10-24-1877
Grades
I got my grades today.
Sobrasaliente, like nine other students in class. What is the point of being the best, when there are nine other people who are just as much of "the best" that you are? What, therefore, is the logic behind grades in the first place? Should we not instead by assigned numbers, in descending order, to really know the demarcation between ourselves and our classmates?And if I was not awarded the number uno I would kill whoever was.
There is very little to talk about with regards to school. I'm bullied by the Spaniards in class for being small and thin, and I'm bullied by the teachers for knowing too much. It's not my place to know so much, I'm just an indio etc etc etc. I haven't got much patience for these pompous stuffed shirts here at Ateneo Municipal. The only positive thing about going to this school is the carved ceilings.
I had to change my name to Rizal, because of Paciano's association with Burgos. Why does it suddenly become my fault that I'm an Alonzo y Mercado? What kind of name is Rizal anyway? Hay. Not only am I picked on, but I had to change my name, and I'm not even the best at what I do.
I lead an unfulfilling life. Would that I were like the patriotic Filipinos who have lunch under the trees in the quad. I tried to join them for a spirited conversation one afternoon, but that effort was thwarted when this fell on me. Even nature has conspired against me!
Besides, the Filipinos there that day have, on more than one occasion, have left unpleasant "gifts" in my shoes after gym class. I think that the worm that fell on me was instead saving my principles, while sacrificing my skin. As I write this, I cannot help but scratch at my newfound freedom from conformity!
...I'm just fooling myself. I got attacked by caterpillar itch, and my trying to euphemize it makes it itch even more. Confound that infernal tree! Before this year is over, I vow to carve a bust of my choosing from the wood of that tree, and I shall enjoy cutting it down.
Itchy and unsatisfied,
Pepe
I got my grades today.
Sobrasaliente, like nine other students in class. What is the point of being the best, when there are nine other people who are just as much of "the best" that you are? What, therefore, is the logic behind grades in the first place? Should we not instead by assigned numbers, in descending order, to really know the demarcation between ourselves and our classmates?And if I was not awarded the number uno I would kill whoever was.
There is very little to talk about with regards to school. I'm bullied by the Spaniards in class for being small and thin, and I'm bullied by the teachers for knowing too much. It's not my place to know so much, I'm just an indio etc etc etc. I haven't got much patience for these pompous stuffed shirts here at Ateneo Municipal. The only positive thing about going to this school is the carved ceilings.
I had to change my name to Rizal, because of Paciano's association with Burgos. Why does it suddenly become my fault that I'm an Alonzo y Mercado? What kind of name is Rizal anyway? Hay. Not only am I picked on, but I had to change my name, and I'm not even the best at what I do.
I lead an unfulfilling life. Would that I were like the patriotic Filipinos who have lunch under the trees in the quad. I tried to join them for a spirited conversation one afternoon, but that effort was thwarted when this fell on me. Even nature has conspired against me!
Besides, the Filipinos there that day have, on more than one occasion, have left unpleasant "gifts" in my shoes after gym class. I think that the worm that fell on me was instead saving my principles, while sacrificing my skin. As I write this, I cannot help but scratch at my newfound freedom from conformity!
...I'm just fooling myself. I got attacked by caterpillar itch, and my trying to euphemize it makes it itch even more. Confound that infernal tree! Before this year is over, I vow to carve a bust of my choosing from the wood of that tree, and I shall enjoy cutting it down.
Itchy and unsatisfied,
Pepe