If someone were to ask me about the worst part of my life, I would choose my secondary school days. While I did have some friends during that time, the pain I endured far outweighed the few positive experiences. Even now, those memories haunt me, and I can only hope that, over time, they will fade away bit by bit.
I didn't do well in my PSLE. The bullying I experienced drained any motivation I had to study, and I struggled to focus on school. I thought that moving on to secondary school would be a fresh start, that things would finally get better. But I was wrong.
My secondary school journey began like anyone else's—reporting to school, scanning the crowd, wondering who would be in my class. Everyone around me felt like a stranger. Still, I tried to make friends, and at first, it seemed to work. I spoke to a few classmates and even managed to form a small group. But deep down, I felt like an outsider. They had their own inner circle, and I was just there.
The first few days passed uneventfully, but everything changed when we went for camp. That was when people started excluding me. Feeling left out, I gravitated toward a different group, drawn to a girl who sat beside me in class. Her name is Adeline, we got along well—she made me laugh, and when I was upset, she comforted me. She became my source of support, my safe space in an otherwise hostile environment.
Then at the same time, the bullying started.
The group I had originally befriended suddenly turned against me. I never even spoke to them much, yet I became their target. I don't know why. Maybe it was because of how I looked at the time—awkward, struggling with puberty. Maybe it was just because they needed someone to pick on.
Rumours spread. The worst one? That I didn't wash my underwear. It came out of nowhere, started by a girl called Rachel who wanted attention from the others. She must have thought that by humiliating me, she would secure her place in the group. And the worst part? I didn't even confront the right person about it. I overheard the rumour being spread and, in my frustration, lashed out at the wrong classmate. To this day, I regret that moment.
That group tormented me for months, but I never told my parents. I just kept quiet, hoping it would pass. It didn't. The bullying stretched into the following year. Every day was a struggle, but looking back, I realize that I was stronger than I thought. At the time, I believed I was weak, but somehow, I endured.
Despite everything, I had a small group of friends who stuck with me—at least for a while. They made things slightly more bearable. But eventually, even that fell apart. Rachel who had started the rumours joined my friend group, and from there, things only got worse.
Then, Adeline had a conflict with Melody. She had made a new friend called Lixin, and Adeline didn't take it well. Instead of talking things out, she started creating stories on WhatsApp—dividing people into those who were "her friends" and those who weren't. But in the end, she was comforted and remained friends with them. Meanwhile, Rachel joined their clique, and that was when I started feeling left out.
At first, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to make things right, to keep my friendships intact. So, I sent a long message—hoping for peace. I wasn't thinking about what might happen, only that I wanted to fix things. The message nearly got me caught in class. But looking back, I realize now that people who aren't meant to stay in your life will drift away, no matter how much you try to hold on. You can't "make" someone be your friend.
Then obviously, I did the same thing when I felt excluded, and what happened is that I did the same thing as what she did, but in the end, I lost the whole clique as friends. I guess sometimes people are just not meant to be with you. Adeline saw it, then I got kicked out of the group chat. People who I thought were real friends didn't bother to help me but instead, they just abandoned me and followed her.
After that, I had no friends.
And being friendless made me an even bigger target. People made fun of me for being alone. They whispered about me, laughed at my misery. I dreaded going to school. I cried almost every day, hoping that somehow, someone would help me escape.
Then, my mom found out.
She suspected something was wrong and ended up calling one of my classmates, Jasper. She thought he was involved in the bullying, but when she called, he responded with nothing but vulgarities. That was the last straw for her. Furious, she stormed into my school, demanding an explanation.
I was called into the counselling room, where the teachers questioned me about what had been happening. They asked if I knew my mother had called Jasper, if I understood the situation. I told them everything. Afterward, I was taken to another room—the blue room—where my mother was waiting. There, she explained everything again.
I was sent home that day. The teachers figured I wouldn't be able to sit through class anyway, so my mother took me out. We spent the rest of the day together, talking. She asked if I had done anything to trigger the bullying, and I told her the truth—I hadn't. People had just decided to target me.
Then, I told her about Arinah.
Arinah was one of the worst. She would look me in the face and tell me I smelled bad. It got to the point where I started questioning myself. Was she telling the truth? Was there something wrong with me? That day, I asked my mom, "Do I really smell bad?"
She shook her head. "Of course not."
But the damage had already been done. Even now, I still catch myself checking. I still worry that people are whispering about me behind my back. My sensitivity to how others perceives me only got worse from there.
The next day, I was called out of class again. This time, I was brought to the blue room, where some of my former friends and bullies were gathered. Not all of them—just the ones who had been caught. They had to write reports about what had happened. But when I listened to what they wrote, I realized that not all of it was true.
One report accused me of taking people's belongings without permission. I was shocked. "What? I never did that," I said.
They refused to tell me who had written it, but I already knew. It was Lennard.
Lennard was a retainer, a so-called "big brother" of the class. He sat just two rows away from me. He had no reason to target me—except that I had refused to switch seats with him so he could sit with his friend. That was enough for him to turn on me.
That was my life in secondary school.
And that was just Secondary 1.
Secondary 2 was a little less intense, but not by much. The bullying continued, just in different ways. My classmates jeered at me. I remember hating group projects the most—I preferred doing them alone. As someone without friends, I was always afraid that everyone else would have a group while I would be left out. People gossiped about me constantly, treating me like I existed solely for their entertainment.
And the teachers? They knew. They told my mom what they thought I should do, but none of it helped. In the end, I just endured it, even when it hurt.
People pretended to be nice to me, but I could hear them whispering. They would say things like, "She's going to cry again," watching me, waiting for me to break.
I refused to give them the satisfaction.