23. college student. imperfect christian. still in love with life. music lover. English nerd. reader. writer. artist. scared little kid at heart. hopeless romantic.
part aesthetic blog, part personal blog, part fandom blog.
Met an old teacher today and we got talking about ‘the good old times’ and ten minutes into the conversation I jokingly said the one regret I have from middle school is that I never won anything at her magnificent tombolas? Because, like, she used to hold this game about once a month so we’d learn the numbers in French and it was never big prizes, but as a 12-yo I desperately craved them - a cactus-shaped eraser, a bright blue notebook with slightly larger-than-usual squares, a set of coloured pens - and never ever got a single one of them.
(Actually spent a good few months thinking I was genetically unlucky and researching ancient family curses with my grandma.)
So today I don’t know what I was hoping for - nothing, really?
(I mean, that part of me that’s still twelve was probably expecting this sweet old woman to have a set of glitter stickers in her purse and just go ‘You know what, you’re right - I’ve been saving this one for you all these years, here you go’ but I’m a solidly rational person and I know that’s stupid.)
No, I thought we’d just laugh and it would be a good shared memory and that would be it. Instead, my teacher got flustered and a bit embarrassed and explained the game was rigged. It was never about learning French at all. She’d just noticed some kids couldn’t afford even basic stationery, so she’d buy a few half-fancy items every month with her own money just for them. She didn’t want them to feel different or left out. And obviously the way she used to walk around in the classroom, looking over our shoulders - it wasn’t to prevent cheating. It was because she was cheating herself, wanting to see which number a particular child needed to get a Minnie Mouse pencil case.
Guys - the world is fucked up, but so many people out there are just good and kind and humbly heroic it honestly gives me hope.
It’ll be alright, you’ll see.
That’s what I love about the show Abbott Elementary. The optimism found in just doing what you can in world paralyzed into inaction by the overwhelming amount of information we receive is so delightfully brave. Those who’d have you believe that failing to connect with every injustice or tragedy with the highest level engagement…all the time…you are a bad person are destructive to individual mental health and a productive national political discourse.
