I was a sensitive, shy, quiet child who cried a lot.  I hated going to preschool.  This fear of school never really went away until college.  My parents worked, so my aunt would drop and see me off at the bus stop.  I don’t recall exactly when this happened, but it was somewhere around the US equivalent of kindergarten or first grade.

On the bus, a bigger kid would often intimidate me and take my lunch money.  This went on for weeks.  One day, I gathered enough courage to yell at him at the bus stop when my aunt was present.  He didn’t bother me that day.

This didn’t last.  A few days later, he resumes his previous behavior.

This time though, I decided to go down swinging.  A quick prayer to God and I told him the Malaysian K-1st grade equivalent to go f___ himself. 

He hits me in the face.  It stings.  I hit him in the stomach.  He hits me again.  I now go all in, all out and pummel his stomach over and over again.

At the end, he is crumpled in a heap at the back of the bus.  When we arrive at school, he complains to the bus driver about me.  The bus driver just tells him that he deserved what he got.

And a good day was had by all.  Almost all.