(no subject)
Wednesday, June 7, 2006 Appromixately 8:03 p.m. (I guessed)
Dear Diary, I really wanted to have to deal with whatever I had today, but sometimes things are too normal or abnormal I want to end it all. This isn’t a suicidal thought. I am not depressed. Anymore. I just find myself bored with life and not knowing what could possibly quench my thirst for something more. What can I expect anymore? There is hardly any difference with yesterday and today and tomorrow perhaps. That way I believe the only way to find the greatest peace with any burdens would be death. Death will come for me someday. But how much more longer, I wonder?
Once again, I woke up this morning straight at 6:58 a.m. before my alarm would ring at 7:02 a.m. I was actually awake much earlier, but half asleep. I always hear Mom come upstairs after finishing breakfast for a quick bathroom break. The sound of her footsteps are easy to detect. Everyone walks differently in this house. Mom always wears slippers, but recently has changed to purple sandals she bought in Taipei. She walks at a slow pace; never rushing, but her sandals just slightly brush against the floor when she walks; one foot up, one foot down, etc. Daddy walks heavily. He wears no slippers or shoes, or even socks in the house. The soles of his feet beat against the floor as if he is power walking at a fast pace. His heels are cracked and dried out skin. Panda licks it sometimes, which is gross. One time Dad was sitting in the kitchen with his heel at the edge of the seat cushion. He was using a small pointy knife; the kind on nail clippers used to dig dirt out of peoples’ nails. The dried skin that came off was on the floor. I had to sweep it up before Panda started to sniff at it like it was food. Dad walks especially hard on the staircase. Because of the plastic covered paper towels and entire can of Coco Cola we use on the first step at the bottom of the staircase (preventing Panda from climbing upstairs), Daddy always kind of leaps onto the second or third step when going upstairs. When he comes upstairs, he runs up. He walks loudly across the hall and I can just sense him coming. Dad used to wake me up in the morning for school, and that’s why I say I can sense him. I would be asleep, but I always slept very lightly. Even though I dreamt, it didn’t really feel like I was. While I was asleep, I would still be sort of sensitive to the consciousness world. When I would hear Dad’s footsteps up the stairs, I would feel the own thudding of my heart in anticipation because I was expecting Dad to burst into my room. Once he did, I would “wake” fully, but I’d always awaken startled out of my mind. I would remember hearing his footsteps too and at the exact moment his footsteps reached my room, I’d feel that burst of light going on in my dream, which made me become conscious again. I wasn’t ever hallucinating this because when I woke up, Dad really was in my room. Plus I’d always wake up the moment Dad turned the knob of my door and burst into my room. In the dream, I would only hear the sounds, but the images weren’t very clear to me. Once I’d awaken, the sounds of the key chain hanging on the outside knob of my door would be slowly hitting against the door and stop after a few seconds from the impact of the door opening. What is this thing anyway? Look, I’m jumping from topic to topic too fast. This happens all too often. The morning was usual. Wake up, put on clothes, gather together my things into the book bag, and go to the bathroom. This morning I had to bring my Social Studies book back to school for returning. Mr. Zawatsky said everyone had to in order to have a grade for his class. I was supposed to also return this Earth Science book (Daley’s), but I don’t feel like it. Mr. Wallace didn’t have my book receipt, but I can’t find Ms. Scacalossi anywhere. No time. The Social Studies book was uber heavy in my book bag. In the bathroom, I use the toilet, brush my teeth, wash my face quickly, and comb my hair neatly. Then I head downstairs to the living room. It is 7:08 a.m. First, dump my book bag onto the left most side of the couch after pulling down the cushions. Then I go to greet Panda; petting him on the head. He’s usually still in his bed. Dad sets up breakfast for me, but I wish he’d let me do it myself. It’s just soup with rice in it and a tall tea cup with warm water in it. That’s all I have for breakfast these days. It’s not much, but it takes little time to prepare it when I’m on the go in about 18 minutes. I sit on the floor in front of my soup on the coffee table. It’s less convenient to sit on the couch and eat it like that. You can call me lazy, but I don’t like eating it on the couch. What if I spill it? Such a mess that would be. Dad comes back from the train station he dropped Mom off and automatically heads to the kitchen. He closes the front door half way and leaves it semi-open. He forgets to take out his key, so I pull it out and hang it slightly in the box of our house keys.
