I Never Gave Up
It all started at the age of 15, we entered Australia after we left our war- torn country, Iraq. The grass is so much greener here and I can actually see buildings in perfect condition. I all so new, different, wonderful, beautiful and breathtaking. We only landed here with 5 suitcases and most were half empty. We just chucked what was remaining from our blown up house. My father lost his left eye as a piece of TV cabinet flew at him. I have no brothers or sisters, only because my parents couldn’t handle another child being lost to a mine, dug into our street. I’m actually the youngest out of three children; well that was three months ago and now I’m an only child. My name is Amanwil Asif and I’ve moved in from my country just last week. Australia is very new and different and people treat you with a lot of respect and dignity. But then I noticed something, ever since I’ve entered my new school I get stared at, spit at and yelled at. At first I didn’t know what their problem was but now it all makes sense. I came to this country as a friendly refuge, seeking peace and prosperity but I never thought my visit would have such a painful beginning. Boy was I wrong about Australia.
“Get up”! Yelled my mum, “You’ll be late again”. I pushed the blanket of my legs and stood up slowly. As I was about to exit my room something bit my leg, I howled in pain and turned to see that it was my dog Kif. I pushed him off gently and walked out; as I reached the kitchen I could smell something cooking. Without checking what was cooking I turned left and entered the bathroom. Just as I put the paste on my brush I could hear people laughing outside, I leaned near the window and saw them. Just like last week they stood there destroying my property. They were the boys from my school, all pure Aussie. Before I could say anything the boys tore the chain of my bike and ran. I ran out of the house and started chasing them but it was no use, they were stronger and older, they were way ahead so I gave up and in the far distance I could hear them laughing.
As I entered the school people stared and laughed. I had run all the way from home, I missed the bus and along the way I tripped and fell into a puddle so now my shirt was drenched. As I made my way into home room I could see the boys who broke my bike standing near my table. I walked up to my table and stood. ”Hey look it’s this freaky kid again” Said Joe. “Looks like he wants his bike back”. Before I could say anything, Joe reached into his left jacket pocket and pulled out my bicycle bell. “Here catch dumbass” Yelled Joe. Pretending to throw it towards my hands, Joe instead chucked it at my stomach. The pain charged my body and spread like fire. I picked up the bell and prepared myself to throw it back. Just then my teacher, Mr Greg walked in. He saw the bell in my hand and charged towards me. Without warning he grabbed my hand tight and tore the bell from my grip. “How dare you try to harm another student, Mr Asif” Growled Mr Greg. The boys near me dropped their heads and looked as innocent as possible. I didn’t answer him, because I knew it would just be a waste. “It was Amanwil sir” said Joe. “We just asked him where lived and he got angry and aimed his stupid bell at us.” Lied Joe. Without even questioning my side of the story, Mr Joe walked back to his table and sat down. “I’ll be having a word to the principal and your parents; I ring them by this afternoon and let’s just hope you even have a phone that I can contact your parents on.
Without any further comments he told everyone to head back to their seats and take out their books. This was a really racist school where everyone cared about your Religion, Background and Parents occupation. After homeroom I left to my period one class, English. I dreaded this subject, not because of the syllabus or English itself but because of the teacher. Mr Greg was also my English teacher.
My teacher Mr Greg Woodforde was the Devil! He was the most racist person I’ve ever met in my life, to be honest I’ve only lived for 15 years but I’m pretty sure that there is no one on the face of the earth that is more racist than him. My best friend and my only friend was Larry Burton. Larry was a special kid, he was disabled. Both his legs were like vegetables, they couldn’t move since the time he was born and he has a very short attention span and he’s deaf. I took my seat next to him.
After class Larry and I were heading down the hall way when a boy suddenly ran out of nowhere and stuck a stick in between Larry’s wheelchairs wheels. The wheelchair skid and came to a halt, Larry fell off the chair and I tripped, we were both on the ground. Everyone nearby just stood and laughed. The principal just walked past and didn’t look down. We had no help; no one came to our aid. I helped Larry on the chair and we were off. The day finally came to an end and we went home.
