithmetic parts of it. This ends up making me fail over and over on tests. That bothers me, and I have to work extra hard to make sure all the annoyingly precise bits are correct. I take an art class and when it comes to learning how to draw perspective, I realize I already know how to draw in perspective. My teacher is amazed by this. She asks who taught me. I tell her my great-uncle showed me the idea, but I also just get it. This statement is true. I spend as much time as I can hanging out with Matthew between classes. We walk each other to class and sit next to each other at lunch. Everyone thinks this is adorable. I find him to be exceptionally responsible, and he never lets me be late. And still is so old-fashioned about the whole thing. Some time before the end of the year, I get my ears pierced. Also, there's a school dance. Matthew asks me to it, and he's so serious about it. I love it. We dance, and we're both awkward because it's not something we do much. But we can't stop smiling at each other, and I can see out of the corner of my eye his parents can't stop smiling, either. My mother thinks it's cute, but is also anxious about me being with a boy. I don't know what she thinks I'm going to do at the time. (Now I know. She thinks I'm like her and can't keep my hands to myself. I'll have you know I was very good, too good, at keeping my hands to myself. I probably could have done with a little bit of not keeping my hands to myself. But I digress.) Seventh grade. There's a reason I have glasses as the photo for this post. This is the year I suddenly become myopic. (How symbolic?) It happens very quickly over the course of 6 months. I go from able to read the board at the back of the class, to having to squint at the front of the class. Everyone thinks I sit in front because I want to be a "teacher's pet" or favorite. No. I cannot see the board and it's giving me headaches to squint all the time. We do an eye test in the school as part of our yearly health check up. They tell me I need glasses. I cry, because my whole family wears glasses and I don't want to wear them like them. But there's no option. I cannot read the board, and I can't go around with migraines from eye strain. Everyone reassures me I look just fine with glasses, cute even. Still... Anyway, this is the year of sexual education classes, home economics, band, bullies, and periods. Where to begin, good grief. Let's start with band. Seventh grade is the year we get to join band or orchestra. At the beginning of the year, they have try outs where you go and experience different instruments to see what you like. To this day, I kick myself for not choosing cello. Instead, I chose clarinet, because I loved the sound it made and I loved the jazz music the teacher was playing. Except...well, the woodwind section of band does not play jazz music. They play marching band songs. Still, I like learning music. I'm okay at it. I do best when I get to hear the piece first and then I play half by ear and half by sheet music. This presents a problem later when we're encouraged to compete and play only from sheet music. Band class is great, except our teacher has a short temper and there are a lot of lazy students. One of them keeps getting put next to me. She's jealous of me, or so my mother tells me, so she spends every band class quietly digging her nails into my thigh and saying horrible things about me, my mother, and Matthew. I try not to cry, because then the teacher will yell at me, but eventually I do tell somebody. The school doesn't really help here. They don't even get her moved to another class. Eventually, I learn how to ice her out, ignore her and deny her the pain she wants. I can endure lots of pain in silence, I learn. Matthew wishes he could help, but he's not in band. Plus he can't go beat up a girl for me. I agree, that'd be unfair. Sexual education in Earth public school is a programming experience from hell. My word. First, they spend all of it embarrassing you with your biology. Then they terrify you with pregnancy. Then they terrify you again with all the diseases you can catch. Then, they make it out like any kind of touching of anybody is going to lead to all kinds of unfortunate things. No fun police! There's no discussion about emotional intimacy in any real sense. Just fear-mongering the whole time. Anyway, I'm 12, and I feel like I'm far too young to be bombarded with this stuff. I'm not interested in any of those things. It doesn't even occur to me that I could kiss Matthew let alone do anything else with him. Holding hands is good enough. At some point in the winter, I want to say it was January, I get my period. The realization that I will have to deal with this every month for the rest of my life sits heavy with me. That seems like an awful lot. Why is it so frequent? No one can answer this question. They say, "That's just how it is." I come to hate this answer. "That's just how it is." "That's just how we do it." The