Getting started...[spontaneous entry]
Jan. 29th, 2004 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kyrasantae
So I just got this LJ, my plan is to use it to post my daily journal entries when I don't have access to my usual webspace (from my ISP) anymore (that is, when I'm at university next year). Right now I've just made some back posts of relevant entries from my journal regarding the whole Antonuk deal...it's been an item that has been very difficult for me to talk about and explain every time someone asks about it. There were too many vague references to the Antonuk thing, so I've only posted the important ones. The build-up of hate really began about a year ago (last January) but obviously I won't go back that far.
In other news, I've been procrastinating on posting a copy of the speech I wrote to deliver at the regional speech arts tournament next Saturday (7 Feb.). It's about the whole Antonuk thing, of course. Shaily talked me out of attempting to audition for valedictorian with this speech, most notably because it'd probably offend Antonuk if I didn't approve the text with her beforehand.
So here it is:
Those who know me...know me as a goody-two-shoes, someone who goes by all the rules, hands in all her homework on time, and generally always does the right thing. But tonight, I must make a confession. I skipped class once, and not only was I caught by my teacher...but that lead to my expulsion from that class. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a story about skipping class, guilt, or decisions. It is about all of the above, and more. This is a story about being able to deal with and accept the consequences of the choices we make.
It was a tough decision for me in the first place. I felt that I should not put myself through the gut-wrenching pain of watching the remainder of the documentary video that my history class was watching, which we had started the day before. It was a war video, journalistic, of soldiers telling their stories, including those about the satisfaction of shooting at enemies and torching buildings. Few of my classmates truly understand my pain of and aversion to seeing violence. Images of violence anger me, making me hunger to do those very things that I find painful to observe. I had approached some of my closer friends with the notion of skipping class, questioning its reason. They told me that it was up to myself to make the decision, but they felt perhaps, for the sake of my sanity, that it may be a good idea despite the risks.
Never for a moment did I consider the possibility that my teacher would find me in the library where I was hiding; I had felt so confident, with my otherwise-perfect attendance, that I could get away with it. So when I got caught, I panicked, and I froze. I did not feel defiant, but I felt disappointment, sadness. In my sudden alarm I could not put together a string of coherent, meaningful words to explain myself. She said nothing in return to my futile excuse, and I shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling, believing that she'd forgive me and move on.
By the time I walked into class the next morning I was prepared to mend my reputation as much as I could. I asked my classmates what I had missed, and helped myself to the worksheets on the table. But it was already too late to redeem myself. My teacher approached me and informed me that I was no longer welcome in her class. I had never expected this.
In the past I had already done everything possible in my power to withdraw myself from the class and pursue a different course of action to complete my graduation requirements. I had tried talking to her, explaining that the in-depth and gung-ho way with which we dealt with war in this class was causing me emotional distress. I had tried simply to cope by slightly modifying assignments. I had tried to rally my friends in support of my protests. I was in the process of talking to a psychologist to get a diagnosis of my mental state as affected by the class. But withdrawal from the class would require final approval from my teacher, which she vehemently denied.
Because of that frustration, when she broke the news to me, I cried. I never found out if it was in anger or in defeat or in joy. One thing was certain: I had finally got my wish — but not in the dramatic, in-front-of-the-whole-class fashion I had dreamed about. I have to admit that she did a fine job of making sure that I didn't get the glory that I wanted for what I did, even in afterthought.
That night there washed over me a torrent of emotions. Was I to feel elated over my victory? Or guilty for what I had done to my own moral standing and reputation? Or perhaps my friends were to blame. Then hindsight kicked in. What if I hadn't listened to my friends? What if I had instead asked the teacher nicely if I could spend the hour studying in the hall? What if I hadn't been at the library, where she found me? What if better words came out in my excuse? What if? What if? But if this hadn't happened to me — or rather, had I not made the decision that I did — I would still be in that class today...and often in my thoughts that was the last thing I wanted.
As much as my teacher’s actions were justified from both our points of view, I have come to realize the importance of having to accept and learn from the consequences of my decisions. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where the way out isn’t easy — be it because it takes time or because there are obstacles in the way, within yourself or without yourself. All of us have the freedom to do whatever it takes to defend ourselves from what hurts us, however not without paying a price. And the price that’s paid is what that must be resolved, not ignored, before we can move on – whether the risk we took was calculated or not, the consequences expected or not.
In the end it all comes back to something that my teacher has asked us to consider many times: "do the ends ever justify the means?" I still don't know, because the means to my end – dropping out of the class – were not intentional. I think that, ultimately, our decisions — whether we knowingly make them or not — need to be based on what feels right. Remember to weigh the consequences first, and prioritize them: what's best for you, for your sanity, for what you believe in, right now...takes precedence over everything else. By no means do I advocate following in my footsteps; no matter the outcome, it is shameful to the soul. I live scarred by that experience forever. Just don't do it. But if you must...as my teacher said to me when I said I was sorry: "Don't apologize to me, or anyone else...it's your choice."