Almost two weeks later Larry asked if we could talk in private. So I took him to the playground and we sat under the stairs. A bunch of kids walked past us and yelled out “GAY!” We just ignored them, then Larry said “I’m having an operation in three days; it’s to fix my legs. If all goes well I’ll be able to walk in a month’s time but if it don’t I’ll die of excessive bleeding. I thought I’d tell you this before I left so you would know where I was in case something went wrong. “I didn’t know what to say, I wanted him to live but I don’t know why he needs the operation. He’s already perfect without his legs. Larry read my mind and replied” I only want to do this operation because I want to be normal, I don’t want to be a disabled freak, I just want people to stop teasing. After saying this Larry pushed him self-off on the wheelchair and the last thing I saw of his face was tears.
The night before the operation, I felt really sick in my stomach. I wanted to call him and wish him good luck but he couldn’t hear me and there was no way of talking sign language over the phone. I soon fell asleep having nightmares throughout the night.
Morning finally came and I rushed to school skipping breakfast. When I got there it was the usual Teasing, Screaming and bad remarks. As I entered homeroom I saw my English teacher Mr Greg. He walked past me and slapped the side of my head, everyone saw that but they didn’t say anything they just laughed. When homeroom ended I picked up my bang and walked out, just then a bunch of boys cornered me and pushed me to the ground. As I tried to get up they kicked me back down. “Why did you do it?” asked the blond kid. ”What” I replied. “Everyone knows it was you who told him to take the stupid operation and now he’s going to die” said the boy. They all laughed and walked away. Mr Greg has been spreading rumours about me. Nearly the whole day everyone has been accusing me of Larry. The day finally ended and I went home, as I walked up the driveway I could see my mother sitting in the car with her head down. As soon as she saw me she said “Get in, hurry up”. Without asking any questions I followed her instructions and we were off. We stopped at the hospital. My mum ran out and I followed. As we took the lift to the second floor I could see tears coming out of her eyes.
When we entered the ward I could see cleaners clean up this one particular bed, Larry’s bed. A smile spread across my face and all of a sudden I could feel joy. Larry must have got discharged and he must be at home resting. Just then my mum grabbed my hand and squeezed it tighter. She began to cry. I loosened grip and walked off near Larry’s bed. On his bed laid a bunch of roses. I knew what happened, but I didn’t cry I just fell to the ground and shut my eyes. A couple of minutes later a bunch of nurses picked me up and sat me on the bed. They told me exactly what happened, it was all Larry’s parents fault. The operation hadn’t gone to plan, after the operation Larry was in severe pain. His parents had no other choice; he was just in too much pain, so they did what was best for him. They let him go.
The next day I didn’t feel like going to school but my parents forced me to so I went. When I got there the whole school was silent. No one said or did anything, they just stared. After homeroom I went to English. As Mr Greg called out the roll he sounded very cheerful. When he called out Larry’s name no one answered. ”Oh, yes that’s right, Larry my boy is dead. Dead, dead and dead. The class stared in shock as the teacher made fun of a dead student. ”Finally the dumb kid is dead and it’s all thanks to our terrorist friend Amanwil” said Mr Greg “Everyone clap for Amanwil”. Only half the class stood and clapped and laughed and the other half sat unsure on how to respond to this situation. Just then Mr Greg made a paper ball and threw it on my face. That was the last straw, I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up and ran to the teacher, and then I punched him as hard as I could on his face.
It was totally worth it but I was expelled. Mr Greg on the other hand had broken his nose and his left eye was severely bleeding. The only way to fix his nose was to have plastic surgery. I thought my life was over. But no, there was still hope.
I went to a different school where racism had still existed but not so badly. As the years went on I face racism everywhere I went, but I just put it all behind and went about my job. Life wasn’t so hard now. At a school reunion party, I was told that Mr Greg had been fired about a week after I punched him. They told me that he abused more and more students. I also stumbled across the terrifying truth .I found out that I wasn’t Larry’s parent’s idea to pull the plug on Larry; instead it was Mr Greg who had convinced them that Larry was in too much pain to live. That he’d better be off dead. I couldn’t believe how stupid his parents were for believing Mr Larry. Even still today I remember Larry, life isn’t so bad. You just have to keep fighting. I hope Larry was here to see this day.
The End
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