The television is on; the small t.v., mind you, since the big one is still unfixed seemingly. I always watch the WB 11 channel 11 news before going to school. I never get to watch the whole program of news, which sucks sometimes.
When Dad asked if I wanted to make the sandwich to eat at school, I declined to the offer even when he said he could make it. I only finished half of my soup and left some rice over too. Dad tells me to bring an umbrella to school, but I sigh with discontent; not really wanting to since I already have that heavy book in my bag. But I go up to my room to get the umbrella from last time anyways just in case I get caught in the rain after school.
The train station was the same. I need not explain much. As I handed Dad back the metrocard I used, I noticed the same woman from days and days ago that always waits for the train on the stairs. She was very creepy; creepier than usual since she kept staring straight ahead at me. I tried to ignore her. Once I ascended the stairs up to the platform, there were other people waiting there. There’s been this one girl I’ve seen lately waiting on the platform. The first time I saw her was when I had Mr. Palermo’s Math class. I just arrived into the classroom, and she obviously had class the previous band. She was talking about something to the teacher. I don’t remember what it was; something about “I hope they aren’t having pizza”. She is short with curly, frizzy hair and wears glasses. Her skin is a pale color and her clothes are baggy. They don’t look worn, but not very stylish. I saw her the other day in the morning in the lunch cafeteria. I think it was probably last week when the security guard made everyone stay in the cafeteria until the bell would ring for A-Band. So I stood in the cafeteria next to the entrance since I certainly wasn’t going to sit down anywhere. I saw her. Sitting at the table that was directly parallel to the entrance of the cafeteria, she was busy picking at her food. Then she propped one hand up to a cheek and continued what she was doing. Reminds me so much of myself. I would do the same; except I don’t eat in the cafeteria. This is why I would rather starve to death than humiliate myself by sitting alone since I have no one to be with.
Loneliness is an unbearable thing. I cannot ignore a thing like that, but it’ll always be there hanging over my head like a dark cloud on a sunny day. I didn’t try to talk to her. I only watched her.
At school, I waited out the time in the Social Studies Resource Center until the bell rang at 8 a.m. for A-Band. I hate being the first one in his class, but I wasn’t first after all. Zawatsky had us review for the Regents. Jeanne came in with three books stacked up in her hands. Two were Social Studies books; one was a Science book. It looked quite heavy. Almost everyone brought in their Social Studies book to return. And everyone carried theirs in while I had carried mine in my book bag. Why didn’t I think to carry it on my hands? Zawatsky did a lot of lecturing by the stuff he wrote on the board (which he continually told everyone to not “copy copy” the notes he wrote). After his lecture, he handed out an old Regents booklet from August 2005 (I think). We were to do questions 1-11 (multiple choice). I got most of the questions wrong though. Starting from the right, he asked people to read the question and give the answer they had. Person after person in each row had to do this. I got the last question. It was about President Washington’s farewell address and how he said America should stay neutral. I picked the wrong answer of choice # 1; that we were repaying the French from the war. I can’t recall the correct answer, but it was #3. When the entire lesson was finished, everyone with a textbook raised their hands one by one so Zawatsky could mark it down. By the way, he pronounced my last name wrong. It cannot be helped if people say my first name wrong, too, which Zawatsky did in the beginning too. I like the uniqueness about my name cause it’s spelt with the h in between the t and the second a. Even Natalie Portman has her name with no h. Natalie and Nathalie are pronounced the same; but spelt differently.
We all stacked up the textbooks on a desk later, and that was it.
