Hello ! How are you ?
Coucou !
Aujourd'hui j'avais envie de vous partager une rédaction que j'ai faite en anglais.
Donc en fait, le but à la fin c'est d'écrire une courte histoire, en développant un de ses souvenirs et en les réinventant... on passe pas plusieurs brouillons qui sont des améliorations des précédents. J'ai choisi de vous présenter le « first draft » ou premier brouillon.
Le souvenir que j'ai voulu réinventer était mon harcèlement. Je voulais faire un texte poignant de manière à toucher tout le monde (même si c'est pas très original parce que beaucoup de gens le font déjà mais bon...)... Je sais pas trop si c'est bien écrit mais au pire je l'améliorerai au prochain brouillon !
J'ai recréé un personnage aussi...

Bien sûr comme c'est dans le contexte des cours et que l'anglais n'est pas ma langue maternelle, il y sûrement des fautes, donc je serai ravie de voir des bilingues m'aider à le corriger !

J'espère que ça vous plaît !

PS: ceux qui sont intéressés, je réécrirai peut-être une traduction après... -.^

***

"Angel!"

My friend calls me from a distance, waiting for me in front of our junior high school. I run to her, and hug her. She looks weirdly at me, a bit perplexed.

"Why are you smiling so awkwardly?" she asks.

"No reason." I lie, smirking.

I am happy as it's the first time since primary school that I got myself some friends. Primary school had been such a painful period for me. A term full of hate, tears, cries. A somber phase of my life. Although, it had started with good news. I sit on a chair and close my eyes and let myself dive into my memories.
I was about to skip a grade. The teacher said I knew too much.

"You already are able to read, write and count! It's way too much for a little four-year-old girl like you." That's what she told me.

So instead of having a third year of kindergarten, or what we call "école maternelle" in France, I went to primary school a year earlier than my classmates.
When I arrived, I was at first intimidated because I was the youngest of the school and new class. However, I got used to it pretty quickly and tried my best not to care about that fact. I managed to get excellent grades. Yet, I failed at making friends.

Why do people bully others? Is it because they are jealous? Is it because they hate them? Maybe it's just for fun...

In five years, my classmates never stopped hurting me. They were insulting me, hitting me, and ruining my reputation. However, they made sure that I didn't look like I was being bullied and that I wouldn't tell anyone. And I obeyed. I kept the terrible secret within me.
In 4th grade (or CM1 in France), I met a girl. She was new to our school. She seemed nice, so I tried to talk to her. We started to build some sorts of friendship. I thought we were friends. I thought.
She was faking everything. She pretended to be that "kind person". She was using me to get good grades, to get free food I was giving her, she was using me as if I was her object. Or perhaps a sort of slave.
She was manipulating me so well that I didn't know what was happening. Plus, her being my friend didn't stop my comrades from keeping me bullied.
Being quite naive, I only understood what was happening with the girl in my last year of elementary school. I don't know how but I got her to stop walking out with me. And I ended up alone again. Still bullied. On my own. With the bitter feeling of being useless.
During breaktime, when no one was beating me up, I drew, read and wondered why this was happening to me. I thought I'd been cursed, although I didn't believe in magic at all. I thought about it for a long time but then realized that this assumption was foolish, and childish. So I became clueless. Nowadays, I still am.

In 5th Grade, or CM2, I started to play with the kind, young and small first-year kids. One of them was my brother's best friend who was a year older than by brother, so he knew me. He told his friends:

"Don't listen to your older siblings, guys ! She's a very nice person, you know ! Plus it's Alexander's sister !  Come on ! Let's not leave her alone ! It would be very bad, if she went through her last year in this school being lonely, don't ya think ?"

Therefore, at each breaktime, they would all gather around me and ask me to play with them. That made me really happy, I didn't feel useless anymore. I was and still am very thankful to those children and to my brother's best friend. They made my school life better and more joyful.
In exchange for their kindness and empathy, I explained their lesson to them, solved their problems, and helped them with their homework.

Aside from being bullied, something else happened to me. I personally think it's even worse than bullying.
Children weren't the only mean ones. Adults too. Teachers. They hated me. I was suffering from racism. Since I was asian, they treated me differently from the other pupils.
I remember, in class, the teacher often made mistakes. So I had to raise my hand up to tell the teacher about it. I don't know if I was the one wrong or if they were the one who didn't want to admit their errors but they often answered me with extremely harsh phrases such as :

"Little asians who think they're smart, like you, don't have the right to talk to me that way ! Do you think I'm dumb ? Now don't ever interrupt my class again !".

That often made me want to cry. But I held my tears back and told myself that crying wouldn't help, nor solve my problems. Yet, it hurt so much, it broke me from inside.
Finally, one day, a lady came up to our class to warn us about bullying. She told us how serious it was and how important it was to tell the teacher. And then she asked:

"Have any of you been bullied ? Or perhaps witnessed a scene of someone being bullied ?"

I felt like everyone was staring at me. I shivered. Tears gathered in the corner of my eye. My vision blurred. I needed to let go. My mind was about to explode. I felt like my brain was tearing up. That "secret" was to heavy for that frail skinny body of mine. I bursted in tears. I couldn't keep them in.
Everybody was glaring at me. Were they thinking that it was unusual for someone to cry because they were being bullied ?
The lady came at me, and patted my head. Then she gently advised me :

"If you want to talk about it, it's fine with me. You don't have to do it in front of your classmates but you can come see me at the end of the class."

I shyly nodded but I didn't want to talk about it. I was scared that my bullies would make my life ever worse than it already was.

I have to admit it. Primary school was horrible. It completely transformed me. I went from being an extremely joyful and expressive little girl to a dull, withdrawn and negative child. I often ask myself what kind of person I would be if things had happened differently. If I'd never been bullied... If I had friends... If my teachers were nice people...

Now you might wonder:  how did this end ?

Well, I really did feel different from the others when I went to another junior high school. My classmates were depending on a state middle school whereas I decided to go to that public school far from my house. And that's where I am. Now...

"...gel ! ...ngel ! Angel !!"

I open my eyes. I look down. My thighs are wet. Anyone could see that my jeans has those trace of water droplets. Did I cry without noticing ?

"Ah finally ! Were you asleep or something ? " My best friend asks.

"Not really..."

" That's a bit weird then... Plus you were crying... Were you thinking about something sad ? I'm a bit worried you know..."

"You shouldn't be worried about me, I'm fine... " I try to calm her down.

"Whatever... she says while rolling her eyes ."

The bell suddenly rings, which makes me startled. My friend giggles...

" Jeez... How can a bell you hear everyday startle you ? Now, let's go before we get late !"

***