Memories of when I was bullied at school.
Brazil.
Sunday, 04/17/2022.
04:45 a.m.
When one day at school, in 2004, at recess, a fourth grade teacher, while I was in the third grade, saw and heard me order a boy from my class, who was disturbing me, bullying me, to go fuck himself, she embarrassed me in front of some students, of the my class and others, as well as the boy who was bothering me, who was laughing at me. She saw and heard what I said to the kid who was bothering me, to my bully, but not heard what he say to me before and always told me when chasing me. Instead of catching the attention of the kid who disturbed me too. She didn't even try to understand my side, nor did she try to find out why I was acting the way I did. She didn't come to talk to me to find out what was going on, what had happened before. Because whoever curses others is always the wrong person. The victim of a crime, of bullying, is always wrong. The aggressor, the criminal, the rapist and violent, the murderer, the bully... always comes out unscathed. Then she complained to me and even handed me over to my class teacher, who, for the second time that day also caught my attention, in front of everyone in my class after recess and back to the classroom, making me feel ashamed all over again.
A work of fate or chance or God's decision, the following year, in my fourth grade, in 2005, that teacher became my teacher, the teacher of my class.
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~I Typewriter. 🌺
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