Ceramics was next. I had a test on the oxides and glazes of Ceramics that everyone used. Even before I had the test in front of me, I knew I would fail disgracefully. The questions weren’t hard; I just didn’t know the information. I didn’t really study. There was no way my brain could retain all that information. Clefela got 105%. I can’t spell her name correctly, but I remember her so well. She transferred to Joseph B. Cavallaro I.S. 281 in eighth grade. I remember I didn’t pay too much attention to her. But what made me so angry was people making fun of her. Lylo stood up for her a lot. Graduation was quickly approaching, and one day we all didn’t change for gym and sat on the very top of the bleachers. I was very quiet next to Clefela. In my freshman year in Ms. Rosenblum’s gym class, she was there. She still looked very much the same, but I thought it strange she decided to chat with me a little. If I still weren’t so messed up in my mind then, I would’ve said more. I would’ve made an effort to be her friend. She asked me about Zoia, but I told her I hadn’t seen her at all. She was still very much isolated then, I think, leaning more towards people of her culture because only they could understand her. Everyone else probably thought she was a foreign girl. I don’t know how she changed and modernized herself. I didn’t recognize her that time as I was heading towards the girls’ locker, but then I realized it was her. Then I saw her in Ceramics that day when everyone helped Ms. Kreitzer set up all the pottery that was going on sale next to the school cafeteria. Right now I wonder what she thinks of people. They treated her so badly when she first came in junior high, but now that she’s so different ... I wonder if she thinks the people who are kind to her wouldn’t be so kind if she were still the same. Hmm.
Ms. Kreitzer asked me about something I wrote. There are three main ingredients for a glaze. One of them is a Melter, but then I put Flux, too, and she said a melter and flux are the same. The third I left blank. She asked me to think about it and see if I could remember. So while I rolled out some clay on a mat to cut into two rectangles (which will be used to fire into tiles I can experiment glazes on), I thought and thought. I figured out it was a stiffer, or maybe isn’t. A stiffer is one of the ingredients, but I don’t know if it was the right one. A friend of Clefela’s was busy marking the tests at Ms. Kreitzer’s desk while Ms. K herself was running around helping her students. I didn’t want to bother her, but I was too shy to actually give it to Clefela’s friend. So I placed it on Ms. K’s desk where no one noticed it. After I finished the rectangular slabs, I didn’t do anything else. Just waited around for the bell to ring already so I could get out of there. I’ll have nothing to do on Friday in Ceramics.
No C-Band on Wednesdays, so onto Earth Science class on D-Band. Mr. Wallace was absent yet again. Why is he absent so often suddenly? He was on a quick phone conversation yesterday in the middle of class. I wondered, Is his wife sick, so he has to stay home and take care of her?
Even though he was absent, that band wasn’t a freebie band. I still had work to do that he left behind in case he was absent again. I took quick notes and finished all four questions.
Mr. Smith was the substitute. I’ve had him before when Mr. Keller was absent in the Psychology class I had. He began tell everyone the same things I had heard him say in Psychology class; that he never lied in this students, that he used to be a guidance counselor, etc. It was a little annoying to hear him say it all over again. But I don’t expect him to remember me and know that I’ve heard his speech before. People forget faces they see once so easily. Mr. Smith seems to be a very honest man.
E-Band was tolerable. Thankfully the stupid reading thing is done. Today everyone came in and just sat against the wall and did these worksheets (a word search puzzle and fill-in the blanks). All the Asian (*ahem* Chinese) girls sat on one side in groups. Only one came to sit next to me when Mr. Zaichik said he might mark some of us absent if he doesn’t know them, so he needs the people on their spots. I wasn’t worried since he knows me from previous cycles, but no one else moved besides the Chinese girl. Some of the Asian girls; I thought they gave me strange looks. It made me think, Do they think I’m Japanese or something?
I don’t talk to any of the Chinese girls. It’s not that I don’t associate with my own culture, but I’m nervous to do such an action. Perhaps they think it strange I don’t sit on their side or try to speak to them. I don’t suppose they know what it means to be alone and have grown up alone and kind of by myself at school. I don’t really know. Maybe they associate better in Mandarin better, so they stick more to their culture. For me, I will not hide the fact I am Asian; Chinese; but I am an American, too. I am more used to being an American Chinese rather than just Chinese. I may seem I am pushing back my Chinese nature by saying I’m American first because America is where I was born.
The Chinese girl went back to her friends after Zaichik seemed to be done taking attendance in the Delaney book and on the attendance sheet. I almost thought she would stay, but why would she do that?
The word search puzzle was difficult. There were so many false traps of words that mislead me, so it took me a while to find the real words. I finished everything in the end, and sat tight for the bell to ring.
