As I Look Back (Part 1)
Just a few days ago, I was thinking of love and might again…but this time round, in reflections of my own life. I was recollecting the times when I was faced with situations that actually required me to choose between love and might…I wonder if I even realized that I had a choice to make, back then.
In the movie, “The Mission”, might was referred to as physical strength or force. But those of you who have seen me in person would know beyond the shadow of doubt that if I were in the position to choose between love and might, I would digging my own grave were I to choose might. With a tiny frame and being light enough to be blown away by the wind (as my well-built lecturer once said as she held my waist tightly in the strong wind), it would be to my enemy’s greatest advantage if I resolved to might. But as I reflect on experiences in my life, I am referring to ‘might’ on a lighter basis.
I remember when I was about 7 years old, naturally I used to be very much smaller than I am now. My school van used to leave me at school around 6.45 am when school started at 7.45am. I didn’t have any other means of transportation to school. Being one of the few earliest children in class, I was very vulnerable to being ‘bullied’ by the thin, but tall, and much feared boy of Caucasion blood in my class. He was one of those boys that all the other boys wanted to ‘belong’ to. They just found it such a privilege to be accepted by him- to be called his follower…To help him ‘bully’ others and even found it an honour to be ‘bullied’ by him.
‘Bully,’ I say, instead of bully, because this fearsome guy was not that bad after all, and his actions towards me were not actually severely harmful to any degree. (God’s protection? – must be:) ) But being a tiny kid facing a Goliath, he sure seemed huge and intimidating. Every morning as soon as I left my bag on my chair, he would order me to go and stand in between two adjacent cupboards (the little area where we usually prop the broom and dustpan in classrooms) while he would open wide the doors of both cupboards, overlap them to close me in my little space and push a stick in between the handles of those doors to keep me ‘imprisoned’. I was not suffocating or anything like that, as the cupboard doors had a millions tiny holes, as in a cream-cracker biscuit, that allowed me breathe and watch him and his followers leave the classroom to roam the school before the teachers arrived.
(As far as I remember, a few other children were asked to clean the class every single day before the teachers came in regardless of whose turn it was to do the chores on the duty roster. This ‘bully’ also commanded one very timid boy, who had glasses like Harry Porter’s, to clean my class’ drain and keep the surroundings of my class clean – spotless to be exact. He was strictly forbidden from picking up any rubbish belonging to next classes. If this ‘bully’ found any rubbish at all, he would call the timid boy and made sure that he picked it up. Anyone caught littering would face the same consequences. (As a matter of fact, I think all of us early kid were ‘bullied’ in one way or another – mine was most probably the most relaxing one. I always thought that I would have been better off cleaning the class.) Not surprisingly, my class got 1st place for cleanliness. Pretty soon, this ‘bully’ was made Assistant Monitor in class and even the Monitor feared him!)
(You might be wondering why nobody seemed to complain to teachers. Well, it’s because based on experience; we all knew that it was pointless. Many had complained before but there was nothing the teachers could do to tame him. Once he took a permanent marker pen and scribbled on my while sleeve. He did the same to my friend who was beside me. When we complained to our teacher, he just shrugged his shoulders saying that we were kicking up a fuss for nothing and that he was only testing the marker to see if it had ink! Before the teacher could begin her lecture, he just picked up a pencil from the teacher’s desk and vigorously scribbled on his own white sleeve. Then he looked at the 3 of us and asked ,”Are you happy now?” and walked back to his desk, cool and calm – earning the applause of his followers, leaving the teacher looking helpless. She commanded him to come back but he said he felt he had enough of class for the day. He just packed his stuff, grabbed his school bag and out he went, roaming the school –summoning a futile school-wide chase for him. He made his grand reappearance hours later, just minutes before it was time to go home! And home he went – scot-free!)
In the movie, “The Mission”, might was referred to as physical strength or force. But those of you who have seen me in person would know beyond the shadow of doubt that if I were in the position to choose between love and might, I would digging my own grave were I to choose might. With a tiny frame and being light enough to be blown away by the wind (as my well-built lecturer once said as she held my waist tightly in the strong wind), it would be to my enemy’s greatest advantage if I resolved to might. But as I reflect on experiences in my life, I am referring to ‘might’ on a lighter basis.
I remember when I was about 7 years old, naturally I used to be very much smaller than I am now. My school van used to leave me at school around 6.45 am when school started at 7.45am. I didn’t have any other means of transportation to school. Being one of the few earliest children in class, I was very vulnerable to being ‘bullied’ by the thin, but tall, and much feared boy of Caucasion blood in my class. He was one of those boys that all the other boys wanted to ‘belong’ to. They just found it such a privilege to be accepted by him- to be called his follower…To help him ‘bully’ others and even found it an honour to be ‘bullied’ by him.
‘Bully,’ I say, instead of bully, because this fearsome guy was not that bad after all, and his actions towards me were not actually severely harmful to any degree. (God’s protection? – must be:) ) But being a tiny kid facing a Goliath, he sure seemed huge and intimidating. Every morning as soon as I left my bag on my chair, he would order me to go and stand in between two adjacent cupboards (the little area where we usually prop the broom and dustpan in classrooms) while he would open wide the doors of both cupboards, overlap them to close me in my little space and push a stick in between the handles of those doors to keep me ‘imprisoned’. I was not suffocating or anything like that, as the cupboard doors had a millions tiny holes, as in a cream-cracker biscuit, that allowed me breathe and watch him and his followers leave the classroom to roam the school before the teachers arrived.
(As far as I remember, a few other children were asked to clean the class every single day before the teachers came in regardless of whose turn it was to do the chores on the duty roster. This ‘bully’ also commanded one very timid boy, who had glasses like Harry Porter’s, to clean my class’ drain and keep the surroundings of my class clean – spotless to be exact. He was strictly forbidden from picking up any rubbish belonging to next classes. If this ‘bully’ found any rubbish at all, he would call the timid boy and made sure that he picked it up. Anyone caught littering would face the same consequences. (As a matter of fact, I think all of us early kid were ‘bullied’ in one way or another – mine was most probably the most relaxing one. I always thought that I would have been better off cleaning the class.) Not surprisingly, my class got 1st place for cleanliness. Pretty soon, this ‘bully’ was made Assistant Monitor in class and even the Monitor feared him!)
(You might be wondering why nobody seemed to complain to teachers. Well, it’s because based on experience; we all knew that it was pointless. Many had complained before but there was nothing the teachers could do to tame him. Once he took a permanent marker pen and scribbled on my while sleeve. He did the same to my friend who was beside me. When we complained to our teacher, he just shrugged his shoulders saying that we were kicking up a fuss for nothing and that he was only testing the marker to see if it had ink! Before the teacher could begin her lecture, he just picked up a pencil from the teacher’s desk and vigorously scribbled on his own white sleeve. Then he looked at the 3 of us and asked ,”Are you happy now?” and walked back to his desk, cool and calm – earning the applause of his followers, leaving the teacher looking helpless. She commanded him to come back but he said he felt he had enough of class for the day. He just packed his stuff, grabbed his school bag and out he went, roaming the school –summoning a futile school-wide chase for him. He made his grand reappearance hours later, just minutes before it was time to go home! And home he went – scot-free!)
posted by JJ at 8:04 PM
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