A rainy Sunday afternoon - I, as usual, sit on my favorite armchair, nibble on a bar of chocolate I have surreptitiously stolen from the fridge (my mom mustn't know about this), ponder for a moment or two.....and start blogging! My life has not always been this boring, trust me. Before this holiday began, everything had been quite different......
"NATIONAL SERVICE A.K.A......!!!" a classmate sneered, another guffawed, others were laughing over their feet; and I, hoping that I could muster all my courage to send some swift vengeance to their fragile ribs, sat at a corner, motionless. All of a sudden, everyone fell into dead silence as footsteps were approaching. They would pick up any paper plane or obscure speck of dirt on the classroom floor, quietly take their seats, pull out a few textbooks from their overloaded bags, lay them on their desks, exchange gestures and take a deep breath.............
..........."CLASS!!! Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really a piece of trash on the floor right over THERE!" our English teacher screeched, pointing her forefinger at a tiny piece of candy wrapper - BESIDE MY CHAIR!!! Nothing was ever unexpected in my school - I was given a terrible scolding, teased by my classmates once again, and was forced into cleaning every corner of the classroom; digging in nooks and crannies for minuscule pieces of filth. "OMG!!! This is the worst day of my entire life.....and things are about to get a whole lot worse," I thought.  My mind began flooding with words - brutal tyrant, merciless dictator, wicked witch, barbaric monster, belligerent psychopath, serial killer, fun wrecker.......I had the sudden urge to scream them out one by one in her face. However, my conscience warned me not to.
Breathe in...breathe out...Yes, if you were me, you'd have to learn how to BREATHE, and yes, welcome to the BEST WORST DAYS of my life! Every day, you would hear boys roaring with laughter, and girls shrieking in disgust; you would see boys taking their clothes off, flinging textbooks around the classroom, and hurling chalks at those screaming girls. Poor delicate things! Fighting back was probably the last thing on their to-do-list, and screaming was all they would ever do. Luckily, I was not one of them. Unfortunately, I was not one of them, which naturally made me a freak. I was the only girl with an American accent, I was the only girl with curly locks; I was a misfit, a norm-breaker, a wimpy teen! Teachers loathe me, and my classmates....? Well, I bet you can tell, can't you?