Perhaps it is the cause that caused this to happen to me at the moment. And every cause has an effect. Because I caused the cause, it made a reaction; an effect. I rushed out of class and hurried to the nearest staircase; a turn of the corner on the right of the room I just came out of. I didn’t want to be late for Math or one of the last people to be there. I would only get sidetracked by people like yesterday. I didn’t care that there were black people there. See, I have tried to be more open-minded. Even when I doubt. It’s like running towards your enemies that you think are your enemies, but then again, you aren’t even sure whether they are good or bad. So you just go for it and whatever happens just occurs like that. I was never trying to play with fire. A black guy was in the way of the door, so I pushed open the other door. Another black guy was standing next to it, but I didn’t really mind. Then the unthinkable happened. He put his hand on the left side of my thigh and smacked it. Slapped it. Like I’m some slut/whore. I heard laughter. Hysterical laughter. I pushed the door open; not knowing what to think. I just ran up the flight of stairs and felt like things were coming too fast. The impact was still there when I made it to the third floor; still hurrying to Math class. But as I walked, I felt like I could barely breathe. When I saw a black man, I felt anger. I clenched my hands together in fists. I thought, ‘I will surely scrub my thigh until it bleeds’. I felt so dirty ... so tainted. By the time I sunk into my seat in the classroom, things were just starting to make sense to me. I realized this: It’s the first time I’ve been physically sexually harassed in that way. And no one knew. No one could tell what I was thinking; all I felt was rage building in me. How can someone treat me like that? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t discriminating. I wasn’t being racist. I wasn’t even being prejudice. I ... was I being annoying? Did that man think I was annoying? This is the reason why Asians are smart to be prejudice. Sometimes. Only sometimes because half the time they could be wrong about someone. And then comes the anger from the person who is misjudged by his/her looks.
I didn’t really pay attention in Math. I didn’t listen in when Mr. Ford explained the answer to the problem someone asked; I didn’t want to listen. I was just so angry. I felt like I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I felt like giving up on trying not to prejudice and see people through their outer selves and to understand people. And then I thought maybe I should be prejudice because no one could blame me for that. That is what people make me believe, so shouldn’t I believe it after all? But I wasn’t thinking rationally. By the end of the band, I came to the conclusion I couldn’t allow myself to do something so foolish. If I really believed in such a pathetic thing, I would hate black people for ever becoming free people.
Keyboarding class was easy. The guy who sits at my left is a black man. I wasn’t afraid of him. I’m not saying I recovered so easily from that humiliating experience because I haven’t. Plus where that man slapped me ... it was kind of near my butt. I really thought he hit my butt at first, but it wasn’t. I finished my work early as usual. I’m become good at keyboarding lately. Ms. Cleland commented last week that I was right in between an M and an ME for a grade. “It’s hard, you know?” she said.
Ms. Cleland can be so cranky, but she’s nice if you behave. She’s especially sweet to me and the Asians, but she probably thinks I was born in China too. She said to one Asian boy named Daniel that it’s okay he misspells since English isn’t his first language. Well, English is my first language. I learned that first before Chinese, I think. Or maybe I understood Chinese less than English, so I’m more accustomed to English. English isn’t the official language of America, though. How would it be different if it were?
I think a lot of people are failing Keyboarding. Ms. Cleland says so. The average grade in the class is an M. There’s one Asian girl that showed up to class all the time in the beginning, but now she hasn’t been in class for a long, long time.
Last class of the day is Music. Since it’s Wednesday, my class meets in room 307. Mr. Rowan had the same instructions of what to look up on the computer from last Wednesday. I already completed all that last Wednesday, so for the entire period, I surfed the net for a while. I was on wikipedia searching about some interesting topics. I looked up Cambodia, Vietnam, and Taiwan. Then I saw stuff on Chinese people; like English taught in Chinese schools. Then I did some seriously random crap. I looked up about bugs too; just for the fun of it of grossing myself out with the pictures of them. Squids was what I tried first. They look so gross to me. Their tentacles are monestrous, and their eyes are huge. Eww.
As I waited next to the door when the period was ending soon, Juliana stands next to me. Sigh. We used to be friends. Juliana from elementary school. Like wow. People I went to school with are with me still yet. Isn’t that strange? I suppose they don’t think of me anymore like I do.
It was raining outside, but lucky for the umbrella I had on me. Dad was right after all. Whatever, so I get home fine. I leave my umbrella on the porch to dry, but later I bring it with me to the backyard when I have to get to the garage. I don’t want to get wet, so I use the umbrella. Dump out the shells of the bird food the birds ate, and put in new food. Refill water from the backyard hose. Sweep the floor. I go back inside. The end.
