During my teenage years, while many kids went through rebellious phases, I was more like the friendly kid next door who got along with everyone. But my school experience painted a different picture. On the way home, I was regularly attacked by a group of older students, usually three to five boys from my class. These boys had repeated a few grades and made it their mission to bully me during breaks or on my way home. They would corner me, beat me up, or throw me into thorn bushes. This cycle of abuse lasted until my final year of school, when the case finally went to court, and the bullies were convicted. Although their sentences were ridiculously light, I felt some relief and a sense of justice.
These difficult years taught me resilience and the ability to face fear. That lesson proved valuable when I became a soldier, making me someone who could not easily be brought down.
After the trial, my life settled down, and I started studying to become an industrial mechanic. However, discrimination continued to shadow me, and I often felt like an outsider. I believed my background was the cause, and embracing my heritage felt impossible at times. I longed to be just a regular kid. Around the age of 14, when my grandmother could no longer live on her own and moved in with my aunt, I began to distance myself from my roots.
Despite my struggles, I made it through school, although I often felt unchallenged. The lessons bored me, and I frequently dozed off during class. I rarely did my homework, which occasionally got me into trouble.
I sat next to a boy who was older and also found school challenging. One day, he noticed that I got good grades despite paying little attention and asked if he could copy my tests. In return, he offered to do my homework. At first, I was hesitant, worried the teachers would notice, but he assured me he’d change the answers enough to avoid suspicion. So, we struck a deal: I’d copy his homework before class, and he’d copy my test answers.
This system worked seamlessly for years, until one day in my final year, I was accused of copying another student who sat far from me. The teachers were skeptical, and I had no explanation for the similarities. I later found out that the boy copying from me had started sharing my answers with the entire class. Most of them changed their responses slightly, but one student’s answers were too close to mine.
I was furious, especially since even the boys who had bullied me were now indirectly benefiting from my work. Yet, part of me found it ironic.
When final exams came around, that chapter of my life closed. In trade school, I had to do all my homework myself, and no one was copying from me anymore. Despite this, I made it through both school and my training without much trouble. I had a habit of studying hard at the last minute, and somehow, it worked. I ended up with good grades, much to my mother’s amazement. She could never understand how I managed to do it, and honestly, I still don’t have a clear explanation — it just seemed to work.