"Title I Will Come Up with Later " by Varsha H

Never in my life would I willingly write a piece for a blog. It’s just not something I’d do. I dislike writing, and I am not necessarily one to share my open thoughts.

I realize this isn’t a good thing.

 But I can’t help it.

On one hand, I’m stuck on my own thoughts as if I was having pretend conversations with myself. On another, I find myself more captivated to listen to the words of others. In a current world so noisy, everyone wants to be heard. They all scream their opinions in hopes of being louder.

I could never do that. I am much too socially awkward to even get up and blow my nose in the corner of the classroom.

These people care about something though. So strongly so, they abandon their self-doubts and become vulnerable to a world of eyes and ears. They say things that need to be said, and do things that need to be done.

This I can admire. I care for things too.

Like my grade for example.

And so true to that, I write this with my honest effort, because that’s what needs to be done. As for what needs to be said, that’s subjective to what you understand.

I however appreciate those who took the time to “listen” to my voice in this case.

And so, it begins. (disclaimer: no real names will be used as I describe these people. I also do not refer to anyone who has attended or does attend our school).

I remember from the second grade being a very active child, quite the opposite to how I am now. I had an okay group of “friends.” (more like terribly awful children whom I had no choice but to socialize with because they were my age at the time). We had our fun. I would only ever hang out with them during afterschool day care hours. I liked Bertha the best, she was that seemingly nice but as fake as vegan meat friend. When I sat on Humberto’s head by accident during a rousing game of cops and robbers, she was among the crew that gave me the silent treatment.

I did not appreciate this Bertha. (I apologized as soon as I sat on him! The silent treatment was so petty.)

It was an innocent accident, like so many other incidents in our childhood years. Half of the arguments I had with my “friends” were discarded as useless information. Yet some stayed with me like that silly moment.

One thing I never knew though was how those seemingly futile moments could impact us for the rest of our lives. Bertha and Humberto taught me how not to get heated up over little issues. But Bartholomew, a mere acquaintance, exposed me to a different truth I could never comprehend at that age.

Bartholomew was a skirt chaser. Literally. I remember as a second grader running away from him multiple times. It was innocent fun, like a game of tag. All the girls liked the attention. It was the era of cooties and crushes. Receiving that attention from a guy made you feel special, because he “liked you.” It was commonly known that Bartholomew had a specific crush on me. I never knew why as a child I felt validated by that fact. But I did know one thing about how I felt when Bartholomew said those incomprehensible words:

“I only like you when your hair is straight.”

Hurt. Imperfect. Unworthy. Unattractive.

That’s what the “me” in the past would have felt.  I say “incomprehensible” because at the time I didn’t understand the true meaning behind those words: “I don’t like who you are.”

Yet – the “me” right now would however say: “************ Bartholomew”

And I would repeat those words to anyone else who thought the same.

I don’t feel it’s necessary to put my point into words for you. That’s more work on my part. But it’s clear that I don’t allow you to make any drastic conclusions.

I don’t hate Bartholomew. He’s just my central character who I thought would best reflect my point. Of course, there are plenty others who represent my case. But Bartholomew was a funny looking kid, who said dumb things.

In a current world so noisy, everyone wants to be heard. They all scream their opinions in hopes of being louder. While I think it is important to listen. It is also important to block out nonsense. Not everyone is worth hearing, and not everyone has something valuable to say. Certainly not Bartholomew.

As a kid, I wish I understood this before it took such an effect on me.

But I’m glad I can come to terms now with it now.