Recently, I was chatting with a friend when they told me their new partner was in the same school as me during 8th and 9th grade. Their partner was surprised to hear my name and mentioned how they remembered nasty rumors that circled around the school about me. I was rumored to have been full of myself, a girl that was always inside her own bubble and who was also spoiled rotten. It shocked me, considering that, back then, I had very few friends and I never talked to anyone who didn’t talk to me first. A friend of mine explained that when I walked around school, I always looked like I was angry and seemed to avoid wanting to talk to people.
Going back to my childhood, I was actually quite the chatterbox, but once I moved to the United States during 7th grade, things started to change. It became difficult for me to adapt to this new environment. Rather than walk around with our backpacks, kids would leave their backpacks in their lockers, returning at the end of every period to take the notebook for their respective classes, which I thought was a waste of time. It seemed easier to just carry the backpack. We also had different uniforms for when we took physical education (PE) and lockers for said uniforms. I didn’t really know what to do with that. Should I leave my uniform in the locker room or do I take it back home in a plastic bag? I would wonder often. During lunch, every student had to sit in the cafeteria and also had to pay for their own lunch. On my first day there, I didn’t even know food wasn’t free, so I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t go outside. There weren’t any stores nearby that sold “empanadillas” and icee for $3, which was all I had in my pocket. I remember being overcome with anxiety on my first day there. I ran to the school office and started crying, wanting to call my mother so we could go back to Puerto Rico. No adult figure tried to comfort or sympathize with me. A secretary gave me a snack and left me there to cry only to come back a while later to shoo me out because lunch was ending and I needed to get to class.
I noticed how kids looked at me, realizing I had cried on the first day of school. After that day, I was seen as both the weird and the quiet kid. Students would constantly ask me, “Why are you so quiet?” I once answered with, “Why do you talk so much?” I meant it as a joke to lighten the mood, but they took it the wrong way. I was pretty much friendless that whole year. I only talked when spoken to and felt scared to approach anyone. The fact that some of the students would make fun of me during PE for not being able to hit the volleyball over the net or because at the time I still didn’t know how to shave and had a unibrow, didn’t help my situation. To quiet the bullying, I shaved and fixed my eyebrows. The bullying turned into me not wearing any makeup or not being able to style my hair. I missed my life back in Puerto Rico because at least there I had friends and family, but once I came back home and reconnected with everyone, I was frequently asked “why are you so quiet?” That question kept following me throughout the years and my answer this time was “I don’t have much to say.” I chose to put the blame on myself so they wouldn’t feel hurt or think I was rude, but my answer backfired and people ended up thinking I was full of myself and indeed rude. Only those that really knew me understood that I was just naturally quiet, but my self-esteem went way down, making me become even more quiet. I couldn’t even sustain a proper conversation with my crushes, so I remained a single pringle throughout the rest of my school years.
Now as an adult, I’ve managed to open up to people and although my conversation skills are still pretty bad when it comes to meeting new people, they slowly notice that I’m actually quite the chatterbox once they get to know me and I make a good conversation partner. I’ve even been complimented on this. Their compliments usually always start with, “I used to think you were full of yourself.” Then they say things along the lines of “Now that I got to know you, I realize you are a really good person.” It seems the attitude I carry and my appearance was still that of an angry woman, but other people that met me would be told by my acquaintances “Don’t worry, she’s nicer than she looks,” before they got the wrong idea of me.
So, why was I so quiet? I suppose it was due to my self-esteem that was pummeled to the ground during my middle school years. My friends tell me not to take it to heart because everyone was bullied in middle school and I have to say that I have grown out of it. I now talk more openly with people and I hardly even remember the faces of the kids that bullied me in 7th grade一let alone their names. But the scars that bullying leaves on you tend to stay for a long time. Of course, I didn’t have it as bad as other students, but bullying is bullying, no matter what form it takes. Next time, rather than ask a quiet kid why they’re so quiet, why not ask them how their day is going and try to start a normal conversation with them? They’re probably bad at communicating, just like I was. Nobody should make assumptions before getting to know those who they consider different, quiet or weird.