Bullying Made Me a Better Writer.
When I was in first grade, I loved learning a lot. Education was everything to me. I looked forward to waking up and going to class every weekday morning. I was active in class and participated in answering questions quite often. I was one of the best students in our class.
When I was in second grade, Jeremy joined the school as a fourth-grade student. Within two months, he had become one of the most popular boys in school. Jeremy came from a wealthy family, and to me, he was mean and selfish.
He hated me for no reason. He constantly made fun of how I ate, how I dressed, and even how I walked. He called me ugly names and beat me whenever we accidentally met at the school’s playground. His favorite name for addressing me was ‘little piglet’ because I was chubby.
He constantly warned me against reporting him to my parents or my class teacher because this would worsen the situation. “My father has the money to take me to another school. I am unstoppable,” he would say to me every time he kicked or slapped me.
The most embarrassing thing he did to me was when I was in third grade. Our school organized an art competition. Each student was to draw a picture of an animal of their choice and create a story about that animal’s characteristics.
Jeremy’s drawing was among the best. He was asked to read his story to the other students in the school auditorium. We were all quietly seated as were waited for him to begin reading his story.
“This story is titled, my little piglet.” My piglet is fat because all it does is eat all day long. My piglet is timid also afraid of me and running away at the sight of me…”
When he finished telling his story, the entire school was cheering for him apart from me. I was in tears not because anyone had physically tortured me but because someone had mentally abused me. Although Jeremy had not admitted publicly that the story was about me, I knew deep within that the little piglet he had drawn and written a story about was me. Later in the day, my fears were confirmed when he shouted at me, “Goodnight piglet,” as he boarded the evening school bus.
From that day, I started hating school. I dreaded the 6.30 am sound of my alarm clock because it meant I had to go to school and face Jeremy day after day. I was withdrawn and rarely spoke to anyone. My class concentration was affected, and I could not understand anything that the teachers taught anymore.
I was always anxious whenever the teacher told me to speak before my classmates in class. As they stared at me, all I could imagine was that they saw me as a fearful and fat little piglet. When we were required to work on assignments in groups, I would always find a way of ensuring that I only speak when I must. The academically gifted group members would often talk while the timid ones like me would nod our heads in agreement.