Firstly, excuse the attached quote because I needed to have one simply for aesthetic purposes. Thankfully, I managed to find a quote that I more-than-semi-connect with (see above), and that's only because it was said by none other than Elon Musk (whom I have a slight obsession with). ANYWAY, let's get on with this, shall we? For this week's post, I'm going to give you an insight into my high school experience; the good, the bad, but mostly just the highlights seeing as I obviously don't have the ability to recount my entire high school life with perfect precision.
Let's start with one of my earliest memories of high school, and no, I wasn't actually in high school when it happened. For some odd (almost alien) reason, my primary school self was determined to get into a particular high school "of my dreams" (in retrospect, I was an absolute loony). I'm not going to publicise the name of the school I went to, though if you're from Perth and at least ten years old, you'll be able to connect-the-dots, easily.
So yes, that's the earliest memory I've ever had of high school. My young, highly organised self was already planning which high school she wanted to go to despite not even knowing how to change a pad, let along do long division. Anyway, my high school experience was smooth, to say the least. I wasn't bullied and nor did I do the bullying. Basically, I had a pretty okay ride. I've been told that I was (hopefully still am) well liked, if that helps, but I've also been told that I walked like a doe/as if I owned the school. In my defence, wearing heeled shoes messes with the way you walk, alright? God.
Speaking of God, I went to a Catholic school and yes, we had to attend mass every 2-3 weeks. Side note: my year group was once robbed of our precious lunch time as we had to practice singing the school anthem as we failed to do it well in one of our assemblies; the very assemblies in which all 300 of us had to cram inside a mezzanine area above the gym. So, yes, that was fun. Exceptionally so. For anyone who's wondering, no, I wasn't taught by a "Sister Margaret" and no, there weren't any paedophile priests (insensitive? probably), just a Father with a hard-to-understand accent and a Deacon who came up with rather creative homilies. But despite all the rules (no matter how strict and/or absurd), high school has of course been instrumental in shaping me into the woman I am today. In fact, I still gasp and whisper "scandalous!" under my breath whenever I see someone wearing a hat indoors.
 |
| This is seriously the only decent school photo that I have of myself and it isn't even one of those individual portraits. Anyway, no, your eyes do not deceive you because there is in fact a lil' Totoro placed on my peers' blazers. If only our school crest actually looked like that... (NB: what's actually deceiving you is the lighting within the pic because the true colour of our blazers was a beautiful T E A L colour. *gags* I'm also laughing because the scribbles on people's faces look as if I'm making a Burn Book or preparing for world domination). |
Now, let's get back to the "strict and/or absurd rules" that we had to deal with. I've broken them, many a time. I was a regular offender when it came to tying my hair out of my face, well, up until Year 12, that is. For some reason, several teachers at my school were hellbent on hunting you down even for the most smallest of "crimes". For instance, in Year 7 I was literally chased by my Dean and I knew he was following me because I went around in circles. He was coming after me because I *gasp* had a couple of pieces of hair sticking out, oh and my fringe was too long (um, emo phase?)
Another incident occurred when one of the Vice Principals was standing around the girl's bathroom (I KNOW) and as soon as I came out, he hit me with the classic: "give me your diary". And so I did. I handed him my diary and he wrote a note to my parents regarding my uniform, gave it back to me with a Grinch-like smile and returned to search for his next victim. One rule was that we girls were not to have any hair on our faces (we couldn't be bald, either) so that when you tilted your head down, you weren't to see any bits of hair falling down with it. Thankfully, as the years went by, teachers started becoming more and more lax as we students became more and more careless with our appearance.
Despite the aforementioned teachers, whom I did not learn anything substantial from, there were a number of teachers who I will never forget as their words will forever resonate with me. Firstly, my Yr 10 English and eventually, Year 12 Literature teacher, Miss Daly; a woman of great strength, intelligence and reason. Her classroom was the only one where everyone was free to express their feelings and opinions, no matter how simple or how ludicrous it was; you were always welcome and I suppose it helped that she was diplomatic. Considering the strict adherence to Catholicism that was ostensibly practised throughout the school, Lit always felt as if we could all just finally surface for air. I'll keep this short and sweet as I have plenty more things to say, but one of the first things in which she taught me was that "knowledge is power". Oh, and a love for Atwood, of course!
Another teacher of great influence to me is Ms Clark, my Politics and Law teacher. She had tendrils of dirty blonde hair and liked to adorn colourful, knitted scarves. She also insisted that you refer to her as not "Miss Clark" but "Ms Clark". In Year 12, we had a small class of eight so we grew rather close to each other especially as WACE began to loom over our heads. It was a challenging course; we were pushed to our limits and beyond, taught to do things I've never had to do in any other class. In the end, however, it was all worth it; it was worth it because it's what got me into university.
 |
| Pursuing the impossible also means that I can attempt to grow five arms if I wanted to. But hey, this is my uni and I now know how it feels to cheer for your uni like how people do when spectating those Yale-Harvard Regattas (that's completely different, I know). Image from UWA. |
Continuing on from the university note (because I might as well), I've watched a number of people whom I went to high school with flourish and bloom into someone more beautiful as soon as they settled into a life of independence, away from all those strict rules and (some) questionable peers. They've not changed, no. But because they were in an environment which enabled them to thrive, they could finally explore and question who they were as a person. Although it was never codified or enforced, there was this underlying darkness which seemed to permeate throughout the very foundation of the school. I felt as if we couldn't express an opinion which differed from the norm (with the exception of my literature class); that I think being gay or even remotely different from people's picture perfect mould was seen as taboo or at the very least, it was not to be spoken about, nor acknowledged.
