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Some things never change
Nov. 16th, 2002 07:47 pmLast Saturday I attended a twentieth anniversary graduation party and revisited the hell that was my time in High School - at least in memory.
It's taken me a whole week to find the time and energy to write about the experience.
ACT ONE
I hardly ever wear make-up, but this was one of those rare cases where I decided to make an effort. I am too short-sighted to actually see what I’m doing whenever I apply war paint, so Mr. Estepheia is usually recruited for the job.
When we were finished I wore gunmetal/silvery nail varnish, expensive lipstick and eye-liner. I was dressed in a light blue sweat shirt and black pants (my best), wearing very modern hematite jewellery that matched my nail varnish.
Did I mention the black leather biker jacket I was wearing? I felt I needed the contrast. Besides, black leather? Never a bad thing!
ACT TWO
Mr. Estepheia had to drop me off an hour early to get the kids into bed on time. Therefore, I was there even before the organiser.
When he arrived, the first thing I found myself thinking was: *gosh, he’s old!* but I smiled artificially, anyway. He installed a kind of automatic photo slide show, and I watched that for a while. After a while, I realised that there wasn't a single photograph of me. Swell!
Then the first few other ex-school mates arrived and people started talking about how we went to Prague during our final year. It became obvious that I was the only one who did NOT have fond memories of the event. Funny, how being ostracised will do that to you. I remember distinctly that in the evenings everybody had always buggered off to jazz clubs and theatres without me and that I'd got stuck having to hang out with my German literature teacher who I hated more than any other living being on the planet.
Shrugging off those not so fond memories I found myself facing another High School nemesis: Twenty years ago he was the tallest boy in class – while I was the smallest girl. For years he taunted me for reading science fiction. It was okay to read scifi, if you were a boy, but not if you were a girl.Why he always picked on me? God knows. Probably because I often exploded into an amusing ball of fury and tried to beat the snot out of him.
So, twenty years later he looked at me, and when someone mentioned my name he smirked, said “the scifi geek” and turned away. Suffice to say, I felt like kicking the crap out of him. Again.
ACT THREE
Next, during dinner, I had a long conversation with a guy who was almost as unpopular as me during our time in High school. Having met him a few years back, I knew he owned a comic shop, so we had a few things to talk about. I think he felt a bit out of place as well, so we made sarcastic comments about how stuffy the others were. He wore the geek label with a lot more grace and humor than I did. He made me laugh a few times.
The food was good. That was a plus.
Plus, everybody looked waaaay older than me. Bonus!
Even so, my inferiority complex kicked in.
ACT FOUR
In the vague believe that I should mingle, considering that I had catching up to do with almost everybody, I talked to several other people. I made two interesting discoveries:
a) People were still essentially the same as 20 years ago. As obnoxious, arrogant, shy or boring as I knew them.
b) I’d honestly forgotten how much I’d hated High School (or rather the other students). I can see now, that my post-graduation decision to live in London (first as an au pair and later as a student) was largely inspired by the desire to put as much distance as possible between myself and my time in High School.
I also have to confess that I wasn’t very good at projecting happiness and confidence. Would you believe that I actually felt boring because I’ve been happily married for 14 years? I also felt like I had to justify not having published a dozen novels or so. I also felt guilty for not owning a big house and a big BMW. I felt terribly un-accomplished.
Did I mention they all looked older than me? Thank the fates for small blessings!
ACT FIVE
Actually, there wasn't an act five. I left early, annoyed with them and annoyed with myself.
Of 100 graduates about 45 people were present at the reunion. Of those 45 two seemed pleased to see me. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I have plenty of friends where I live and many online friends. Who accept me the way I am.
The funny thing is that I always thought that most of the themes explored in BtVS don’t really apply to me because they are so rooted in the American culture. German schools differ from American schools in more ways than I can count, but the experience of being an outsider, of being a Willow or a Warren, that seems to transcend cultural barriers.
It's taken me a whole week to find the time and energy to write about the experience.
ACT ONE
I hardly ever wear make-up, but this was one of those rare cases where I decided to make an effort. I am too short-sighted to actually see what I’m doing whenever I apply war paint, so Mr. Estepheia is usually recruited for the job.
When we were finished I wore gunmetal/silvery nail varnish, expensive lipstick and eye-liner. I was dressed in a light blue sweat shirt and black pants (my best), wearing very modern hematite jewellery that matched my nail varnish.
Did I mention the black leather biker jacket I was wearing? I felt I needed the contrast. Besides, black leather? Never a bad thing!
ACT TWO
Mr. Estepheia had to drop me off an hour early to get the kids into bed on time. Therefore, I was there even before the organiser.
When he arrived, the first thing I found myself thinking was: *gosh, he’s old!* but I smiled artificially, anyway. He installed a kind of automatic photo slide show, and I watched that for a while. After a while, I realised that there wasn't a single photograph of me. Swell!
Then the first few other ex-school mates arrived and people started talking about how we went to Prague during our final year. It became obvious that I was the only one who did NOT have fond memories of the event. Funny, how being ostracised will do that to you. I remember distinctly that in the evenings everybody had always buggered off to jazz clubs and theatres without me and that I'd got stuck having to hang out with my German literature teacher who I hated more than any other living being on the planet.
Shrugging off those not so fond memories I found myself facing another High School nemesis: Twenty years ago he was the tallest boy in class – while I was the smallest girl. For years he taunted me for reading science fiction. It was okay to read scifi, if you were a boy, but not if you were a girl.Why he always picked on me? God knows. Probably because I often exploded into an amusing ball of fury and tried to beat the snot out of him.
So, twenty years later he looked at me, and when someone mentioned my name he smirked, said “the scifi geek” and turned away. Suffice to say, I felt like kicking the crap out of him. Again.
ACT THREE
Next, during dinner, I had a long conversation with a guy who was almost as unpopular as me during our time in High school. Having met him a few years back, I knew he owned a comic shop, so we had a few things to talk about. I think he felt a bit out of place as well, so we made sarcastic comments about how stuffy the others were. He wore the geek label with a lot more grace and humor than I did. He made me laugh a few times.
The food was good. That was a plus.
Plus, everybody looked waaaay older than me. Bonus!
Even so, my inferiority complex kicked in.
ACT FOUR
In the vague believe that I should mingle, considering that I had catching up to do with almost everybody, I talked to several other people. I made two interesting discoveries:
a) People were still essentially the same as 20 years ago. As obnoxious, arrogant, shy or boring as I knew them.
b) I’d honestly forgotten how much I’d hated High School (or rather the other students). I can see now, that my post-graduation decision to live in London (first as an au pair and later as a student) was largely inspired by the desire to put as much distance as possible between myself and my time in High School.
I also have to confess that I wasn’t very good at projecting happiness and confidence. Would you believe that I actually felt boring because I’ve been happily married for 14 years? I also felt like I had to justify not having published a dozen novels or so. I also felt guilty for not owning a big house and a big BMW. I felt terribly un-accomplished.
Did I mention they all looked older than me? Thank the fates for small blessings!
ACT FIVE
Actually, there wasn't an act five. I left early, annoyed with them and annoyed with myself.
Of 100 graduates about 45 people were present at the reunion. Of those 45 two seemed pleased to see me. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I have plenty of friends where I live and many online friends. Who accept me the way I am.
The funny thing is that I always thought that most of the themes explored in BtVS don’t really apply to me because they are so rooted in the American culture. German schools differ from American schools in more ways than I can count, but the experience of being an outsider, of being a Willow or a Warren, that seems to transcend cultural barriers.
