More tragedy in my life

Yesterday morning was one of the worst mornings of my life.  But I will purposely suspend that narrative by first relating an anecdote from my life.

My post-secondary education has been put on hold due my current situation, otherwise I would be pouring over Ancient Latin scrolls in Oxford University’s Classics Department, or perhaps studying herbal medicine.  Or maybe I would be at an excellent music conservatory somewhere, mastering my piano technique.  Who knows?  But I digress, unwillingly, from my fanciful dreams.  My secondary education had a typical beginning; after completing my elementary school via homeschooling (it began in the 4th grade), I reluctantly entered a public charter school for the 9th grade, and after I completed 9th grade, I returned to being homeschooled for the remaining grades of my high school for personal reasons.  The 9th grade was rewarding in some ways; I became disciplined and very ambitious, relentlessly desiring my top grades and perfect GPA.  However, my solitary nature me feeling alone…very lonely.  Where was I?  Oh yes…my anecdote.  It was near the end of the fall semester in 9th grade, if I remember correctly, and the day was set for the principal to hand out those coveted Principal’s and Dean’s Honor Roll certificates.  The Dean’s Honor Roll was for students with mostly B’s in all subjects; the Principal’s Honor Roll was for us students who had A’s in almost all subjects.  Naturally, I strived in all subjects to be on the Principal’s Honor Roll.  There was a ceremony for distributing the certificates; every freshman and sophomore was called by name in the auditorium in front of his/her peers.  Applause, whistles, and cheers arose for each participant as he/she approached the principal, accepted the certificate, and shook his hand.  But not for me.  When my turn came and I walked up that stage, there was silence.  Painful silence.  I only heard the principal’s congratulatory remarks, and I felt the silent vacuum prod me away back to my seat so that I could escape my hurt, my embarrassment, my shame.  After it was over, I kept thinking: couldn’t at least one person have clapped for me?  Cheered my name?  Even those whom I considered my friends, my peers whom I knew?  I clapped for everyone, even students that I didn’t know, even students that I didn’t like.  But no one, not even friends who claimed to like me, applauded for me.  Even now I wonder: was it arrogance or conceit that made me hurt at such a trifle…my wounded pride, perhaps?  Or was the silence an omen that I was unlikable and doomed to be friendless forever?  That I would always be alone?  That my life, my efforts, my talents would always go unnoticed or unappreciated?  That loneliness would be my only companion, with art, literature, music, the humanities my acquaintances whom I will be forever striving to understand completely?  Anyway, the memory still haunts me, even now after almost five years.

Now, the narrative I suspended…at 4:30 a.m. yesterday morning, my mom and I were sleeping in our car as best we could in our new spot, which was bad in comparison to our previous place (if comparison is possible in our situation).  Suddenly, we were awakened by raps all over the car windows.  I looked behind and saw a police car with flashing lights.  Well, to ease the pain of the memory, I will make a terrible, long story short and concise.  Three “policemen” told us to scram from that street because someone called them.  Even after I pointedly remarked that it is perfectly legal to park on any public street as long as one does nothing illegal or suspicious, they still threatened to break open our car, drag us out, and tow it away if we didn’t leave immediately.  What could we do?  We couldn’t reason with them.  So we were forced to leave.  It was frightening…the whole scenario was truly intimidating.  I hate “policemen!”  They don’t do their jobs, they are corrupted, and I curse the Fresno Police Department with all my heart and soul!  Ah…that feels better.

On the literature front…I am reading Angels and Demons by Dan Brown, the prequel to The Da Vinci Code, and I am still reading Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen (I blame my speed on my lack of focus).  I quit on The Vicar of Wakefield by Oliver Goldsmith…I will read it some other time.  Angels and Demons is even better in some ways than The Da Vinci Code, although it’s gory.

Natalie Gorna