For the most part, I was a naturally quiet student. Always have been. I rarely participated in class unless I was called upon. It comes down to my severe introversion and reluctance to say anything without being 100% sure of my words (I've gotten better at participating in class). Despite my voluntary silence, I did, however, manage to find myself in a bit of a tiff with some people every now and then. It was inevitable to clash with some students given the sheer size of the school. In a single cohort, alone, there were 300 people so imagine the amount of tension existing between all 1,800 students. Immaturity was indeed the root of it all and although I considered myself incredibly mature, whenever somebody pulled on my weaknesses, I couldn't help but to put up a fight because if I didn't, who would? Thankfully, this only ever happened once or twice and I don't intend for it to ever happen again. (side note: I was very entertained by the drama which did consume others on a regular basis).
Now, let's visit the subject of grades. I bet that's something you've been dying to know! Well, my grades were above average (APART FROM CHEMISTRY, I AM NOT FRIENDS WITH CHEM) but they weren't exceptional. I didn't get any of those rewards of Distinction or medals of top academic performance, but I came through in the end. In retrospect, I find that I wasn't one to study until a couple of nights before a test or exam. Presently, I applaud myself for being able to study each and every night (well, most nights). But I digress, the subjects I decided to take on in my final year of school were as follows: Politics & Law 3AB, English Literature 3AB, Maths 3AB, Religion 3AB (this was mandatory), Physics 3AB and Chemistry 3AB. And let me tell you, it was absolute hell. They call it "suicide six" for a reason.
Allow me to gloat for a second, but I think one of my greatest academic achievements was when I scored 100% on one of my religion essays in Year 12. How, you may ask? Absolute bullshit. Learn a few dates then bullshit away, my friend. Another achievement was when I scored fairly high in all the lit journals I ever created. In both Year 11 and Year 12 Literature, we were to create a journal to submit at the end of the year, detailing what we've learned from each of the texts studied in class. I absolutely loved this assignment as it allowed for my creativity to finally let loose in a way that wasn't so restricted by any silly boundaries (unlike my projects for Art). One final moment in which I'm incredibly proud of was when I won a $20 iTunes gift card for "best bridge design" in Year 12 Physics. We had to construct a bridge, using bamboo skewers, only to then test to see how much weight (i.e. bricks) it could hold. And I won, design wise.
 |
| These are just some excerpts from my lit journals, the third of which I am astounded to have even be allowed for marking. But hey, someone's gotta be the advocate for change. |
Despite the decorated grades, my early years of high school weren't at all the best. I mean, in a lot of ways they were kind to me, for they showed me how to give my heart to someone. However, my naivety was what placed a strain on my relationship with my parents; a relationship I've since spent years to rebuild. I've learned my lessons and I've gained some insight but the difference between a high school romance and a romance in my 20s is something I've yet been able to fathom, let alone conceive. That's life for you.
For years did I stick to a routine of waking up at 6:20 in the morning to get ready and have a small breakfast; to then prepare myself and my brother to catch the bus which stopped some thirty steps away. I would arrive to school by 8:15 AM, sometimes 8:25 AM if traffic was being particularly unreasonable that day (my anxiety would fly through the roof because 8:25 is when the first bell rings and I hate, still hate, being tardy). I would then sit through the notices in PCG (pastoral care group i.e. homeroom) and raise my hand for attendance before heading off to my first class at 8:45 AM. I wouldn't finish until 3:15 PM where my mum would wait, parked on a road where parents weren't supposed to, to pick my brother and I up from school. This exact routine was repeated five days a week, six years straight.
I don't harbour any such feelings of animosity, though. Why should I? Yes, I despised waking up early and yes, I was sick of the stress, but my high school experience allowed me to grow, to learn and to thrive. It enabled me to cultivate memories with the people I surrounded myself with; memories I've nurtured, pulled a part, over-analysed and thrown away. But my fondest of memories were made during the Year 12 Retreat where all 285 of us went to Fairbridge Village to stay in cottages that were situated on a large block of land and within close proximity to each other (apparently one cottage was haunted, Evelyn I believe it was called?). It was here in which I made lifelong friendships, strengthened others and built the guts to write a message to the person I liked at the time.
My friends have, and always will be, my rock. Fostering meaningful relationships with people was never my forte, but the people who I'm with now are as strong-minded, as fiercely independent and as intelligent as I can only hope to be. Though I may not be on the same page as some of my friends, I may not be as out-going, as social or as active as they are, I'm forever thankful that they even bother to keep in touch with me and my life that's filled with endless study. Amidst a sea of incredibly kind people in high school (well, mostly), I'm glad I managed to connect with the people I hope to see for eternity.
〰
My years at high school literally pushed me to my limits; I was challenged to no end, forced into corners I didn't realise I could escape; pressured into thinking about my future, pressured to grow up. I've learnt that despite being raised Catholic, I'm allowed to decide if I want to continue down that path or not. I explored who I was as a person, questioned myself, doubted myself, hated myself and even some of the people I had to see on a daily basis. I worked my ass off. I persevered, because I knew I wanted to make it into university; I knew that to continue my passion for learning, I had to push myself, I had to test my limits.
So if you work towards something, and I mean really work for it, you'll get what you deserve because I can guarantee that it's the best damn feeling in the world. You need only to try.
With my hair down and my skirt rolled twenty centimetres above my knee,
P.S. I can't believe I completely forgot to mention the whole "purloined paintbrushes" thing until I re-read the blog title. The only explanation I can offer is that yes, I might have borrowed some brushes every now and then and failed to return them but hey, at least I didn't "borrow" a freakin' scalpel like my friend did . . .
No comments