inexorability of that statement pains me every time I hear it, even this young. "Well, change it!" "There are some things in life you can't change." I disagree vehemently. I don't know why. I just do. My heart bucks at this mentality. Doesn't like it one bit. Home economics classes also start. This is supposed to teach you how to do practical things around the house, but I find the lessons weak and half-hearted. I can cook better than my teacher. I do, however, learn a couple of stitches useful in repairing my clothes, so that's nice. Otherwise, I find the class boring in the extreme. I already learned how to balance a checkbook and budget and invest from my gifted classes earlier in the year. Here they're just doing how to write a check. I start to see a difference in intelligence between those in gifted classes and those who are not. I also start to clue in on what the "gifted program" is all about and why it's there. I feel troubled in noticing the differences. Hmm. One last thing. This year I get to take a foreign language class. Matthew and I both take French together. We're both good at it. There's another dance at the end of the year, and Matthew and I go. Again, he's so serious about the experience. Not that he isn't funny sometimes or light-hearted, but he takes our relationship very seriously for a 12-year-old. I find I like that, but it also makes me nervous, because I also know I'm only 12. He also looks different from any other kid. Not in a weird way. Just the bone structure in his face is more masculine while at the same time his nature is very soft and gentle. Most boys don't look so masculine at 12. They still look like boys with soft, round faces. And most boys aren't so sensitive. Interesting observations. There's also a duality here of us feeling very old and very young at the same time. No one else in my life exposes this feeling of being my soul and my incarnated self at the same time. Eighth grade. This year is harder to remember. I remember this is the year gifted classes were all about learning how to debate, which I don't like doing, and also learning the Punnett Square for genetics. I also learned how to greet people in Japanese. Ah, yes, this is the year Pokémon became a big obsession with me. We had a Japanese girl come to the school, and she was most interesting. And probably overly bombarded. I remember sitting in the gym with her and my Vietnamese friend, Sam. We wanted her to feel welcome and not like a stranger. I seem to recall there was also a field trip out to a Japanese restaurant, and Sam shows me how Asian people drink their soup. "You eat all the solids with the spoon, and then you just drink the broth out of the cup." I find this fascinating and sensible. I take up this practice myself, much to my mother's horror. It's here when I learn that I am like a cultural sponge. I soak up other cultures with exceptional speed and ease. I can become anyone, easily. At some point during the year, I get some girls trying to bully me, but it doesn't work very well. I also learn I enjoy field hockey, but no one plays this sport where I live, so it's just a for fun thing we do in gym classes. We start trying to decide on our careers. At first, I want to be a veterinarian, because I love animals. Then I decide I want to be an artist. That feels more accurate. My parents worry about making money. I am unconcerned with this. We also take computer classes, and I'm taught how to type on a keyboard. There's also a curious experience where the videos they show us about how computers are constructed all come from 1985, and it's 1999. I wonder why they haven't bothered to update the videos. We don't use floppy disks anymore. It puzzles me. But the point is to learn how to use a keyboard accurately, so I let it go. There's also a moment where Matthew and I part ways. I cannot explain this beyond the following... There was an increasing seriousness between the two of us, and yet a distance also. Like something was warning us against becoming much closer than we were. Not that anything bad would happen. Just that it wasn't supposed to go much further than it was, and we were both picking up on it. It is by far the simplest, gentlest, and strangest break up that I have ever experienced. The conversation wasn't even that long or emotionally strained. It's like we both agreed before we even opened our mouths that it was time for us to go separate ways. (I think he and I and other souls that are involved in our lives all discussed this at night when we were sleeping. There are certain plans my soul had with certain other souls.) This happens at the end of the school year, and I don't think I ever saw him again. I find as I go through my life, I think of him now and again. It's always a happy thought and a feeling of comradery and completion. I hope you enjoyed. That is all for today. (grin)
I thank you for your time. Adiamas. --Kryiel Comments are closed.
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