In high school, it’s you and your crew, that’s how you do, but what about how you don’t?…

Slim went away for the Summer after graduation from High School, to his motherland Lebanon. We were all there at the ceremony, I arrived in spectacularly late fashion, emerging from my brother in laws hooker-lipstick red BMW sports car dressed in maroon lace sherwani (Indian tuxedo). The curse of poor punctuality plagued me even to the last frikkin day; fashionably five minutes late? Nah, I was so late they wouldn’t let me in to my own graduation ceremony. It took the powers of Debbie herself to open the electric gates (Jurassic Park level security). I’m waiting in the great hall in my designated area with the rest of my form group, they all look lovely in cultural attire. I’m glad I didn’t succumb to the black or grey blazer look all the other Bengalis sported. I was fussing with the tailcoat of my sherwani and I look up to see this sun-kissed bronze face looking at me, framed by medium length tousled gelled hair, and large round big brown eyes that unmistakably belonged to him. His gaze was fixed upon mine and eventually he nodded his head in acknowledgement and smiled. I cannot be sweating profusely right now, I’m about to go on stage to collect my award for excellence in Languages (I got an A) and Science (I was not the top student, that was Slim, but I suspect Mr Ellis was behind the nomination). I didn’t recognise him. He was seated along with his sister who also attended NWCS. His body was transformed, it looked bulgy, and had contours and, wait those bulges were muscles! Not only that, but his demeanour was transformed too. He sat leaning back in his yellow varsity sweater, arms behind his head, and he looked confident. A side to him I didn’t know existed. After a length of darting furtive glances at each other, I eventually walked over to him. Apparently he was introduced to the gym over there in Lebanon. I remarked on his tan and physique and he flexed his bicep at me, a behaviour synonymous with confident masculinity. He said he almost didn’t recognise me either. I finally dispatched with the various head attire I wore the last 2 years as an attempt to hide my wavy ringlet hair (I was obsessed with straight hair and the European idea of beauty). Plus I looked pretty decent in a sherwani. I tentatively asked if he was going to go to college for his A levels as he often said he would. ‘Nah, I decided it would be better to stay on in sixth form, here’, Slim said coolly. My heart seemed to quieten a little after learning that.

Toxic. That is what happens to a relationship, any relationship, when either party has unresolved issues involving the other but they cannot own up to the truth, much less resolve them. Slim and I had Chemistry and D&T lessons together; my other subjects were Biology and Psychology, and his were Maths (vomm) and Further Maths (Yukkkk). Already we were not going to get along. The boy was too into his studies, as that was all he would ever do. Me? I was more into things that fed my soul. In due course I will reveal the nature of our toxic friendship, but for now, a few of my antics I hope you find quite diverting.

Jack the Kurd. He was in Year 10 when I was in Year 13. Rumour had it he was gay. Rumours…mere sound waves that vibrate together to form recognisable speech patterns with the power to destroy the human spirit. Habib had a confidence about him rare to find amongst the Bengalis in our generation, a disposition that never betrayed malice, anger nor arrogance, and, a sound grounding in his spirituality. Intelligent, open minded and always questioned the way of the world, never accepting things as status quo. An oft-quoted phrase comes to mind as I write this ‘nothing is final until you are dead, and even then I am sure God negotiates’. Literally during one of the very first weeks I was sitting with Habib and this other large Bengali boy who whispered something in the native tongue to Habib. About me. Obviously I understood and Habib knew I knew, but the other boy didn’t know I knew and didn’t know that Habib knew I knew. So I just smiled blankly feigning ignorance. The bell rang for next period and just as we made moves to disperse, I turn to the boy and replied that my outfit was not all designer labels but just regular high street, and no I didn’t think I was better than everyone else just because of the way I carried myself/spoke. If ever I saw a genuine look of horror on a face…

Anyway, as the years went on Habib and I became a sort of dynamic duo, knew what the other was thinking and could with 99% accuracy predict how the others’ sentences were going to finish. We stood apart from the general pool of some 15-strong members; one name wasn’t mentioned without the other. Jubz ‘n’ Habz. We developed a reputation of care and compassion. Genuinely we weren’t the type for agro or ill intent. Habz was everyone’s confidante due to his big heart. This is where Jack come into the narrative. He was always harassed by the Arabs and fellow Kurds just because of the nasty rumours floating around about him. A small, weedy thing with short cropped hair and an unremarkable face. Except the face was haunted by the effects of prejudice and I would assume years of bullying. Raised by his grandmother here in the UK his parents died when he was young and his English left much to be desired. He was always surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls and there were times where myself and Habz would observe him imitating them. In colloquial parlance, he was camp. ‘Boys’ said the the then director of the school who had summoned Habz and me to her office. ‘I’m concerned about the level of unwanted attention Jack seems to attract from other boys’, and she continued to inform us he was the victim of bullying and homophobic slurs. ‘I’m requesting a favour from you both, in fact I’m quite desperate at this point. Seeing as you two are amongst the few seniors in this school that seem to have any sense at all, you’re both well known and liked and above all decent good boys’. Her piercing cerulean eyes poured into our souls. Oh, I know where this is headed. ‘Please would you spend some time with Jack? Just to, you know, help him adjust, explain the ropes, and maybe try to get to the bottom of his behaviour? And then report back to me’. Damn my exceptional morals and superhero complex, how could I refuse? In my observations, victims of bullying react in two ways: passive or aggressively. The passive approach often results in the victim shutting themselves away from the world and internalising it all. The aggressive approach is where the victim after having suffered for so long, eventually lashes out to defend themselves. Jack got into many a scuffles, both with boys and girls. Believe it or not, girls also taunted him for being effeminate simply because to their minds, men were only meant to behave manly. Because Jack was a reed of a boy he often ended up a purple and blue mess. Jack decided to flaunt his feminine side even more. Observing this, Habz and I concluded objectively that he exaggerated the effeminacy to elicit reactions and rumours against him. Why?!?! We sat him down and tried to talk, but he was having none of it. As it turned out, he had developed a sort of notoriety for being unique. He surrounded himself with a group of ‘rowdy’ girls in the school and together they developed a reputation for being disruptors. For no apparent reason they engaged in antisocial behaviour. He was accepted by this group of girls, and whether or not he meant to, he wanted to gain their approval. Another time we sat with him, he had a bruised eye and scratch marks on his forearms; apparently he wanted to avenge one of his clique who had issues with some other girl and being the only boy in the group he took it upon himself to defend his friends honour. Within a year, he was permanently excluded from NWCS as the fights were a daily occurrence and he was determined not to show remorse. I think many reading this post identify in some way, as we have all encountered a ‘Jack’ at some point or other. Being on this end, I know for a fact that due to being gay, he was desperate to be accepted and often, notoriety is a sort of armour. Every gay boy growing up needs protecting. Fortunately for me, I had a good upbringing, parents who were present and the legacy of older siblings that provided protection. Not to mention my own sense of self, wit and emotional intelligence to navigate the high seas of high school. Jack, wherever you are, I hope you are safe and I hope you are happy.

The Pragaymatic Muslim

• High School Chronicles (8)
• His-story (14)
• Pluralism (1)
• Prelude (2)
• Revelation (2)
• Turning point (1)

1. 

   Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…

2. 

   Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.

3. 

   Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…

4. 

   I like reading these!

5. 

   […] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…