Okay, I took the time to change some of it up. Please review this one instead of the OP. Same prompt.
The Pen. The Sword. My Voice.
It's often been said that the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, I found a weapon more powerful than either - my voice.
My parents figured me nearly mute. I was a child of very little words. It quickly became apparent that I just preferred motioning and gesturing rather than speaking. When I started school, my quietness led to me quickly being marked as a target for teasing and being made fun of. Being bullied was a learning experience. I came to learn that people feared things that they didn't understand. They chose to remain in their own comfort zones, without stepping out to accept anything different. To diminish their own fears, my classmates bullied me.
As a first grader, this realization meant that there was only one thing I could do - be silent, and perhaps, through it, become invisible. If I was silent, I couldn't be provoked by my classmates' words. If I was silent, they would find less ammunition to put me down. If I was silent, they might forget that I existed.
Of course, one can hardly expect someone to stay mute forever by choice. One particular day in seventh grade, the class decided to humiliate me for some entertainment when the teacher stepped out . After a few minutes of taking the abuse, I finally spoke. I asked, "Why do you do this to me?" Silence. Absolute, glorious silence. Now, a weapon at my disposal, no longer my defense. "If I ever did anything wrong to any of you, I'm sorry. If I didn't, then why?" I asked, as years' worth of hurt crept into my voice. "I go home crying every day. I've repeated words that I've been called in my head, words that some of you taught me. But those hateful words never made me feel much better. I just don't understand why you say them to me then."
Exhausted, with tears rolling down my face, I put my head down on the desk and closed my eyes. I heard some movement, and looked up again. One of my worst tormentors was standing in front of me, crying with me. She just leaned forward and hugged me. "I'm sorry." And suddenly, with two simple, short words, everything was okay.
Afterwards, I decided to put my newfound voice to use. I became vocal. I made friends. I forgave. I volunteered to read in class and raised my hand to answer questions. I made it a point to say a simple "hi" and "please and thank you" to everyone. Speaking, something I had long forsaken, became an integral part of me. I've taken it upon myself to never quietly accept something I don't like or believe in. My days of being bullied have shaped me into the outspoken, confident person I am today. I love to share my views and opinion on topics in class. I have my grade school bullies to thank for helping me find my true aspiration to become a lawyer.
The Pen. The Sword. My Voice.
It's often been said that the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, I found a weapon more powerful than either - my voice.
My parents figured me nearly mute. I was a child of very little words. It quickly became apparent that I just preferred motioning and gesturing rather than speaking. When I started school, my quietness led to me quickly being marked as a target for teasing and being made fun of. Being bullied was a learning experience. I came to learn that people feared things that they didn't understand. They chose to remain in their own comfort zones, without stepping out to accept anything different. To diminish their own fears, my classmates bullied me.
As a first grader, this realization meant that there was only one thing I could do - be silent, and perhaps, through it, become invisible. If I was silent, I couldn't be provoked by my classmates' words. If I was silent, they would find less ammunition to put me down. If I was silent, they might forget that I existed.
Of course, one can hardly expect someone to stay mute forever by choice. One particular day in seventh grade, the class decided to humiliate me for some entertainment when the teacher stepped out . After a few minutes of taking the abuse, I finally spoke. I asked, "Why do you do this to me?" Silence. Absolute, glorious silence. Now, a weapon at my disposal, no longer my defense. "If I ever did anything wrong to any of you, I'm sorry. If I didn't, then why?" I asked, as years' worth of hurt crept into my voice. "I go home crying every day. I've repeated words that I've been called in my head, words that some of you taught me. But those hateful words never made me feel much better. I just don't understand why you say them to me then."
Exhausted, with tears rolling down my face, I put my head down on the desk and closed my eyes. I heard some movement, and looked up again. One of my worst tormentors was standing in front of me, crying with me. She just leaned forward and hugged me. "I'm sorry." And suddenly, with two simple, short words, everything was okay.
Afterwards, I decided to put my newfound voice to use. I became vocal. I made friends. I forgave. I volunteered to read in class and raised my hand to answer questions. I made it a point to say a simple "hi" and "please and thank you" to everyone. Speaking, something I had long forsaken, became an integral part of me. I've taken it upon myself to never quietly accept something I don't like or believe in. My days of being bullied have shaped me into the outspoken, confident person I am today. I love to share my views and opinion on topics in class. I have my grade school bullies to thank for helping me find my true aspiration to become a lawyer.
