By Heidi Luk
Dear Diary,
Today is another excruciating day spent with my forever unrepentant classmates. They know no remorse!
I went to school on the school bus, as usual. And, as usual, the kids on the school bus were extremely rowdy. Their earsplitting shrieks were a violation of the sanctity of my eardrums, and so I deigned to reside in my corner and read, while doing my best to ignore the disrespectful ruckus.
The school bus arrived at school punctual (luckily), and I carefully put away my book, hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, and got off the bus, as the other kids jostled around and continued to squabble. Needless to say, I was not in the best of moods, and yet I carried myself in an admirable manner. I greeted every teacher I met along the way, as required of a good student, as I made my way to my classroom. And it was with great reverence that I entered my classroom, greeted my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Yates, put my bag in the cubby at the back, and sat down at my seat. I allowed myself a small smile. I was off to a clean start for the day.
The small amount of euphoria I felt was short-lived, though, for it soon transpired from the expression of my homeroom teacher that we were in big trouble. Her face was a stormy mask of cold fury, no doubt directed at us.
When the class had all arrived and sat down, she began to educate us. “Well, well, well,” she said, “the tales I have been getting about this class!” I tense in my seat and prepare myself for the oncoming storm of judgment.
Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Yates is a very good and nice teacher. I love and strive to defend her with every fiber of my being. But she is also a responsible teacher, and she loves us and wishes us well in her own unquestionable way. Whenever she hears of wrongdoing in our class, or complaints from the other teachers, it brings on a wave of righteous reprimands that vary in intensity, landing anywhere from a drizzle to a thunderstorm. Most of these days it’s a thunderstorm. And these waves of reprimands are not directed at the sinner alone, but often at the entire class, to openly condemn the wrongdoers and warn the rest against similar transgressions.
I never made any such transgressions. I was a devoted student. I completed all my homework (unlike some classmates), sat ramrod straight in class, took detailed notes, and treated every single teacher with every ounce of respect I had to offer. I always triple-checked my spellings and wrote everything in my best handwriting. Yet here I was, a humble student, facing the wrath of teachers that rained upon our heads like heaven’s fire.
I asked myself, had I sinned? Had I neglected my homework, eaten potato chips in English class, played videogames in Math class? Had I ignored my corrections, and conversed with my neighbor in Chinese class?
The answer was no.
I had never done any of those things. I was a devoted student. Top in our class. I had never, and would never, do such things.
It’s my classmates. They were the ones neglecting their homework and their corrections, eating potato chips and playing videogames and talking to each other in class. They were the sinners. They had brought out the wrath of the teachers to rain upon the entire class’s heads like heaven’s fire.
I look down upon them with every ounce of contempt I possess, with every fiber of my being. It’s all their fault for being lazy, for being disrespectful, for disregarding their studies. They brought the teacher’s fury down upon us. But no matter. I am above them. My academics are superior, my devotion even more so; they are but mere obstacles on my path of success and devotion.
Dear Diary, I was first inspired to set forth on this path about a year ago, when my classmates began to act in increasingly ludicrous ways. They had completely thrown proper conduct to the wind and begun to skip pages of homework, eat and talk in class, and play videogames at school. Mrs. Yates did all she could to save them from the hell of a ruined future. She educated the class tirelessly, installed harsh punishments for transgressions, and kept careful watch over us during lunch breaks. She often flew into rages at the impassive expressions that met her admonishments. Her rages would wash over the class like deafening tsunamis. They made me quake in my seat with a deep, irrational fear, and I often had to fight to keep the tears in my eyes from spilling over. The fear grew bigger and bigger, and something else began to take its place: anger. I am so angry at my classmates for bringing about the unquenchable fury of the teacher. And the anger was justified. One day, I suddenly realized that the anger I was now feeling is exactly what Mrs. Yates feels every day. It was then that I gazed into her furious eyes, and saw the truth written there: my classmates were incorrigible, and that the only rightful path for me would be to devote myself completely to her teachings, in the hopes of easing her pain so that she would spare me from her rage. And so, I took on a whole new conduct at school, and strived to perfect my studies and distance myself from my dangerous classmates. I broke off all my old friendships, for one has no need of such shameful friends, and looked only to my teachers for guidance. The path to success is always lonely.
And so there I sat on my seat, staring at my classmates as anger burned in my core. Mrs. Yates swept the class with her gaze, and her voice – her most powerful weapon – trembled with outrage as she recounted the tales she had heard from our subject teachers. Only a single student had went to the office for Math corrections (that’s me). Half of the class hadn’t turned in the English homework. And our performance in Chinese, the subject that she taught, was daily slipping. I sat straighter in my chair and let my determination shine through my eyes. Me! I am a good student! Don’t mind the other ungrateful transgressors. I am here to devote myself wholeheartedly to you, and with your assistance persevere down the path of academics.
My classmates are as infuriating as ever. They sit there, picking their nails and looking at their desks, unrepentant. This is their common reaction to a fury wave. There’s never any remorse from them.
There is something terribly wrong with this class.
Helen
2020/12/8