I used to look upon the world, as any young child would, and believe what I saw. What I saw was pure happiness. I didn’t think twice about cruelty, not until one night in Venezuela when I was six years old.

I was out for dinner with my family and my teacher, completely happy with no care whatsoever. We’d just placed an order, but only minutes after, I heard what I thought were firecrackers. As I looked across the street, a man jumped over the firecrackers, I heard screams, cries for help. I was pulled rapidly under the table for protection and to be shielded.

That night I witnessed two men brutally murdered, two men who had families. Maybe if I had fully understood this world (I still don’t), I wouldn’t have been changed so much. From that day on I looked down on the world, constantly glancing over my shoulder, refusing to open doors first or go into a closed room first. I completely shut down.

I found a few hobbies like soccer, modeling, and acting that made me open up a little, but I found myself being bullied and harassed daily. I became less talkative by the minute. I never wanted to interact with anyone because it scared me. I blocked out much of my past, but the one thing I remembered was how excited I was when I found out I’d be moving to the same state my best friend lived in. It gave me something to look forward to in a dark time.

At the start of fifth grade, my teacher helped me come out of my shell. At first I refused to talk because I was terrified, but with my teacher’s help, she led me toward change, even if just a little. I finally started to see the world as an open place and not just for the disaster and devastation. I started to trust the world again.

Soon came sixth grade, and I came out of my shell to make new friends. I became fond of writing and picture taking. I had some good friends. I was happy and joyful. I have some fun memories of sixth grade. When I dyed my hair half blonde, my gym teacher asked, “Did you dunk half your head in bleach?” Gym was first period, and everyone hated gym, but my little squad made everything better. On the last day of school we made a human pyramid! But toward the end of sixth grade, something happened, and I went back into my shell.

I developed a fear of public speaking. Just hearing that word makes me want to hide in a ball and cry. Whenever it was my turn to speak in class, people would point and laugh. It reminded me of how cruel the world could be. Since then, I’ve come to despise public speaking. It shows how easy we can fall.

I’m in seventh grade now, and luckily I haven’t had to speak in front of a class yet, but I know it’s coming. My year has been great so far. My language arts teacher is a published author. At the beginning of the school year, my mom told her I would be writing as a Junior Behaviorist for Model Behaviors, and not to let me slide even once. I have truly enjoyed finding my way through writing. I love writing fictional stories and look forward to learning more through my teacher and through my writing with Model Behaviors.

Maybe I’ll have a nice ending to this story. Maybe I’ll have a bad one. I’ll find out eventually as it’s only my story to tell.