12 Years of Education: A Reflection to Embrace
I’m writing this with a genuine hope that 10 years from now — when I look back at my 12 years of fundamental, rollercoaster education through the lens of this piece — I will smile brightly and tell myself “You have gone through hard things and thrived.”
I apologize if this piece isn’t written as eloquently as you may have wished it to be, but I hope you will capture the message I have to share which means a lot to me. I’m not so much of a writer, but I hope you will stick around to read this till the end.
If someday you happen to fully read this, I thank you for being a part of my education. I thank you not because of the subject you taught me, or the score you handed to me, but because of slapping me to open my eyes and learn, reflect, and forgive the bitter past I’ve encountered. I thank you — yes you — for showing me how painful it was to experience inequality and how tough and tireless I can be to know my worth. Thank you.
I present to you all, a reflection.
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As a student, I was always ashamed when someone asked:
“Tata, where do you study now?”
“Why did you choose that school?”
“Ah, it must be a shame to move to a new school again.”
I would step back behind my mom and smile uncomfortably. I’ve never despised my name, but the way those meddlesome aunties mentioned my nickname made it ring so differently, as if I have been put in a distance where I can never be equally competent like their children — my classmates. I never knew the call of my name would sound so insulting.
2014. I suppose I was in grade 4 when I began to signify them as presumptuous parents who proudly tell the world their children’s achievements, their circle, their private courses, their lifestyle, and in a nutshell, their golden sweetheart. Their name would be so popular in the community’s hearing, both parents and teachers, and the school walls, and I would walk lonely, disregarded. To be completely fair, I was not the only one. Some who were less privileged, were unheard, and hardly got noticed by the teachers. As a generation Z who knew very little of myself and the world, I first felt unbothered. The simple thought of “perhaps one day I will make this school famous from my award” ran around my head. But, I continued to struggle.
I struggled to know what I really liked. I struggled to grasp the reasons behind my low grades. I struggled to pave my path and discover what my passion was. I struggled alone.
I started to question the roles of teachers at school. “Do I really not deserve teachers’ attention merely because of my academic performance?” “Even if I am not the best at academics, why can’t I try to play a role in an annual end-year drama?” And that was when I started to look at myself in the mirror.
Everyday, I would wait impatiently for my mom to pick me up at school, and quickly ran to my room just to stand and look at myself in the mirror. Sometimes I would look in the mirror and hardly recognize the girl I was looking at. Each day, I gradually felt a pain and discomfort wring my throat and tighten my chest. I was so ashamed of having to witness tears streamed down my cheek nearly every single day.
I put my best effort not to study, but to look decent enough to be around my friends and teachers. Oftentimes, when it was about choosing groups of 4 for teamwork, I would be left with a couple of demotivated boys and a girl who faced a similar situation as I did. I would look at my teacher’s face with a scream inside my head “Please, just rearrange the group!” On the other hand, once I received a solid 90, the highest score from an English exam, I would, still, be left in the corner during lunch. The problem here was not about jealousy and sensitivity nor about unwillingness working with the same pupils — it was about equality.
Fairness for each student to grow, learn, and to feel belonged. The rights for every student, regardless of their grades, to be provided with equal protection, cognitive and motivational variables, and to be instilled with self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-appreciation. Every student deserves the right to bond positively with their community, to feel that they have potential and uniqueness, and to gain equal opportunity to perform and network throughout their development phase at school.
Let me emphasize this situation: I was an elementary student. I did not receive any of them.
Elementary (adj.): of, relating to, or dealing with the simplest elements or principles of something.
2015. As months passed by, it became clear to me that I was no longer feeling myself in the place where I should have gained learning and joy. I couldn’t see anyone, nor a single teacher, recognize what had happened to me the past months and that was when I finally had the courage to step out. But worse than that, not a single person told me to stay. None of them admit how mentally breaking it was for me to remain silent for nearly the whole academic year without friends, without help and encouragement from teachers, yet they still happily let me step out to a new place. I moved with a promise firmly instilled in me; I learned and I will never look back.
2016. I graduated from a school that accepted me for who I really am. It was undeniably challenging at first, but this time I was guided and protected by teachers who put all of their heart and soul in providing equal attention and love. I began to discover what I enjoy the most, where I could improve myself, learn to savor dynamics in a completely new environment and appreciate the time I have to be surrounded with the most genuine and brilliant minds.
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With that said, my elementary education has undoubtedly shaped who I really am today. Writing this, I reflected countless occurrences, both sweet and bitter events, from losing in a competition, being betrayed by a couple of friends, to discovering the authenticity I hold as an individual. From visiting Sydney to Yale University for a competition, receiving medals from London, to getting admitted to universities in 3 countries, one thing is clear: I am capable of building the path I wish to pursue.
Regardless of the accomplishments I have obtained these past years, as a human, I can so easily break the promise I’ve made to myself. Admittedly, I still look back. Every time I meet a new teacher, I observe. I may not be the best student, but I can so confidently say that using grades to assess performance at a given moment — performance in a one-shot test — and comparing students, instead of evaluating students’ learning is indisputably a dishonest choice.
If you see the person I am today and perceive me as an ambitious, cheerful, persistent, and whatsoever adjective you would label me as, trust me, it’s the product of an unforgettable past. No, it is not a trauma, it is a so-called darkness that I proudly indulge in the full extent of my emotions. Only then I began to find peace in the imperfection that will always be connected to me.
