Welcome to Gaia! ::

“I do not believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect intended for us to forgo their use.” –Galileo Galilei – Many years ago I [was enrolled at (attended)] a small private Christian school—Harvest Christian. As a first grader, I received a trophy for having read the most books at the school. I also received straight A’s and remember doing math in one of my dad’s college books before bed. No one thought much of it; I was just a first grader after all, regardless of the fact that I came to the school [already] knowing how to read and write. Even though my parents claimed that I had taught myself, my teachers were not fazed.

Second through fifth grade were much of the same. Straight A’s, perfect student—although ostracized by my fellow students, I enjoyed [going to] school. Sixth grade was different. In sixth grade, I received my first B. I was confused, bewildered, puzzled[, flummoxed, disconcerted]; the teacher who gave it to was the same teacher I had in third grade. I considered her one of my favorite teachers at Harvest. However, my grade went back up, and I graduated from elementary school with a perfect 4.0, the B behind me. I moved on to middle school—still a private [Christian] school, Riverside Christian. At Riverside Christian, there was very little homework given, and I lapsed into laziness. I very rarely did homework, my test scores in some subjects were dismal, and I made some bad choices in who I chose for friends.

My father [has] always told me I had much potential. Every school I’ve gone through has confirmed that, from Harvest Christian and receiving straight A’s, to the IQ test I took at Riverside Christian, which revealed a slightly higher IQ than people, believe me to have. Even outside schools showed an interest in me [when](while) I was at RCS.

I was thrilled. I was riding high. [My only problem anywhere there are people, is that I tend to rely upon what they think.] (The only downfall that occurred was that I tend to rely upon what others think a tad bit too much.)

The phrase that started me on my downward spiral of neglect was said to me by someone I considered one of my best friends. It was the day we picked up our report cards, so naturally, my friends and I swapped our cards between each other to see how we had done.

“Shut up, Amber, you’re too smart,” she shouted at me after I answered her query as to what grade I had received in Pre-Algebra.

To this day, if she was kidding or not, I do not know. However she meant it, it had lasting effects on my intellect. It was the first time I had ever heard of someone having “too much” smartness. My family raised me to embrace my intellect, my intelligence. I had already learned that the most persecuted are the intellects; I learned that in first grade when Destiny Williams wouldn’t sit with me because I drank milk with my pizza.

It was true I hadn’t ever met anyone—let’s see if I can say this without saying completely full of myself—near my intelligence level. Some seemed like it, but that was because they were more driven and disciplined than I, so their hard work paid off as much as my slide-in work did. I hadn’t ever really let it bother me.

However, after that fateful sentence, my grades and motivation took a dive. I lost all interest in receiving good grades. To me, a B was acceptable, whereas any grade below an A had previously been reason for self-grounding.

I had slipped into the realms of mediocrity. I dwelt there, quite content, for several years. My grades took a dive, yes, but my amount of friends shot up, and the general consensus was that I was pretty cool.

8th grade I graduated with okay grades, no C’s or below. Freshman year here at Poly High School I noticed something.

There were smart people here. People who were comfortable with their smartness. And people applauded their smartness.

I was stunned. I didn’t think it was humanly possible for someone to be smart and not be persecuted by all the rest of the world. The smart ones weren’t persecuted—they hung out with other smart people and had smart conversations and did smart things.

With my new experience of public school came my new experience of having homework consistently. I tried to change; to do my work, and do it to my full potential, but I was too far gone. Mediocrity and Procrastination had me in its grip, and it wasn’t planning on letting me go anytime soon.
I struggled through that freshman year, scraped a C in Geometry and in Lit, which made me feel something else new—guilt. I love English and I felt horrible for never doing the homework. I felt horrible for only ever scraping by in her class and doing the bare minimum, even though it still got me a C, which was better than most could say. But I tried not to think that. I couldn’t think like that anymore; that the grade I got was dependent on what others got. I couldn’t justify my bad grades by saying they were better than others’ were. Other people didn’t matter when it came to my life. It was my life, and I was going to live it the way I deemed correct.

Or so I told myself.

For a time it worked. I did my homework, regardless of what others said, and, surprisingly, no one actually said anything. Then nightly homework started coming around again. I struggled against the desire to do nothing with my life; just be another face in the crowd. But Mediocrity had already embedded itself in my brain; making me forgo the talents I have, to just be like everyone else.

Mediocrity still lives here, in my conscience, silently passing judgment on everything I do, and justifying all the bad grades I get. It comforts me when I don’t do my homework, consoles me when others say I am wasting my life, and it specializes in finding me more fun, entertaining things to do when I have homework. It is the reason I have put off these essays for so long.

However, there is another feeling inside me, within my conscience. It is just a fledging feeling, a new sprout I am seeking to care for more than anything I have ever had reason to before.

It is Excellence.

It is striving to conquer Mediocrity in everything I do. It is the voice that whispers in the back of my head that I already have homework, that makes me feel guilty when I lie to my parents about not having work. It is the feeling that I get when I do my homework, or when I get a good grade in a class I love.

Excellence is the reason I am getting so emotional about such a trivial thing as an essay.

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OMGTHISTHINGISSODEPRESSINGTOWRITE. crying I'm seriously almost crying.

If anyone can figure out a few phrases to cut out, that'd be nice, because it needs to be 700-1000 words, and it's currently 1169.

3rd and 4th paragraphs are iffy.

But HOOOMIGAWD.

METOTHECORE.

I could spell better than my sister in...first grade? and she's three years older than me. I'm still doing her homework *sigh*

except I got Bs in 6th and 7th grade because of things that were NOTMYFAULT.

Imagine giving a 11-year-old ISS for something completely stupid that she did not do. (e.g. sticking her tongue out at the scary vice principal. meanie.)

Okay, 6th grade was my fault. A girl mauled me with a kickball and started yelling in my face (I didn't get why,) and I slapped her. My bad. ):

You inspire me and make me very very thankful that I didn't try to fit in with the erm...."popular people."

Dad told me that in high school, smart people were popular. And he was right.

Why do they always have to be right?

I'm an inspiration. heart

It's not really peer pressure. I can handle that. It's just what others think about me in general. >_<

PS EDIT! [..]means taken out (...) means to replace with.

*so not replying*

eek

I feel like a sofa.

Needless to say, editing has been thoroughly baise'd (Babel Fish it >_> ) on the account that I was too lazy and it was 4 in the morning.

Baisez-cette. scream I'm going to sleep and never wake up until this is over.