Dear Diary, I really wanted to have to deal with whatever I had today, but sometimes things are too normal or abnormal I want to end it all. This isn’t a suicidal thought. I am not depressed. Anymore. I just find myself bored with life and not knowing what could possibly quench my thirst for something more. What can I expect anymore? There is hardly any difference with yesterday and today and tomorrow perhaps. That way I believe the only way to find the greatest peace with any burdens would be death. Death will come for me someday. But how much more longer, I wonder?
Once again, I woke up this morning straight at 6:58 a.m. before my alarm would ring at 7:02 a.m. I was actually awake much earlier, but half asleep. I always hear Mom come upstairs after finishing breakfast for a quick bathroom break. The sound of her footsteps are easy to detect. Everyone walks differently in this house. Mom always wears slippers, but recently has changed to purple sandals she bought in Taipei. She walks at a slow pace; never rushing, but her sandals just slightly brush against the floor when she walks; one foot up, one foot down, etc. Daddy walks heavily. He wears no slippers or shoes, or even socks in the house. The soles of his feet beat against the floor as if he is power walking at a fast pace. His heels are cracked and dried out skin. Panda licks it sometimes, which is gross. One time Dad was sitting in the kitchen with his heel at the edge of the seat cushion. He was using a small pointy knife; the kind on nail clippers used to dig dirt out of peoples’ nails. The dried skin that came off was on the floor. I had to sweep it up before Panda started to sniff at it like it was food. Dad walks especially hard on the staircase. Because of the plastic covered paper towels and entire can of Coco Cola we use on the first step at the bottom of the staircase (preventing Panda from climbing upstairs), Daddy always kind of leaps onto the second or third step when going upstairs. When he comes upstairs, he runs up. He walks loudly across the hall and I can just sense him coming. Dad used to wake me up in the morning for school, and that’s why I say I can sense him. I would be asleep, but I always slept very lightly. Even though I dreamt, it didn’t really feel like I was. While I was asleep, I would still be sort of sensitive to the consciousness world. When I would hear Dad’s footsteps up the stairs, I would feel the own thudding of my heart in anticipation because I was expecting Dad to burst into my room. Once he did, I would “wake” fully, but I’d always awaken startled out of my mind. I would remember hearing his footsteps too and at the exact moment his footsteps reached my room, I’d feel that burst of light going on in my dream, which made me become conscious again. I wasn’t ever hallucinating this because when I woke up, Dad really was in my room. Plus I’d always wake up the moment Dad turned the knob of my door and burst into my room. In the dream, I would only hear the sounds, but the images weren’t very clear to me. Once I’d awaken, the sounds of the key chain hanging on the outside knob of my door would be slowly hitting against the door and stop after a few seconds from the impact of the door opening. What is this thing anyway? Look, I’m jumping from topic to topic too fast. This happens all too often. The morning was usual. Wake up, put on clothes, gather together my things into the book bag, and go to the bathroom. This morning I had to bring my Social Studies book back to school for returning. Mr. Zawatsky said everyone had to in order to have a grade for his class. I was supposed to also return this Earth Science book (Daley’s), but I don’t feel like it. Mr. Wallace didn’t have my book receipt, but I can’t find Ms. Scacalossi anywhere. No time. The Social Studies book was uber heavy in my book bag. In the bathroom, I use the toilet, brush my teeth, wash my face quickly, and comb my hair neatly. Then I head downstairs to the living room. It is 7:08 a.m. First, dump my book bag onto the left most side of the couch after pulling down the cushions. Then I go to greet Panda; petting him on the head. He’s usually still in his bed. Dad sets up breakfast for me, but I wish he’d let me do it myself. It’s just soup with rice in it and a tall tea cup with warm water in it. That’s all I have for breakfast these days. It’s not much, but it takes little time to prepare it when I’m on the go in about 18 minutes. I sit on the floor in front of my soup on the coffee table. It’s less convenient to sit on the couch and eat it like that. You can call me lazy, but I don’t like eating it on the couch. What if I spill it? Such a mess that would be. Dad comes back from the train station he dropped Mom off and automatically heads to the kitchen. He closes the front door half way and leaves it semi-open. He forgets to take out his key, so I pull it out and hang it slightly in the box of our house keys.