In other news, I've been procrastinating on posting a copy of the speech I wrote to deliver at the regional speech arts tournament next Saturday (7 Feb.). It's about the whole Antonuk thing, of course. Shaily talked me out of attempting to audition for valedictorian with this speech, most notably because it'd probably offend Antonuk if I didn't approve the text with her beforehand.
So here it is:
Those who know me...know me as a goody-two-shoes, someone who goes by all the rules, hands in all her homework on time, and generally always does the right thing. But tonight, I must make a confession. I skipped class once, and not only was I caught by my teacher...but that lead to my expulsion from that class. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a story about skipping class, guilt, or decisions. It is about all of the above, and more. This is a story about being able to deal with and accept the consequences of the choices we make.
It was a tough decision for me in the first place. I felt that I should not put myself through the gut-wrenching pain of watching the remainder of the documentary video that my history class was watching, which we had started the day before. It was a war video, journalistic, of soldiers telling their stories, including those about the satisfaction of shooting at enemies and torching buildings. Few of my classmates truly understand my pain of and aversion to seeing violence. Images of violence anger me, making me hunger to do those very things that I find painful to observe. I had approached some of my closer friends with the notion of skipping class, questioning its reason. They told me that it was up to myself to make the decision, but they felt perhaps, for the sake of my sanity, that it may be a good idea despite the risks.
Never for a moment did I consider the possibility that my teacher would find me in the library where I was hiding; I had felt so confident, with my otherwise-perfect attendance, that I could get away with it. So when I got caught, I panicked, and I froze. I did not feel defiant, but I felt disappointment, sadness. In my sudden alarm I could not put together a string of coherent, meaningful words to explain myself. She said nothing in return to my futile excuse, and I shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling, believing that she'd forgive me and move on.
By the time I walked into class the next morning I was prepared to mend my reputation as much as I could. I asked my classmates what I had missed, and helped myself to the worksheets on the table. But it was already too late to redeem myself. My teacher approached me and informed me that I was no longer welcome in her class. I had never expected this.
In the past I had already done everything possible in my power to withdraw myself from the class and pursue a different course of action to complete my graduation requirements. I had tried talking to her, explaining that the in-depth and gung-ho way with which we dealt with war in this class was causing me emotional distress. I had tried simply to cope by slightly modifying assignments. I had tried to rally my friends in support of my protests. I was in the process of talking to a psychologist to get a diagnosis of my mental state as affected by the class. But withdrawal from the class would require final approval from my teacher, which she vehemently denied.
Because of that frustration, when she broke the news to me, I cried. I never found out if it was in anger or in defeat or in joy. One thing was certain: I had finally got my wish — but not in the dramatic, in-front-of-the-whole-class fashion I had dreamed about. I have to admit that she did a fine job of making sure that I didn't get the glory that I wanted for what I did, even in afterthought.
That night there washed over me a torrent of emotions. Was I to feel elated over my victory? Or guilty for what I had done to my own moral standing and reputation? Or perhaps my friends were to blame. Then hindsight kicked in. What if I hadn't listened to my friends? What if I had instead asked the teacher nicely if I could spend the hour studying in the hall? What if I hadn't been at the library, where she found me? What if better words came out in my excuse? What if? What if? But if this hadn't happened to me — or rather, had I not made the decision that I did — I would still be in that class today...and often in my thoughts that was the last thing I wanted.
As much as my teacher’s actions were justified from both our points of view, I have come to realize the importance of having to accept and learn from the consequences of my decisions. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where the way out isn’t easy — be it because it takes time or because there are obstacles in the way, within yourself or without yourself. All of us have the freedom to do whatever it takes to defend ourselves from what hurts us, however not without paying a price. And the price that’s paid is what that must be resolved, not ignored, before we can move on – whether the risk we took was calculated or not, the consequences expected or not.
In the end it all comes back to something that my teacher has asked us to consider many times: "do the ends ever justify the means?" I still don't know, because the means to my end – dropping out of the class – were not intentional. I think that, ultimately, our decisions — whether we knowingly make them or not — need to be based on what feels right. Remember to weigh the consequences first, and prioritize them: what's best for you, for your sanity, for what you believe in, right now...takes precedence over everything else. By no means do I advocate following in my footsteps; no matter the outcome, it is shameful to the soul. I live scarred by that experience forever. Just don't do it. But if you must...as my teacher said to me when I said I was sorry: "Don't apologize to me, or anyone else...it's your choice."
