The Teacher Who Almost Made Me Hate School

Years later, whenever I think back to my high school days, the first thing I remember isn't the classrooms or the lessons written on the blackboard.

It's the flower beds.

It's the watering can that always seemed heavier than it looked, especially under the scorching afternoon sun when every step felt like a burden.

It's the broom that almost became part of my identity, the one I held so often that my classmates began joking that I had been employed by the school.

They laughed.

Some called me "the school gardener."

Others whispered as I passed.

A few even believed I deserved every punishment.

They never knew how much those words hurt.

I smiled on the outside...

But inside, I was slowly breaking.

There were afternoons when I watered flowers until sunset while watching other students play football, laugh with friends, or walk happily through the school gate.

I would look at them and wonder,

"Why is it always me?"

Sometimes I wasn't even told what I had done wrong.

I simply heard my name.

"You... stay behind."

Those words became painfully familiar.

Cleaning classrooms...

Sweeping corridors...

Collecting litter...

Watering flowers...

Being sent out of class...

Standing outside while everyone else continued learning...

It reached a point where some students assumed I had committed a serious crime.

Yet the truth was much simpler.

I was just another student trying to survive school.

There were days I questioned myself.

Maybe I wasn't good enough.

Maybe I wasn't intelligent.

Maybe I would never succeed.

Those thoughts became louder every...