The television is on; the small t.v., mind you, since the big one is still unfixed seemingly. I always watch the WB 11 channel 11 news before going to school. I never get to watch the whole program of news, which sucks sometimes.
When Dad asked if I wanted to make the sandwich to eat at school, I declined to the offer even when he said he could make it. I only finished half of my soup and left some rice over too. Dad tells me to bring an umbrella to school, but I sigh with discontent; not really wanting to since I already have that heavy book in my bag. But I go up to my room to get the umbrella from last time anyways just in case I get caught in the rain after school.
The train station was the same. I need not explain much. As I handed Dad back the metrocard I used, I noticed the same woman from days and days ago that always waits for the train on the stairs. She was very creepy; creepier than usual since she kept staring straight ahead at me. I tried to ignore her. Once I ascended the stairs up to the platform, there were other people waiting there. There’s been this one girl I’ve seen lately waiting on the platform. The first time I saw her was when I had Mr. Palermo’s Math class. I just arrived into the classroom, and she obviously had class the previous band. She was talking about something to the teacher. I don’t remember what it was; something about “I hope they aren’t having pizza”. She is short with curly, frizzy hair and wears glasses. Her skin is a pale color and her clothes are baggy. They don’t look worn, but not very stylish. I saw her the other day in the morning in the lunch cafeteria. I think it was probably last week when the security guard made everyone stay in the cafeteria until the bell would ring for A-Band. So I stood in the cafeteria next to the entrance since I certainly wasn’t going to sit down anywhere. I saw her. Sitting at the table that was directly parallel to the entrance of the cafeteria, she was busy picking at her food. Then she propped one hand up to a cheek and continued what she was doing. Reminds me so much of myself. I would do the same; except I don’t eat in the cafeteria. This is why I would rather starve to death than humiliate myself by sitting alone since I have no one to be with.
Loneliness is an unbearable thing. I cannot ignore a thing like that, but it’ll always be there hanging over my head like a dark cloud on a sunny day. I didn’t try to talk to her. I only watched her.
At school, I waited out the time in the Social Studies Resource Center until the bell rang at 8 a.m. for A-Band. I hate being the first one in his class, but I wasn’t first after all. Zawatsky had us review for the Regents. Jeanne came in with three books stacked up in her hands. Two were Social Studies books; one was a Science book. It looked quite heavy. Almost everyone brought in their Social Studies book to return. And everyone carried theirs in while I had carried mine in my book bag. Why didn’t I think to carry it on my hands? Zawatsky did a lot of lecturing by the stuff he wrote on the board (which he continually told everyone to not “copy copy” the notes he wrote). After his lecture, he handed out an old Regents booklet from August 2005 (I think). We were to do questions 1-11 (multiple choice). I got most of the questions wrong though. Starting from the right, he asked people to read the question and give the answer they had. Person after person in each row had to do this. I got the last question. It was about President Washington’s farewell address and how he said America should stay neutral. I picked the wrong answer of choice # 1; that we were repaying the French from the war. I can’t recall the correct answer, but it was #3. When the entire lesson was finished, everyone with a textbook raised their hands one by one so Zawatsky could mark it down. By the way, he pronounced my last name wrong. It cannot be helped if people say my first name wrong, too, which Zawatsky did in the beginning too. I like the uniqueness about my name cause it’s spelt with the h in between the t and the second a. Even Natalie Portman has her name with no h. Natalie and Nathalie are pronounced the same; but spelt differently.
We all stacked up the textbooks on a desk later, and that was it.
Ceramics was next. I had a test on the oxides and glazes of Ceramics that everyone used. Even before I had the test in front of me, I knew I would fail disgracefully. The questions weren’t hard; I just didn’t know the information. I didn’t really study. There was no way my brain could retain all that information. Clefela got 105%. I can’t spell her name correctly, but I remember her so well. She transferred to Joseph B. Cavallaro I.S. 281 in eighth grade. I remember I didn’t pay too much attention to her. But what made me so angry was people making fun of her. Lylo stood up for her a lot. Graduation was quickly approaching, and one day we all didn’t change for gym and sat on the very top of the bleachers. I was very quiet next to Clefela. In my freshman year in Ms. Rosenblum’s gym class, she was there. She still looked very much the same, but I thought it strange she decided to chat with me a little. If I still weren’t so messed up in my mind then, I would’ve said more. I would’ve made an effort to be her friend. She asked me about Zoia, but I told her I hadn’t seen her at all. She was still very much isolated then, I think, leaning more towards people of her culture because only they could understand her. Everyone else probably thought she was a foreign girl. I don’t know how she changed and modernized herself. I didn’t recognize her that time as I was heading towards the girls’ locker, but then I realized it was her. Then I saw her in Ceramics that day when everyone helped Ms. Kreitzer set up all the pottery that was going on sale next to the school cafeteria. Right now I wonder what she thinks of people. They treated her so badly when she first came in junior high, but now that she’s so different ... I wonder if she thinks the people who are kind to her wouldn’t be so kind if she were still the same. Hmm.
