Miami Beach and the city too
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I decided to do some writing about the past or whatever. This way people will not ask me about the past, and all that junk about it. It is written down, outside my noggin. In a place where it will not bother me ever again. I think I did the same thing with all my negative emotions. They were pretty common when I was in school. I putted them down into poems. Now, that I am free of these negative emotions, I no longer write poems. In a sense, getting rid of those thoughts and emotions is a double edge sword. I am trying to get rid of my first writer’s blog. It is not the same as other people’s writing blocks.
After all, I am writing coherent thoughts. For me, writer’s block is not being able to write what you want. I feel like my imagination is a bit stilted. I wish to imagine great and crazy things, like when I was little. I think all my boring issues started in school. My father brought me to school, even though I grabbed his leg and begged him not to leave me there. What is there to say about going to school in Cuba. People there were douches to me because I still drank my milk from the bottle. I kept at it till I was like 15. By then it was getting a bit ridiculous. Now, I no longer drink milk from the bottle, or anymore milk for that matter.
I have always been a bit childish and the like. Well, that is a bit of an understatement. Now, back to my first couple of days in school. The teacher sat me in the back because I was really tall. The seating was based on height. As a result, I was next to an annoying girl who was like 2 years older than me. She always took my clay whenever it was time to manage the clay. Eventually, I zoned out completely. I was not paying attention to anything or anyone. I cannot even remember how I managed to learn how to read and write. Now that I think about it, I already knew how to. Brother had a tutor and I used to drop in on her lessons. I never had a tutor.
Then again, it was a bit hard to put up with. Whenever people came to visit mom, I would put myself at the door and yell at them till they left. I did not want them inside the house. I think I had a couple of friends. They were girls from the neighborhood. In Cuba, I never made any friends in school. The main issue was that the teachers would hit the kids, if they spoke. As such, I was always quiet, I did not want to chance it. I got hit a couple of times for not speaking. This was close to the end of third grade. It was just after my pops died. So, we were getting ready to leave Cuba. The teacher hated me for it. It was common for the teachers to bully the students children of the dissidents. They also encouraged all the other kids to be mean to me.
School wise, I remember just a couple of episodes. I remember getting bad grades in spelling. I also remember not being able to tell the difference between 7 or 1. The teachers always got frustrated with me. It was like talking to a brick wall. I worked hard on my brick wall impersonation. Just because I was in school, there was no reason to be actually in school. Most kids normally escaped physically, but I was a sickly child. I just played the waiting game, and I waited, and waited. Just like that 4 years passed and soon it was all over. It was a bit of a relief when I came to the US. The teachers were pretty much the same thing, except they were not allowed to hit you. They found the brick wall, and were frustrated by it.
I did not care. I was not put on this earth to make the life of others’ any easier. It was just the same as before, in the sense that they wanted me to behave like an actual brat, and I was not in the mood for that nonsense. In my first school in the US, I was like one of the few kids who spoke Spanish. The ESOL class only had a couple of fellows. They also had us set aside for the math classes. I never had an issue with math in the US. Since it was quieter and the like, I was able to focus a bit better. Eventually, we moved again and I ended up in Jack D. Gordon. The school was like for rich people.
The teacher I had for 4th grade was more or less nice. She seemed like one of those fellows who liked to try really, really hard. She worried about my isolation or whatever. She had a kid who spoke Spanish sit by me. I rarely exchanged words with the fellow. The ESOL class had its own messes about it. Most of the time, I remember playing with large puzzles. I spent a lot of time alone, whenever I went to learn English. I think I learned it by osmosis or something. I always watched cartoon’s in English. I also used to do the same back in Cuba. They used to air a bunch of anime movies on the theater, with English caption. It was all a cookie time back then.
Now, that I think about it, it has been helping me a bit to write about it. At least with the first part of my schooling, I no longer care about it. I think tomorrow, I will go on about middle school and high school. I think I was a bit more in tune with my surrounding during those days. Mostly, because I was sent to an F school and there was like 3 girls who were hitting me all the time. My mom had to go to school and pitch a fit. Can you believe the douche said that she did not have a magic ball. Councilors and teachers for the most part don’t give a damn.
It is like they blame the students for their terrible life choices and their terrible wages. I mean, nobody is forcing them to be payed a nickel for their work. If they want more money, they should get together and demand it. They sicken me. Different country, same teachers I guess. I suppose it must have something to do with communism infiltration. They tend to get inside all vulnerable institutions, in order to spread their influences. They got to the US education system, and now they are in the Vatican. This is part of the reason why I no longer go to church. Well, there is no point going on about it. I will get back to it later.