Remember Last Year When...

 Before 2013, I had never stayed in one school – or really, in one place – for more than…three years? Sure, let’s go with that.

In a school? I considered it a stroke of luck to be able to return for the next academic year. So depending on how you count, I have been in anywhere from nine to eleven schools in the fifteen years (nursery-12^th) of my schooling.

(The school I joined in 2013 ended up also being my high school where I spent from eighth to twelfth – the longest I have stayed in any school.)

So it should probably (read: hopefully) be no surprise that I have ample experience with being the “new kid.” It gave me a few skills that I find useful, such as being able to silently analyze class dynamics, inferring names so I didn’t have to bother too much with awkward introductions, and getting a read on my classmates, especially the ones that stood out (for whatever reason). Sometimes I would even be able to find out how their names were spelled by sneaking peeks into attendance registers, or figuring out last names. I remember surprising – and maybe even impressing – some of my classmates.

Similar skills extended to teachers, which led me to be able to accommodate my learning style to their teaching method, but that seems to be a story for another time.

However, as an introvert that didn’t realize for a long time that she was an introvert, I did face snags. I could read class dynamics, sure, but I could never see a space for myself in them. I had a fairly good rapport with my classmates, enough so that I could seek their help whenever I needed it, but there would be an essential warmth missing. (At least I often felt that way, and really only for the first few weeks or months.) And that’s natural, I feel. It was often the case that I was part of a class dynamic that was honed for several years at best, a year at worst. The class moved like a well-oiled machine without me, so why improve on perfection? That philosophy was also behind me taking my time, being a silent observer, to integrate myself into a class. I wasn’t sure where I could fit in.

All this while bearing in mind that these are my formative years. I was a child, for goodness’ sake. At present, I know that the best thing I can do is be myself and I shouldn’t have to conform to gain anyone’s approval. But as a schoolkid, it was important for me to be at least cordial with my classmates. When there was no way to do that, there would be a cloud over my head and I would call it a bad day at school. I really gave my parents grief with the number of times I cried to them about not fitting in at school, I think. Mostly because I couldn’t see the wisdom in their words that I really should have been focusing on my uniqueness before getting ideas about fitting in. I wish I could say that to my schoolkid self.

One such snag was hearing talk of “last year.” Past events, names, places, that my classmates got to experience, that would be a frequent topic of conversation. Who doesn’t love some good ol’ reminiscing, right? These conversations were clearly something my classmates loved having. And yet, I couldn’t possibly find anything to contribute to those conversations. I was new. I had left behind people with whom I had made memories, and I had yet to make memories with these new classmates. At one point, I even questioned the point of that. What was the point if I would likely just leave at the end of the year? Because I was a child and facing uncertainty about this sphere of life, I became a bit of a cynic. I had to learn the hard way to be content in myself – again, a story for another time, perhaps.

So yes, as these conversations progressed, I found myself experiencing this phenomenon repeatedly and feeling isolated, simply because I had nothing to contribute. (It was also a lesson I learned the hard way that my classmates were often unwelcoming of my stories, possibly for the same reason as me – they couldn’t contribute actively.)

Come next academic year, I would be wondering if I would get to spend the year with the same classmates or get new ones (if we moved again). There were uncertainties in both situations. It would be a joy to be able to spend another year at school, to bask in the familiarity that the previous year had established for me. While I was at it, I could also be at the receiving end of witnessing the arrival of new(er) students in class – a rare and exciting occurrence for me. (I’m surprised I wasn’t a “diplomat” of sorts – I knew the struggles of being a new student, so why didn’t I put that to use welcoming new classmates?) I would do my part in trying to appear accessible to them, despite whatever my shortcomings may have been.

As a member of the class, I would be able to find a more solid footing in making a contribution to the classroom conversations. I still remember the first time I used a certain phrase in a conversation: “I remember [this] from last year!”

For a moment I had been caught off-guard. I realized that I had never thought I would be able to use that phrase in…well, any context. And then that surprise was replaced with happiness: I had lasted long enough to have memories with these classmates! I’m still around to share it with them!

Even today, this small and simple phrase is something that brings me joy. It’s a special feeling to be able to make memories and just…belong.