What I remember about school

The mirror in the box

I don’t know if this still happens today, but back in the days, there were announced or unannounced school controls. Or maybe it was the final “exam” of the primary school teacher. All I remember is that she asked us to really, really not be late the next day, because we would have some inspectors to watch our class silently. And if we were late, just not enter until the break. I am not sure why, although I was always on time, that day I was late, as if the pressure I felt from that day kept me postponing. I was waiting outside and when the school janitor saw me standing there, despite me telling him I won’t enter, he just pulled me in. All eyes on me. Me panicked. I knew my teacher would have killed me if she could. Instead she asked me smilingly to sit down. She had a box. A red velvet box. And she said she would open it for each of us, and we should say what we see, without revealing what is inside. My turn arrived. She opened. I was very curious since the momentum has been built with the many pupils who saw the “secret” before me. So I said that inside there was a mirr… “No! Don’t say what’s inside!”. Uh.. She moved to the next one. I don’t remember what happened next, but I still wonder to this date how you could answer to that without answering. That is what I call an ungifted teacher.

Confidence built

Fourth grade. I was so used to not matter. I didn’t even make efforts anymore. But we had a new French language teacher. She asked us to memorise the gender of a few nouns, as homework. Maison – une. Chaise – une. Garcon – un. You got it.

I remember having invested very little time in that homework because in my mind anyway failure was the only outcome. Next day, she named each noun and would ask different pupils the gender. My turn came. I got it wrong. Instead of being disappointed in me, she said “come on, you know better than that”. I said the correct gender right after. She gave me another noun. I said it right. She kept deep eye contact with me while I was searching in my memory for the answer. I felt seen. Her very warm gaze and soft smile gave me confidence. From average grades, I got to best grades in less than a year. I remember she cried when I told her I am changing schools and would leave. She is what I call a truly gifted teacher. May her soul rest in peace. I still recall her name.

Homework controller

Because I had become the best in class, the form teacher asked me to be the one to control the homework of my colleagues during the break before the various subjects. And to keep track of those not doing their homework. Three dots meant one mark of 4/10 in the catalogue.

I am a fair person. And honest. So despite some of my colleagues begging me to hide it, I still declared it. So no one really liked me. Thinking back now, I feel so much responsibility was put on my shoulders, choosing between ethics and friendships, asking to sacrifice one…

Discovery of my logical mind

Sixth grade. New school. Said to be a better school. Our form school was our Physics teacher. The subject taught when I arrived was the lever. I remember I really liked how relatable the teacher made the lesson feel. It sparked my interest, it hooked me. Through the first months in that new class, he told my mom that he didn’t know how, but I had managed to break the small circles which formed in the class and the class became more dynamic thanks to my presence. It felt good. It felt like I belonged a little. Also the math teacher was a gifted teacher. He made you want to become better, not by shame, but by… I don’t even know what. But I remember his white hair and warm gaze, while explaining three-dimensional geometry with the chalk on the black board. It is funny to think that next generations will not experience the chalk dust or smell of wet chalk – a nice memory I have. The solid geometry felt like opening another area of my mind, the same I discovered later doing puzzles.

From that school I also remember that colleagues were generally more supportive and collaborative, less competitive and less fighting each for their own.

Difference between French and Romanian University

I studied Law, in parallel, in two different universities. Teachers were travelling from France for intense one-week crash courses. A totally different kind of teaching and expectations. I remember the first Christmas break when in first year. I didn’t eat much of mamma’s goodies or enjoyed much of family time, because I had to do my first dissertation. I was so unfamiliar with this French type of paper. The tests at the Romanian University were about saying everything you know on a given topic. Like regurgitation. I remember having read so much about the dissertation topic, having compiled to many resources. I was so proud of my result, even more so since it was in French. Not easy! And the result was a surprise! 12/20. Almost failed. WHY? I remember having been furious when I went to ask the teacher why. And she said ok, you documented well what X said, Y thought… but YOU? What do YOU think? I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Because until then, no one asked what I thought about a given topic. We were used to be told what to think. I wanted to cry because it felt unfair to be punished for something that the Romanian university, in the same building, prized me. And I wanted to laugh for the liberation I felt to be allowed to think, express and be me.

Disappointment tasted bitter

Second year of faculty, I enjoyed how my mind was put to work with teachers from the Sorbonne university, on Law topics. I remember how difficult it felt to find answers when my mind wasn’t used to think like that. That is when I formed a group with two other colleagues to participate to what is called ELMC: The European Law Moot Court Competition, which is the most prestigious moot court competition in European Union Law. I remember we stood little chances to qualify for the semi-finals held in Maastricht. But we did it! And when we went to ask for funding for the participation fee, the teacher and dean said it was not possible. To top this, the assistant teacher who coached us until then, said she cannot come with us. We felt betrayed. We felt unsupported. We still went! Three ambitious girls alone! We didn’t rank high, but we were proud. And we saw other teams were accompanied by one, not two teachers! I remember having made scenarios about the politics behind the move of the teacher. I never knew the truth behind it. It was maybe lack of interest, politics, or something else, but it was the moment when my link to the School in Romania, as concept and entity, broke. It is when I decided in my heart that I would leave the country. And so I did once the license years finished. 

Politics at the toilet queue

I knew since the Maastricht competition that I loved European matters. So it seemed natural to follow with a master in European Relations and Diplomacy at the College of Europe. We were a group of 50 nationalities living with each other. It was an intense experience for me in many ways, but I remember how passionate these people were about the world politics. It was not a topic to learn for an exam. It is what they discussed out of sheer interest and passion. Late at night, after some beers, when the toilet line is long, spontaneous discussions happened about the revolution in Egypt while queuing to pee. That was the moment when I felt school was not an abstract thing happening in the classroom, and I merged with the subject as something in which I lived at the present moment. Education lived, not preached.

Conclusion

If I look at my memories, there seem to be more negative than positive, but when I think back at my school years, I don’t have a negative overall take on it. A conclusion which surprised me after having made this bilan. What I am left with is the sea of information, the world of possibilities I felt the more I learnt. I did regurgitate a lot for exams. I do consider we weren’t taught to reason enough. We weren’t allowed to share enough of our inner universe, because we were bombarded with the outer universe of others so much so that we didn’t have time or space to dive into our inner universe. I did feel unprepared for the first job I had after. And I still believe many subjects lacked – subjects which hold so much importance. But this is a topic for another moment.

This is a call for a collective storytelling initiative. So back to you. What do you remember from the school years? Because school doesn’t end when we leave it. And imagining another way of learning starts from remembering what we experienced, what we wished to be different, and how. Share here.