I remember the day I got my first assembly slap in SJC. To be honest, I still don’t know who the deliverer was. But what I do know is that, for a solid thirty seconds, my brain disconnected from my body. Network lost. I saw stars. I might have even seen Moses.

It was a culture. A tradition. A sport, even and was a norm to hear the sound of slaps and belts flying through the air to either someone's succulent cheeks or back.

Every morning, once the staff meeting dragged on long enough, the seniors took it as their cue to become part-time Avengers. They didn’t need a reason, just a facial expression that annoyed them, or a shirt that wasn’t tucked in properly or even just chewing gum. 

It was survival of the fittest. Or rather, survival of the unnoticed.

I was in JSS1 and had just returned from a week in the hospital, prepping for leg surgery. I had a cast on one leg and two crutches to complete the outfit. Naturally, you’d think I was immune from flogging or slaps.

Well, so I thought. I even remember telling myself, No human being in their right mind would slap someone on crutches. I however had no interest in testing whether such humans existed, so I behaved myself. I didn't have to attend assembly. But I didn’t want any special treatment or pity. I didn’t want to be seen as the girl with the cast. I wanted to be normal.

Big mistake.

Assembly ended as usual and as was custom, the seniors marched out first like kings heading to a conquest. Then the juniors began their stampede, each one acting like there was gold buried in the classroom.

I joined the crowd slowly, using my crutches like paddles to navigate a sea of chaos. I was trying not to get trampled when it landed.

The Slap.

Hot. Loud. It came out of nowhere and landed everywhere.

I froze. It didn’t even matter which cheek it landed on. My whole skull felt it. For a good 30 seconds, my brain did a factory reset. I forgot my name, my class, and almost my purpose on earth. 

I turned around, prepared to confront the compound idiot who had just launched my soul into temporary orbit. But no one looked guilty. No one who looked like, “Yes, I just slapped a child with a cast and I feel good about it.” Just students pushing and laughing, as if nothing had happened. As if my face hadn’t just hosted a WWE pay-per-view.

And that was the moment the rage boiled in me.

I looked at the crutches in my hands.

God. Just give me a face.

I swear, I would’ve handed one crutch to the nearest bystander, limped up to that bastard, and served them a beating with the other stick that they’d never forget. They’d probably have been bigger than me, yes, but I had pain on my side. The constant hospital visits, the needles, the pain of having my leg twisted like dough just to fit properly in  the cast. I was ready to unleash it all.

But God didn’t give me a face.

He just gave me the pain and the lesson.

That was the last time I attended assembly. Unless I had a debate or presentation, I embraced pity like a long-lost cousin. I leaned into the sympathy. If a teacher said I should rest during assembly, I rested like a queen. I milked that cast for all it was worth. 

I never found out who it was that slapped me.

And honestly, maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had. Looking back now, I probably would’ve caused a scene, with one crutch in the air and my pride doing all the fighting.

Funny how one random slap taught me that I didn’t always have to be strong or prove anything to anyone. Sometimes, it’s okay to step aside. To rest. To laugh it off, even.

These days, it’s just a wild story I remember whenever someone talks about secondary school drama. And every time I tell it, it gets funnier, not because it didn’t hurt, but because I made it through. Crutches, cast, slap and all.