Could have, Should Have, Would Have
These past few days, I’ve been disturbed by this incident that happened during my tenth year in high school.
It was the last subject before lunchtime, and for some reason,the teacher was unavailable, so the school opted for this year eight female teacher as a substitute.
Just so you can get a clear imagination of what she looked like; this teacher had all the classic blond pornstar-cum-dominatrix look - she had this long platinum blonde hair (fake, of course) which she always did in a high pony tail and she wore very tight clothing that revealed every curves of her body, and shoes that made the clickety-click sound because they were so improperly high. Her face was always heavily made with lined-in lipstick and made up eyes with curved eyelashes that looked as if they had been tortured by some heavy duty mascara. Frankly said, there was no way in a millionth years would she ever fit the image of being a teacher, because the whole appearance was completed as a nightmare by the way she always put on a pouty, irritated look on her face. She probably assumed it was sexy, or something.
Anyway, she swanned in and told the class in a bossy tone that our teacher wasn’t available, so we were to continue what we usually did for that subject, and then she added that just because the teacher wasn’t available it didn’t mean that we could freely study on another subject on our own. It had to be that subject. Fair enough. Didn’t sound all that difficult to comprehend, right?
Just then I remembered that I was taking notes on a scrap paper from the third period that I spent at the library, and not wanting to forget and misplace it, I quickly retrieved it from one of the books in which I slipped the notes in between its pages. All of a sudden I heard platinum blondie shrieking from across the classroom, “Excuse me! You!”
I looked up, expecting that someone must have been caught doing something not to her liking - probably one of the backseated boys, I thought - but to my surprise, she was talking to me. I even had to look around to make sure she wasn’t appointing the wrong person.
“Me?”
“Yes. You. What are you doing? I saw you working on something that isn’t related to this subject. Come here please!”
I approached her in horror - I had never been told off by a teacher before. Ever.
What I remembered the most was how humiliating the whole experience was for me. Not only she scolded me for something so simple - I was basically reorganising my notes, was that a crime? - but she also made me sit on a single table in front of the whole class and continued to do my own study (no other subjects allowed!) in front of everybody, which made me feel like one of those little bad-ass punks who get punished by wearing the dunce cap and stand in the corner front of the class. Even though the whole class didn’t seem to make a big deal out of it, my face was still burning with shame and rage for being treated so unfairly. Even though I tried to explain the whole thing to her, she still didn’t want to hear me.
Immediately I realised that whatever excuses that I gave wouldn’t do any justice on me - she was just having a bad day and wanting to lash it out to someone. It just infuriated me that I had to be the victim for something so ridiculous as that.
Thinking back, I could have screamed obscenities at her. I would have not back down so meekly. I should have returned all her rudeness back at her. Even if she threatened me with a detention, I should have been persistent enough to prove that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Even better, I should have just walked out of the class and ignored the crap out of her, instead of sitting on that table by myself and holding a grudge. Even if I did end up getting a detention for talking back at her, I would have felt proud to stand up for myself, and the memory would have been a proud one instead of it being disturbing.
When one of those bad memories from the past occur to me, I feel angry with myself for not doing the things that I could have, should have and would have done. But then again, back then I probably wouldn’t have known what to do. Normally I’m a very placid person - I don’t talk back and act rude just to level up to the behavior of others who are doing the same thing. But sometimes I regret myself for behaving so passive because some people really deserve to be yelled obscenities at.
It’s funny how after all these years, bad memories can still come and haunt you in the weirdest hours of the day. It’s not so much the memories that you despise, but it’s more the perseverance that you didn’t have back then. The knowledge that you could have done better and the realisation that you simply cannot redo the past.
But perhaps these memories are meant to appear so that we could do better the next time someone tries to mess with us. Although those who had mistreated us so unfairly don’t probably remember ever doing it, the memories still lingered in the back of our minds and act as a remembrance to be stronger and to stand up for ourselves.