Ms. Kreitzer asked me about something I wrote. There are three main ingredients for a glaze. One of them is a Melter, but then I put Flux, too, and she said a melter and flux are the same. The third I left blank. She asked me to think about it and see if I could remember. So while I rolled out some clay on a mat to cut into two rectangles (which will be used to fire into tiles I can experiment glazes on), I thought and thought. I figured out it was a stiffer, or maybe isn’t. A stiffer is one of the ingredients, but I don’t know if it was the right one. A friend of Clefela’s was busy marking the tests at Ms. Kreitzer’s desk while Ms. K herself was running around helping her students. I didn’t want to bother her, but I was too shy to actually give it to Clefela’s friend. So I placed it on Ms. K’s desk where no one noticed it. After I finished the rectangular slabs, I didn’t do anything else. Just waited around for the bell to ring already so I could get out of there. I’ll have nothing to do on Friday in Ceramics.
No C-Band on Wednesdays, so onto Earth Science class on D-Band. Mr. Wallace was absent yet again. Why is he absent so often suddenly? He was on a quick phone conversation yesterday in the middle of class. I wondered, Is his wife sick, so he has to stay home and take care of her?
Even though he was absent, that band wasn’t a freebie band. I still had work to do that he left behind in case he was absent again. I took quick notes and finished all four questions.
Mr. Smith was the substitute. I’ve had him before when Mr. Keller was absent in the Psychology class I had. He began tell everyone the same things I had heard him say in Psychology class; that he never lied in this students, that he used to be a guidance counselor, etc. It was a little annoying to hear him say it all over again. But I don’t expect him to remember me and know that I’ve heard his speech before. People forget faces they see once so easily. Mr. Smith seems to be a very honest man.
E-Band was tolerable. Thankfully the stupid reading thing is done. Today everyone came in and just sat against the wall and did these worksheets (a word search puzzle and fill-in the blanks). All the Asian (*ahem* Chinese) girls sat on one side in groups. Only one came to sit next to me when Mr. Zaichik said he might mark some of us absent if he doesn’t know them, so he needs the people on their spots. I wasn’t worried since he knows me from previous cycles, but no one else moved besides the Chinese girl. Some of the Asian girls; I thought they gave me strange looks. It made me think, Do they think I’m Japanese or something?
I don’t talk to any of the Chinese girls. It’s not that I don’t associate with my own culture, but I’m nervous to do such an action. Perhaps they think it strange I don’t sit on their side or try to speak to them. I don’t suppose they know what it means to be alone and have grown up alone and kind of by myself at school. I don’t really know. Maybe they associate better in Mandarin better, so they stick more to their culture. For me, I will not hide the fact I am Asian; Chinese; but I am an American, too. I am more used to being an American Chinese rather than just Chinese. I may seem I am pushing back my Chinese nature by saying I’m American first because America is where I was born.
The Chinese girl went back to her friends after Zaichik seemed to be done taking attendance in the Delaney book and on the attendance sheet. I almost thought she would stay, but why would she do that?
The word search puzzle was difficult. There were so many false traps of words that mislead me, so it took me a while to find the real words. I finished everything in the end, and sat tight for the bell to ring.
