Day nineteen - Pink rabbits

That paradigm I wrote about earlier, of me changing schools very very often would begin in the third grade. I went to this private school alongside with my brother, and it's not even like it was a really good one - if anything it was decidedly mediocre. And again, why this happened, I don't think I'll ever know. But I have more clear memories of the third grade alone than both previous grades combined. So, one thing that changed in my routine was me having to wake up earlier than usual to get ready for school because we had to commute to the city, and that's where my parents were working anyway. 

Again, I don't think I made many friends that year - I remember being friendly with maybe just one or two kids. I did make a sort of nemesis though - one of the kids in the school, and I can't remember now whether he was from my grade or a different grade, but this kid bulled me all the time and kind of got a free pass to do it. The two worst moments of my time in that school happened at his hands : in the first, and as I was trying to run away from him in a playground in front of the school, stupid kid me was looking behind, and when I turned my head in the direction it should have been looking at all along, I bumped it hard against a metal playset and my left eye got so badly swollen that I all but looked as if someone had punched me in the face. In another instance, this kid - who was taking some sort of martial art lessons - really wanted to goad me into a fight with him. No two ways about it, this kid could, if he so wanted, break me in half. He was taller, stronger, wiry, while I was already the sort of soft, pudgy kid I guess I never really stopped being. And he did try to break me : me not wanting to fight him led him to manhandle me, and he threw me down on the floor so hard that I sprained my wrist. I scurried crying back to our teacher, and she took us to the pincipal's office : the dolt listened to my story, looked at me with disdain, and forcefully grabbed my arm and waved it up and down, my limp wrist flailing around, and I legit thought that my hand was going to fly away from the rest of my arm. That stupid man left me in so much pain, but the worst part? While he was doing it he was singing a mocking song, and god damn, that left me wholly pissed off.

One other thing I remember vividly is my teacher - I have no idea now what her name was, my memory has always been at fault with these things, but she was a jovial yet strict, rotund Brazilian woman; she was blonde and blue-eyed, I'm certain there might have been some German in her.