When I first left school and opted for private coaching classes instead, I remember feeling this sense of relief. It meant that I no longer had to get up early in the morning, mumble an oath when sleep-deprived, or endure the pain of having my lunchbox stolen. More importantly, it meant I could go study under the guidance of teachers I liked. People who were equal parts competent and compassionate. While it is a decision I now regret, I can't help but find the silver lining in it. Studying in an institution with complete disregard for its students has its consequences.

The very teachers who were responsible for handing down knowledge instead induced first-hand trauma. Being a soft-spoken, reserved kid helped me avoid personal jabs from teachers but I did have my fair share of run-ins with them. Now that I look back at those instances, I feel nothing but anger. Why does a grown adult even feel the need to belittle a child? To what do children owe their innocence being plagued with apathy?

I try but fail to empathise with them – as I sit here facing the consequences of the words they deemed "inconsequential".