I still remember that day when I realized how people tend to hate us because we are different. I had been really ignorant not knowing anything. I had been influenced to believe this world is only here to judge me. In solitude amid a world inhabited by people who had different nationalities than me wondering, am I the only one feeling isolated?

At Ninth Street School, I was only 9 years old. My classmate, Edgar, had teal eyes that showed his stoic expression. He was almost albino with short light blond hair that was curled. Edgar had asked our teacher politely if he could use the facility. The teacher told me to go with Edgar because we always had to go with a buddy to the restroom.

When we got to the restroom, which was always flooded by sinks that were clogged with paper towels and stank of urine, I waited patiently by a sink while Edgar used the facility. The yellow tiles on the restroom floor and white walls in the restroom looked like they were rotting away as if they were a corpse. I looked at the ceiling that had been bombarded with wet paper towels that had been stuck there by immature kids playing around in the restroom.

When I looked to my left I saw a bulky kid come out of one of the stalls.His name was Tyrece (which I learned later in the office). His ethnicity was African American and he was also overweight with a shaved head. He looked at me and became infuriated. I just looked at him wondering what had made him get enraged.
“Hey, you’re the one who called me fat!” he shouted.
“I didn’t call you fat and I don’t even know you,” I replied calmly.
He walked towards me and shoved me back and I quickly regained my balance to prevent myself from falling onto the wet floor. My classmate came to my defense swiftly shielding me from getting hurt. Edgar began to throw punches at Tyrece, but they seem to have no effect on him. Tyrece quickly charged into Edgar ruthlessly and I was behind him.
I tried to slip away but it was too late. My arm was caught trying to move to the left to avoid injury. My arm was crushed against the wall and I felt my bone snap. I felt dizzy and was in pain. I walked outside the restroom trying to shake off the pain but to no avail--the searing pain remained. I just dropped on to the floor sobbing at the pain inflicted on me for I had never actually felt real pain before.
A staff member saw me and asked me what happened but I couldn’t speak. I kept crying quietly in pain and Edgar came out of the restroom with a minor injury. Tyrece did not show any signs of sympathy in his face. The staff told all three of us to go to the office. I had been escorted to the nurse’s office. The nurse gave me an ice pack and told me to lie down on a bed covered in plastic.

A little later, the principal, a tall woman with golden hair that had been curled with a stern yet friendly voice walked into the nurse’s office with her black overcoat came to ask us what happened. I stumbled trying to speak due to the immense pain I was feeling.

“What happened?” the principal asked looking at my arm.
“Tyrece slammed himself on to my arm,” I told her weakly.
“You’ve always been causing trouble at this school,” the principal told me.

I thought back silently about how I felt really isolated and different. I had never caused any sort of trouble in school. Always, the Hispanic students who would call me “Chino” , and say rude things about my nationality are the ones who would get me infuriated. Always, the principal would not do anything to stop those people from saying rude things to me and I get frustrated from their bullying. My parents told the principal many times but to no avail. I felt like she was defending her own ethnicity, and not being just.
When I went home I told my parents about this incident they tried to confront the principal but the principal just blamed me being a troublemaker. Eventually, I did not care for anyone else but myself because: why should I help others when I am going to be hated regardless of my actions? This is reality where we, humans, divide ourselves among our wealth, race, religion, beliefs, the way we dress and so on and classify ourselves as well. I began to look at the world differently than before. This was my first step into seeing the world in a pessimistic way. Before, I believed if you follow the laws you would not be in pain but this was not true.

Even though people stopped saying rude things about my nationality in middle school, I could never still form a bond with anyone for I still held a grudge on people. I had become isolated and distant from people even more wondering about their wickedness. As time went by, I could not bear to trust people and I gave up on this idealistic idea of friendship because this is reality, we can never be friends. Trust takes years to build up and only seconds to break it all. This is reality...