• Sunayna Prasad

I Dream of Time-Travel


My name is Savannah and I am 26 years old. While I have a lot of amazing memories, so many moments from the past also hurt me to this day. Some I wish I could forget, and others I wish I could change.

But there is one event from the past that I would consider one of my most painful memories—my seventh birthday. Yes, even when your little, certain things that happen to you can sting so much, you’re upset about them for life. That’s right, when I’m old, I’ll still be haunted by it.

My second-grade teacher (I had a late birthday in September) forced me to experience something I hated. Then she threw me into a small space that was part of the classroom and had me go through that torture. Then I cried and lost my happiness for the rest of that day. My parents did nothing about it. No one did. You’d think the teacher would’ve been reported for that and would have had to face consequences. Nope. Everything resumed as if nothing had happened.

Fast-forward 14 years and I attended a fashion college. One of the professors put me down for struggling with my assignments, and even demanded that I switch to another major. My mom freaked out over that. She had me speak to the dean about it, file a disciplinary action report, had me meet with a private instructor instead, and transfer to another college. Even then, she continued to yell at the previous university.

Five times all those reactions should have taken place with my second-grade teacher. Not only should she have been reported for that awful treatment, but she also should’ve written an apology to me, gotten suspended for a few months, and been on probation for the rest of the school year. Everyone in the class should have apologized, too, along with the principal. She should have sent out a newsletter to everybody, revealing that an incident had occurred where I, the student, had been forced into an uncomfortable position. Adding a reminder that no one should’ve been pushed into those types of situations, mistreatment toward others wouldn’t have been tolerated, and to thank everyone for his or her cooperation, should’ve happened, as well.

Even though 19 years had passed since, I wish I could go back in time, find my younger self (without revealing that I was her), hand her a note about what needed to happen with the teacher, and remind her to tell Mom. But that will always remain a fantasy.

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