There's been a particularly exciting development today, but I can't share too much just yet. All I can say is that it's HUGE. In the meantime, I have been busy at school and have handed in the first couple of assessment pieces. I'm going to share one of those pieces with you now. It's my first Journalism piece entitled: "You'll Find a Way."
This is a personal narrative piece I wrote about my experiences growing up in primary school. They have been marked, but I don't know what my mark is yet, on account that I was sick last week and class was cancelled tonight. I'll let you know ASAP. In the meantime, please enjoy.
YOU'LL FIND A WAY
When I was little, I loved to read and write. In Grade Prep, I was always picked out to read fairytales aloud to the rest of the class. By Grade Three, I was reading novels. I'd constantly write stories, plays, poems and even articles for the school newspaper. I was a smart kid, and naturally, this set me up as a target for bullies.
I was beaten, had my lunch money stolen and had my pencils and books ruined, but while the bruises and cuts healed and all my worldly possessions were replaced, it was the verbal abuse that hurt the most. The funny thing was that the worst of it wasn't from my fellow students – it was from my teacher.
Her name was Mrs. Lawless. Lawless by name, lawless by nature. From day one, for reasons unknown but to her, and possibly Satan, she just had it in for me. If I so much as sneezed, she'd start screaming at me, forcing me run out of the classroom in tears.
I'd run and hide either at the back of the oval, or inside the tunnels in the playground, wishing that I could just disappear. But the principal would always find me, take me into the staff room and give me a glass of milk and Tim Tams to cheer me up. Sure, why not bribe the kid with food, that'll solve his problems.
Try as they might, my parents couldn't do anything either. They'd meet with the principal and tell him what had happened, but Mrs. Lawless would sit there, barely batting an eyelid as she put on the innocent act, refuting everything that my parents said. “Without actual evidence ,” the principal said, “There's nothing that I can do.” On and on like this it went – and then one day, Mrs. Lawless truly crushed my soul.
The Royal Children's Hospital was holding a writing contest, where the winning stories would be published in a book. I had stayed up late every night for a week writing my story about a boy named Matt, who got to ride in a racecar around the Calder Park Thunderdome. Matt was real – I'd met him through my uncle, who was his foster carer. Matt had cerebral palsy and I wrote the story from his point of view.
I poured my heart and soul into it, making it the very best I could. Everyone that I read it to almost burst into tears, including my uncle, who was very much a blokey bloke. I knew that I'd done Matt, and the story, justice. I went to school the next day, bursting with happiness. I just knew I had a great chance to win.
All that disappeared when I stared into Mrs. Lawless' cold, dead eyes. She snatched the papers from me, glanced at them threw them back into my face as she said: “This is shit.”
That was the moment where I lost all hope in becoming a writer. All the pain and suffering from this bitch set the tone for the rest of my school life, which was a living hell.
I fell into depression (and even further into the wrong crowd); wagged school, smoked pot, snuck into nightclubs underage, rebelled against my parents, ran away from home; did terrible things that were completely out of character and never even graduated Year 12.
Yet, I discovered that no matter what life throws at you, no matter how despondent you may become, if you work hard enough and battle through those tough times, you can always find a way to turn everything around – and for me, that was the day I got my first full-time job as a croupier at Crown Casino six years ago.
Since then, I've worked in the poker industry as a dealer, tournament director and now, journalist. I've travelled all around Australia and South-East Asia to the region's finest casinos, interviewing and writing about the world's most prominent poker players at all the hallmark events. I'm also the editor of a magazine and I'm about to have a book published.
At the recommendation of my employer, he said I should go back to school. “Get the credentials behind you,” he said, “It will give you the skills you need to become a better writer.”
And that's why I'm studying at RMIT. Through my new career, I've rediscovered my passion for writing. I'm not worried about Mrs. Lawless any more. I've moved on. I'm exactly where I want to be, on my own terms – and it feels good.
However, if I do see her one day, I'll be sure to give her the finger and let her know exactly how I feel, proving to her that try as she might, she could not break me. You might call that immature; I call it closure.
No comments:
Post a Comment