Looking back, reminiscing of my time at l’Externat Ste Marie, I realize it was bittersweet. I started with so much hope and excitement, only to have it cruelly crushed by awful teachers and some classmates. I was no angel either to be honest. To suffer at the hands of those who should protect you and teach you is an experience I don’t wish on no one.

As a result, I was self – loathing; I hated the way I was, the way I look. I also hated living in Switzerland, I hated the fact I couldn’t even speak French, I hated the girls for being so cruel and mean to me, the list is endless. With so much hatred no wonder why I was angry all the time and trouble. No one could control it, including myself. What I hated the most, during my time at l’Externat Ste Marie, was when my dad left us. He was my anchor, my comfort, my everything. When I started school in Geneva, he was the go – to person when I was having a bad day. He was the person who made me happy. So happy. I was trouble, but he always knew what to do, or what to say. Now, my father has been replaced by a psychologist, and despite her effort, I was still heartbroken.

Although you must be thinking that my life sounded like a car crash, we did actually meet some lovely people who played a huge role in our lives. We met them through our parish, la Ste Trinité. Their support was so invaluable to us. So those 3 lovely women who helped us were not only foreigners like us, but so lovely. Usually my guard’s always up and I don’t open to people easily. But their kindness and warmth allowed me to open up a bit more. So, the first lady was called Yvonne, but due to her Sri Lankan origins, and in my eyes she looked like us, we called her tantie Yvonne (aunty Yvonne). We also met Madame Visvalde originally from France. She was so lovely and generous and always smiling. I used to love throwing myself at her and cover her with so much affection. Another lady who not only I loved her deeply was originally from Argentina, her name was Gloria, but we called her tantie Gloria since we spent so much time at her house. She lived opposite our school, so staying over at her house was so convenient. As my mum worked so hard, we spent so much time with tantie Gloria. She would spoil us so much. Tragically, tantie Gloria lost her only son Maurice to an illness. Despite the tragedy, she had so much love to give and share towards us. 

We used to get so excited each time we went to tantie Gloria’s house. We’d watch films endlessly. It was at her house I watched ‘The Neverending story’ for the first time. I loved the film so much, so tantie Gloria allowed me to watch it over and over. I also saw myself in the character of Bastian, an outcast who was bullied. Through the whole film, Bastian spends the film alone in the attic of the school which further highlights the fact he’s an outcast. Bastian loves to read, just like me. There’s so much to say about the film, but a character that I love the most is Falcor. Years later, I’d go to Germany in Munich and see some of the setting of the film and to my delight ride at the back of Falcor.

It was clear I felt so at home at tantie Gloria’s house, and she always made us feel welcome. Ironically, going to her house made it easier to go to school on a daily basis, in a way I felt her presence. I used to stare at her balcony during break time, wishing I could pop over. I knew she’d welcome me with open arms literally. My time at Ste Marie wasn’t so unbearable thanks to her. Sadly, once we left the school, we didn’t see her as much.

I saw myself as a science experiment. When people are literally trying to work you out constantly, my psychologist, my mum, my teacher and my classmates. I was just heartbroken and had no idea how to express it. I was so young as well. This level of attention I had, ironically made me feel so alienated. You know something is not right when you are not invited to birthday parties (I have been invited a couple of times in 3-4 years), I haven’t had the privilege to experience playdates. I felt so alone and withdrawn. 

I needed a distraction. My poor mum, who was already working hard to make ends meet, was working equally hard to find us activities to keep us occupied as clearly TV and comic books were not enough. Also, my mum was looking for a new school for us as the journey to and from school was so long. We had to cross the whole town just to go to school. 

I was obviously nervous for a new beginning to another school. I am sure the current school I was in, would welcome my departure in a heartbeat. It would be a great relief for everyone when word got out I was bound to leave my school.

What I didn’t know is the next school I would go to, I would spend the best 2 years of my life where classmates and teachers would finally accept me for me.

When my dad left us, it affected me the most. I was so inconsolable, so heartbroken. A piece of me left the day he did. Everything reminded me of him; the music we listened to, the television programs we watched, the comic books I read. The pain was so unbearable and intolerable.

I was so upset and angry all the time. I was upset with myself for playing a part in my dad’s departure. I wondered why I got involved, probably all could have been settled and we could have all moved on. Ironically, prior to my dad leaving, everything was ok for me in Switzerland. I had friends, I was opening up more, making great effort in class and my teacher liked me. Sadly, all the good progress I was doing for the past couple of months, came crashing down. My teacher and classmates didn’t stand a chance. My anger and wrath was so unbearable for everyone around me. The one who suffered the most was my mother, for I blamed her for my dad leaving us, when in reality it was my dad’s own doing.

My character alone was not easy for people to deal with me; I was so headstrong, stubborn, I never ever liked being told what to do. Yet the only person who was like me and who knew how to deal with me was my father. You can imagine how everyone had their work cut out with me. My mum tried to put up with me, it was clear she needed support and fast. My teacher also suggested it as my behaviour was deteriorating by the second.

It’s funny in a way that I was the version of my dad, he always wanted a boy, I was a tomboy, I was rough,  was dressing like a boy  and acting like one too. I couldn’t stop and calm my behaviour yet I had to be stopped otherwise I would face an expulsion. The school gave my mum an ultimatum, either I see a psychologist or I will face an imminent expulsion. Backed in a corner, my mum arranged for me to see a psychologist. At first, I wasn’t pleased to the idea to speak to a stranger about my own issues. The first few sessions, I wasn’t opening up. I was wondering how was that going to help? Bring my father back? I had no choice it seemed. So I started to open up. I explained how my father meant so much to me, how I hated living in Switzerland at the beginning and the only reason it was bearable was because of my dad. I also explained how racism affected me and still did at the time. Surprisingly, I was allowed to be myself and be completely honest as well as understand my own behaviour more. I came to realise I wasn’t a bad person, but I was just so hurt and it made me angry as well as rebel against the world. Undoubtedly, the pain caused by my dad leaving was the worse pain imaginable. It would take many years for the pain to fade. The racism I faced, even though it was so horrific, was somehow manageable as I could easily forget about it and read or watch my many cartoons I came to love so much. 

Seeing a psychologist, didn’t heal my pain, but helped me express my pain and understand also that what happened between my parents wasn’t my fault. Of course, my behaviour didn’t improve much at school, but as we did what the school requested, I was able to stay there for the time being. I remember how my mum turned to God in our hour of need. We used to go to church almost everyday after school. My faith also helped me find some solace and peace at times. We were so blessed literally that even the church community put up with me as my mischievous ways reached there also. I would sleep sometimes during mass, or I would break the Sacramental bread and wanting to see the Father’s reaction if he discovered it. I was truly a pain to deal with. People around were ever so patient with me, many families looked past my behaviour and in a way accepted me the way I was.

No matter what, my dad left a huge gap that could never be filled. I needed a distraction and moreover, I am sure everyone around me wanted me to be distracted too as my behaviour was worsening, even while seeing a psychologist.