Where should I start? I could, I suppose, begin at the very beginning; my childhood….but no… I think for now, I shall start with a look into one of the strangest moments in my life… my secondary school bus days. I used to take a school bus to school, ever since mom found it too difficult to pick me up from school. Trust me, the traffic congestion near my school was torturous… And secondary school, for those not in the know, is something like high school.

During my Form 2 and 3 years (I was 14 to 15), I had…an interesting relationship with the boys in the bus. I don’t really know what started it all, but I recall vividly as I was talking to my friend seated behind me, that one of the boys was yelling something at me. I walked up to him and asked politely, “Excuse me, what did you say?”… I can’t quite recall his exact words, but it ran along the lines of “Fuck you, you fat pig” (ouch!) … I remember smiling and saying somewhat sweetly, “Thank you…and fuck you back too…”

Therein lay the vein of future communications. I was insulted and spat at. A very interesting method they had, drinking from their water bottle and then spitting at me. I, of course, retaliated with some of my friends by adapting our water bottles with holes poked into the top and splurting them with water… I suppose they did their best to insult me… but strangely enough, my honest reaction was to laugh. I don’t know why, but I could not stop myself from laughing. No matter how hard they tried to humiliate me, I just laughed in their face.

Being called a fucked up bitch isn't really something to laugh about, I suppose... Neither is cruel taunts about your weight.. But through it all, I somehow managed to find at least one little bright moment to lighten my mood... and perhaps, that is the most precious, face-saving thing of all... To have your antagonists believe that nothing they say can hurt you... And, believe it or not, the laughter really helps. True laughter, not forced laughter meant only for the outer appearances... Look beyond the hurt, look for the ridiculous and rejoice in it, for therein lies the protection most desperately needed...

I am hardly suggesting that I was, in any way, a damsel in distress… Hardly. I was foolish, as I freely admit to goading them on. Each insult they piled on me, I retaliated with insults of my own. Every time they spit water on me, I spat right back at them… though sadly lacking in the finesse that they seemed to possess.

I shall not dwell on the actions that show me in an embarrassing light… they are far too many, too numerous to acknowledge. Let it be known, however, my ‘triumphs’ were few…nay, scarce… On a more bitter tone, I might add that the bus driver, a chauvinistic male pig of the first degree, chose to side with the boys, which further increased my humiliations. (And here lies the most painful thorn of all in my side, for it was not the boys, but rather a single man, who managed to sour my memories).

Ah…let us skip over the sad things, and treasure some glorious moments in that brief span in time. I remember writing up a poem with my friends, featuring the three ‘leaders’ of the boys’ side. I barely recall the words, but I remember that many words ending with ‘uck’ and ‘ick’ were peppered freely among the insulting poem…. *chuckles softly* I do believe it was a work of art… it received the desired response, and I was interrogated most fiercely as to the identities of the other writers. Apparently, they thought I was too cowardly to do such an ‘evil’ thing… not knowing, of course, that I was the instigator…. I never revealed my friends’ identities, in case you are curious… I laughed in their faces, which was easy since one of them proved to be a hilarious factor by trying to insult my…attributes… this led to some dissention among the trio… ah, what was it?…Oh yes… “Shut the fuck up! You’re not helping!”

There were many other….fond…memories… but I think you get the picture… *smiles* … Was I traumatized by the whole affair? I don’t know. I don’t believe so. I don’t recall actually feeling hurt by their taunts and actions. But maybe I was, at first, and chose laughter as a recourse to combat the humiliations. I know that I chose not to take their insults to heart… And in later years, when I met up with one of the boys, I managed to conduct a civil conversation with him…

There are many things in life that forces us to choose a path... This is one of them, I think. I could have chosen to be forever scarred by their words....taking what was said meant only to hurt as the truth and viewing my worth through adolescent insults...or I could have chosen to look beyond their taunts and see my own self through my own eyes. These aren't really two separate choices... I know that in some small way, I WAS hurt and I WAS affected... but I lived through it, and though, some days I am haunted by some of the things they have said... I believe that I am not what they said I was... I am an individual with priceless value and am worthy of loving and being loved... I may not be the most perfect being in the world, but then, no one ever is...

Movies and many books potray life-changing moments as being something that was derived from some catastrophic event...an earth-shaking incident that forever changed a person... Real life isn't always that way... we are changed, yes...sometimes through those great momentous occasions...but usually, we are changed, a little at a time, by those everyday things....living everyday with your family... being with your friends... things that don't really seem important...but are infinitely more momentous...

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