I have always loved to learn. But for the last three or so years, I have simply hated school.
I wasn’t an outcast, but I didn’t really build up a relationship with my classmates. The teachers loved to make an example of me from class one – and that did nothing for my popularity. Every time our class supervisor praised my exemplary behaviour and attendance, I wanted to disappear, dissolving into atoms there and then.
By some miracle, I managed to remain neutral. Although the school was an elite one, there were plenty of trouble-makers among the bored rich kids. Time after time I tried not to stand out, focussing only on my studies, and they just ignored me. It was the perfect balance.
I only tolerated superficial relationships within my own group, and even that was confined to work on school projects. At primary school I was invited to my classmates’ birthday parties, but I always found an excuse not to go. By the time I was at middle school, the invitations stopped. Did this offend me? I would be lying if I said that I was completely indifferent to such a state of affairs, but it hadn’t caused me great suffering. To be honest, I simply would have had no idea what to do, how to behave, or what to say if I went to a party, anyway.
I was a well-read child, so the kind of topics that came up during break-times between classes seemed primitive to me. Sometimes I would attempt to enter into a discussion about a well-known film or book, or correct a factual mistake, but I was advised to ‘stop whinging’. That was the politest of all the comments.
In the end, books became my only friends. Books and my dog. ‘The more I get to know people, the more I love dogs.’ I don’t know exactly who said that, but I could have signed my name under those words a thousand times.
Adults always thought I was a quiet, shy child. My peers called me a ‘nerd’ and a ‘swot’. At some point, I started to find it quite pleasant to be different. I would have continued to enjoy my special status if it hadn’t been for one fateful encounter.