You know what I grieve the most about my first school years? The lack of love I gave and experienced. I was calm and polite, but god, I could be so much more. I know I was capable of love even then, but instead I looked at my classmates, saw their heartfulness, and thought, "They're better off without me. I don't belong here." Who told me? Who hurt me? Why did everyone saw a lone, screen-addicted girl, and thought, "She's just introverted. She's just not a people person. She's just being difficult." I needed someone to hold my hand and say, "You need to love people loudly and unapologetically. People are not as bad as you think", instead of, "Why can't you just be normal?"
I want to grab my younger self by shoulders and tell him that, it's fine to love without reciprocation! It's fine to talk and talk! It's fine to take your time! It's fine that your "home" is quiet and dark, you could go out and make yourself the sun! But now I'm the cloud, just passing by and blocking the sunlight to everyone's annoyance.
It really, wholly FUCKS you over to be alone and isolated, to force yourself to stay away in fear of rejection.
My positive first-school memories:
Nikita, the class clown, handing me his phone while we have PE. He did it without any jokes, seemed stiff but more trusting of me than others. He told me I could play the games on it, if I wanted. I remember playing Pou on it for some time (the only game I remember, but I'm sure it had more games). While he was one of the class clowns, he was often ridiculed and ignored by others, even though I knew he was capable of seriousness/honesty and that he was kind deep down. I saw him trusting me, once.
Ksyusha, the straight-A student, was crying over something just after our classes were over—I think, it was a failed grade or something? I tried to comfort her, pat her shoulder, told her it's not that bad, she's still one of the best (I actually don't remember my words, but I'm sure it was something light and supportive of that kind). She wiped her tears and hugged me, saying, "Thank you, [full name]*. You are a good friend."
Mira and I were being driven by her mother. I think it was after a birthday party or whatever, some important fun event. I asked her, hesitantly, "We are friends, right?" She looked at me, "Of course we are. Why are you asking?"
I confessed to Vitaly through a note. He returned it to me with a response written down on the same note, saying it was mutual. (I don't remember the note or its content, only the fact that it was not discused outloud). He took me behind the corner and hugged me for some time, just holding me without any words. We never mentioned it again.
Kostya, the teacher's son, was standing with me near the school's gates, waiting for a bus. He was joking around, pretended to talk to God and make jokes about Him being on the toilet as we speak and such. I don't remember the jokes, but I remember me giggling as he speaks, and thinking, "This is nice."
Lyuba, the granddaughter of the owner of the store at the corner that was frequently visited by our class for baked goods, was holding my head back. We were just standing, hands circled around each other's faces, or hugging each other and such, giggling and pretending to act all serious. It was brushed off as fooling around, but I still remember the warmth.
