Those bitter memories

Salam,

I wonder how many of us spare a tiny bit space in our memory to remember our kindergarten years. Well, I did. In fact, I attended two years of kindergarten. The first year was bitter but the next one was pretty joyful. My dad sent me to Tadika Kemas when I was five. At that age, getting free kuih during brunch, coloring pages, singing lullaby songs were very exciting. It seemed that it was not only me who enjoyed being there. Two kerek girls did too, since they had someone in their hands to bully. They loved to pinch me so hard that I always ended up crying quietly somewhere in the tadika. I finally decided to tell my teacher, (I still remember her name, Cikgu Sharifah) since those girls (one is a daughter to an MA, another belongs to a director in a government agency) always sought for opportunities to be next to me. She listened to me every time I told her, but in one day, something unexpected happened. When my dad picked me up, he met up with the teacher. Well, guess what. She told my dad that I always made up stories and suka mengadu. I felt betrayed, and the next thing I remember was I refused to attend the tadika anymore. My mom took over the teaching job at home.

Unfortunately, couple years later, I heard a same version of the story. My friend was sexually harassed by her step uncle. I was big enough to understand the meaning of that phrase, so I asked her why she must sealed her lips so tight.  Just break the news! She said that no one would believe her, even at this high school age. Her scary, an Oscar winner step mum that you saw in the Cinderella movie, would definitely point back the accusation to her.  Just like what happened to me, but a lot more worse. Anytime I read in the newspapers about sexual harassment on underage girls, I  could easily digest their feeling. Is it really hard to believe any words coming out from a little girl?

Yes, I admit that I hate those able-to-listen-but-pretending-to-be-deaf adults. No judgment there, please. It happened to me once, happened to my friend as well, and perhaps many others. Well, experiences are the best teacher.