Bianca Papadinopol - The courage to become yourself

I was writing poetry and prose, I was passionate about history, I was learning with dedication, I was reading dozens of books with great interest and I had developed a varied vocabulary. But you know what it was my main characteristic? That I wasn't good enough at math. And this incompetence was supposed to disappear if I wanted to succeed really succeed. It's settled in me a feeling of fear. Fear of being laughed at, fear of disappointing. Fear of low grades and failure.

Tonight, I'm going to tell the story of a 12-year-old girl, who is right here on this stage. Bucharest, 2004. I'm a student in the sixth grade, at a state school in the Militari district. It's a Sunday sunny afternoon, and instead of rejoicing in free time spent playing, I suddenly feel the need to go inside, to study. The second day, Monday, I'm about to have math class, a subject that didn't captivate me, but I wasn't worried about excessively. But this time, the thought that I will have a math class with an oral evaluation, and I will be given a mark, gives me an anxious feeling, it makes me feel afraid. But what am I afraid of? Back a few weeks ago, my turn had come to go to the blackboard in math class. The teacher is a 35-year-old lady, tall and thin, a great lover of colourful dresses and tobacco, that seems friendly outside of class, but it is unyielding in her relationship with students in the classroom. The kind of teacher who considers that everyone must know mathematics at an advanced level, coming hard to understand that a student can be drawn by other subjects diametrically opposed to the one she teaches.

I had already received a mark on a previous test, that I didn't consider too great, being my only grade of eight on my report card. So I was hoping that if I got out at the blackboard and I will get a higher grade, to save my grade point average and, along with it, my conscientious student reputation. It didn't last long before I got in front of the class. I wasn't looking nor my classmates and neither did the teacher. All I was doing was to stare at that blackboard, broken around the corners by the passage of time, the place where all battles were fought at the time. The teacher dictated the problem statement in a clear voice. I started writing some formulas, and then I stopped, with the palms sweating. Somehow I was looking for the right words to ask the teacher to repeat the statement, so that I could succeed to write it, but she finds the words much faster than I do: {Hey, there, little girl. Not even this you're not able to write? Hearing my classmates burst out laughing, I could feel my face turning red. The chalk broke in my hand. I was feeling my eyes wet. My heart was pounding harder and harder in my chest and I felt how I was no longer capable to articulate a word. No, I didn't feel crying. I was just allergic to aggression, as some are allergic to dust or pollen. Somatizing fear through this uncontrolled crying. But the teacher is not intimidated by my tears or my silence. On the contrary, my tears make her angry. {What's the matter, girl, are you crazy? You're lost in another world? Even that little you can't write? Today your mark is three. Next time you should know how to solve the math problem! Maybe if you take a three and you don't stand a chance to be among the class winners, you'll be woken up to reality! After receiving the sentence, I went to my spot, feeling the way there as endless. I just wanted to get out of the classroom and hide with my head in the sand, like the ostrich does. In a few minutes, I had embarrassed myself in front of my colleagues, I had managed to upset the teacher and I had acquired a reputation of poorly prepared student in mathematics. And besides all this, how was I going to give the news to my parents, that instead of getting a great grade and saving my grade point average, I got a three?

Recalling that event, in that Sunday, at the age of 12, a sense of fear had settled inside me. Fear of feeling again that ugly emotion, fear of being made of shame, fear of disappointment. Fear of low grades and failure. Even though at the time I didn't perceive them at all so obvious. From that moment on, in my mind there's been a change, because I stopped believing in myself and I „won” the feeling that I'm not capable to understand math. And with that, I'll lose the chance to be amongs the best in class. For each year spent in the shadow of fear, my story unfolded through dark pages and loaded chapters of anxiety, slowly, slowly walking away from my full potential because I was running to get good grades in a subject that didn't fit who I am just to stay on the podium alongside fellow award winners. I was writing poetry and prose, I was passionate about history and languages, I was learning with dedication, I was reading with great interest dozens of books and I had developed a varied vocabulary. But you know what it was my main characteristic? That I wasn't good enough at math. And this incompetence was supposed to disappear if I wanted to really succeed. After the exam at the end of the 8th grade, I've never tried to change this label and I've worn it without questioning. As an acceptance of who I was, in high school I opted for the philology profile, just, not to bother the science of mathematics through my incompetence.

Now, having laid down in your consciousness a small part of my evolution, with the last voice, I wish to pass on some thoughts, from an adult's perspective to the 12-year-old child: Give yourself time to get to know yourself and allow yourself to make progress. Don't be afraid of mistakes, because they are valuable lessons that will guide you towards development, even though this fear you feel, can get in your way. But fear, the marks and people's perceptions do not define who you really are. And it takes a lot of courage to be you! Listen to your intuition and follow your passions, without being ashamed of how you feel. Because only a strong human being is worth his/her emotions and shows himself/herself vulnerable to the world. And your sensitivity... is power! Always stay human, sowing hope and confidence in your soul! Because over time, on a Friday night, on a warmly lit stage and in front of many pairs of eyes who will look at you curiously, you'll tell yourself the story of your becoming muffling the echo of the past.

Thank you.