I averted my gaze on the brown concrete floor and made my way towards the next class. The cap perfectly tilted, preventing my vision. I did not want to see. The ear phones boomed with deafening Eminem’s song. I did not want to hear as well.

I cautiously made my way inside the warm classroom and towards my seat in the sheer corner near the wall. The class hasn’t started as yet. I desperately wished it would, soon. I cannot bear another verbal bash by the pretty mean girls of my class. I didn’t have any friend. Or simply, I did not have any friend who was like me.

In plain simple words, I was just different from all other girls around me. When they talked about boys, clothes and shoes; I wondered how on earth they find these things amusing. When they flipped their perfectly layered and conditioned locks, I just tucked my shoulder length hair in my new red Nike cap. When they prefer to wear long frilled dresses with big bows, I felt happiest in my old pain of almost-worn-out jeans and my favorite band’s T-shirt. In short, I was just nothing like them at all, and I was happy.

You would wonder how a girl like me would be happy without having any friends. But the truth was that I was glad I didn’t have any. I never felt lonely. Weird right?

I didn’t prefer to be friends with any girl in my class because I knew if I was, she would try to change me. She would force me to do things she does (Read: Girly stuff) and why on this planet would I want to do that? It was so not me. And if I disagreed to do anything she would start another girl-drama about ‘how you are not my best friend’ or ‘you don’t love me enough to do it’. Now who would want to deal with that?

So I was perfectly content with who I was, with or without a bestie hanging around with me. But little did I know that the shrewd world I lived so happily in would suddenly decide to go ahead and smack my face in the pavement.

It happened sooner than I thought it would. Girls in my class started noticing the difference. After all, I was the new-girl-in-class; they took some time to wrap their heads around the fact that I was simply uninterested in their way of life. Nevertheless, when they did, the made my life a living H-E-L-L.

There wasn’t a day when I wasn’t mocked by them at who I was. The snickered every time I walked by. They teased me for being a tomboy. Things got so worse, that they changed my name to a mocked version of my own name. The laughed every time I came in front, and soon enough they started spamming my Facebook account.

They ridiculed me on my profile; they dedicated horrid group pages and send me invites. And basically, they made my online virtual life a living hell too. They were bullies. The made fun of everything and anything I did, even to something as minor as my style of walking and dressing.


“Look at her.”

“God…could be more like a guy.”

“Eww…you stink like a guy too, try some deodorant man!”

“What boy’s clothes did you steal?”


I thought they would stop soon. They would get tried and they’ll stop being so mean to me, but they didn’t. They insults amplified in number. They were having the best time of their lives, picking on someone who couldn’t fight back, why would they stop? I didn’t fight back because I didn’t know what to say to them. I wasn’t that kind of a girl who would be mean and abusive to the other person. My parents did not bring me up that way. And most importantly, I knew that no matter how hard I try, I cannot bring myself to make them see who I actually am.

I stayed quiet and that’s what they took as a sign to shove me further. But what they did not know was that their words hurt. They hurt a lot. There were times when I hid under my text book and cried. I went home and cried. Every time I thought of going to school the next day and it would start all over again; I cried.

Why couldn’t they see that I was different and accept me? Why can’t they leave me alone and let me be who I am? Why do they have to make me feel ashamed at who I am and what I like? So what, I had interest that normally boys do, does that make me less worthy of being a girl? Can’t they see that even though I have different interest and I’m not a clone, I am just another girl? I wondered this to myself, over and over again.

Soon I talked to people I love the most about. I didn’t know what else to do. And that’s when I learned that I’m not the only one. There are other girls in the world who likes football more to dolls. It made me feel a bit comfortable. Also that what goes around comes around.

I’m a very strong believer of that. I realized that the other girls pick on me because I’m different but also because they are intimidated by me. Emotionally I’m much stronger than them. I don’t squeal at a broken nail or fuss if my hair is out of place. I can play like any boy around, or sometimes even better. I can speak up what’s on my mind, I’m more confident at who I am and I would never change my habits just to fit in the quota of what these girls have.

If they snicker at me, if they tease me, and say stuff that demoralizes my ego; it’s all going to come back to them. Their words hurt me but it’s temporary. After all it’s their words that are going to come back and haunt them when they learn what I have become in life.

When I’ll be more successful than them, they’ll feel sorry for their desperately sad life. Because after all that I’ve been through, at such young age, their brutal words had made me stronger more than they could ever imagine.