Perhaps it is the cause that caused this to happen to me at the moment. And every cause has an effect. Because I caused the cause, it made a reaction; an effect. I rushed out of class and hurried to the nearest staircase; a turn of the corner on the right of the room I just came out of. I didn’t want to be late for Math or one of the last people to be there. I would only get sidetracked by people like yesterday. I didn’t care that there were black people there. See, I have tried to be more open-minded. Even when I doubt. It’s like running towards your enemies that you think are your enemies, but then again, you aren’t even sure whether they are good or bad. So you just go for it and whatever happens just occurs like that. I was never trying to play with fire. A black guy was in the way of the door, so I pushed open the other door. Another black guy was standing next to it, but I didn’t really mind. Then the unthinkable happened. He put his hand on the left side of my thigh and smacked it. Slapped it. Like I’m some slut/whore. I heard laughter. Hysterical laughter. I pushed the door open; not knowing what to think. I just ran up the flight of stairs and felt like things were coming too fast. The impact was still there when I made it to the third floor; still hurrying to Math class. But as I walked, I felt like I could barely breathe. When I saw a black man, I felt anger. I clenched my hands together in fists. I thought, ‘I will surely scrub my thigh until it bleeds’. I felt so dirty ... so tainted. By the time I sunk into my seat in the classroom, things were just starting to make sense to me. I realized this: It’s the first time I’ve been physically sexually harassed in that way. And no one knew. No one could tell what I was thinking; all I felt was rage building in me. How can someone treat me like that? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t discriminating. I wasn’t being racist. I wasn’t even being prejudice. I ... was I being annoying? Did that man think I was annoying? This is the reason why Asians are smart to be prejudice. Sometimes. Only sometimes because half the time they could be wrong about someone. And then comes the anger from the person who is misjudged by his/her looks.
I didn’t really pay attention in Math. I didn’t listen in when Mr. Ford explained the answer to the problem someone asked; I didn’t want to listen. I was just so angry. I felt like I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I felt like giving up on trying not to prejudice and see people through their outer selves and to understand people. And then I thought maybe I should be prejudice because no one could blame me for that. That is what people make me believe, so shouldn’t I believe it after all? But I wasn’t thinking rationally. By the end of the band, I came to the conclusion I couldn’t allow myself to do something so foolish. If I really believed in such a pathetic thing, I would hate black people for ever becoming free people.
Keyboarding class was easy. The guy who sits at my left is a black man. I wasn’t afraid of him. I’m not saying I recovered so easily from that humiliating experience because I haven’t. Plus where that man slapped me ... it was kind of near my butt. I really thought he hit my butt at first, but it wasn’t. I finished my work early as usual. I’m become good at keyboarding lately. Ms. Cleland commented last week that I was right in between an M and an ME for a grade. “It’s hard, you know?” she said.
Ms. Cleland can be so cranky, but she’s nice if you behave. She’s especially sweet to me and the Asians, but she probably thinks I was born in China too. She said to one Asian boy named Daniel that it’s okay he misspells since English isn’t his first language. Well, English is my first language. I learned that first before Chinese, I think. Or maybe I understood Chinese less than English, so I’m more accustomed to English. English isn’t the official language of America, though. How would it be different if it were?
I think a lot of people are failing Keyboarding. Ms. Cleland says so. The average grade in the class is an M. There’s one Asian girl that showed up to class all the time in the beginning, but now she hasn’t been in class for a long, long time.
Last class of the day is Music. Since it’s Wednesday, my class meets in room 307. Mr. Rowan had the same instructions of what to look up on the computer from last Wednesday. I already completed all that last Wednesday, so for the entire period, I surfed the net for a while. I was on wikipedia searching about some interesting topics. I looked up Cambodia, Vietnam, and Taiwan. Then I saw stuff on Chinese people; like English taught in Chinese schools. Then I did some seriously random crap. I looked up about bugs too; just for the fun of it of grossing myself out with the pictures of them. Squids was what I tried first. They look so gross to me. Their tentacles are monestrous, and their eyes are huge. Eww.
As I waited next to the door when the period was ending soon, Juliana stands next to me. Sigh. We used to be friends. Juliana from elementary school. Like wow. People I went to school with are with me still yet. Isn’t that strange? I suppose they don’t think of me anymore like I do.
It was raining outside, but lucky for the umbrella I had on me. Dad was right after all. Whatever, so I get home fine. I leave my umbrella on the porch to dry, but later I bring it with me to the backyard when I have to get to the garage. I don’t want to get wet, so I use the umbrella. Dump out the shells of the bird food the birds ate, and put in new food. Refill water from the backyard hose. Sweep the floor. I go back inside. The end.