I Am a Disappointment

 I don’t even know where to start. Well, in that case, it’s best to begin at the beginning. As a kid, I wasn’t a terribly problematic child, but I caused some trouble. Like all kids back then, I loved playing until night. We’d mess around at the stadium, in the tree grove nearby, on some hills, or in a field. We often played games using just nature and our imagination since we didn’t have cell phones or computers. We simply enjoyed nature and interacting with it and each other. A small meadow seemed like a vast field, a little grove felt like a forest, an ordinary pond was a sea, and three-meter hills were mountains. The world seemed so big and incomprehensible, yet everything was so simple. We didn’t attach extra meaning to simple things, so we didn’t have to think about how to act in situations—we just lived by our feelings. When we were happy, we laughed; when we were sad, we cried; when we were scared, we hid or ran; when we were bored, we turned on our imagination. It was a wonderful time because living was so easy, and the unimaginably huge, mysterious world surprised us almost every day. In the summer, we’d often light a bonfire at the edge of the grove, which was about equidistant from our houses, though they were on opposite sides. Playing by the fire, we didn’t want to go home and waited for our parents to come get us. Sometimes we even tried to guess who’d be picked up first. We were full of life because the future only mattered when we wondered how long we could stay by the fire.

As time went on, we got more restrictions and responsibilities imposed by our parents for our future. I was increasingly taught social rules and behavioral norms. I grew up in a village where everyone said “Good afternoon!” to each other because everyone knew each other. Even though I was little and barely knew anyone, I still had to greet everyone, or people would look at me disapprovingly and might even say I was a bad kid who was poorly raised. I learned this rule, but no one told me it only applied in the village. When my mom took me to the nearest city, I walked down the street saying “Good afternoon!” to every passerby, which was tough because there were so many people, but I didn’t give up. To my surprise, people didn’t greet me back—they just looked surprised or chuckled. My mom stopped me and said you don’t do that in the city. So many unnecessary rules for a simple greeting. To me, strangers in the village were no different from strangers in the city, so why should I greet them? Just to stroke their ego? Weird system.

School brought even more rules and restrictions. Not only because you had to go and study, but because my efforts were graded. It happened gradually. At first, for good work, teachers drew suns in my notebooks, and for bad work, clouds. But then came the twelve-point grading system, and my responsibility for grades skyrocketed. It would’ve been fine if they just evaluated my knowledge, but no—everyone somehow expected good grades from me. Poor students were heavily criticized. I wasn’t an A-student; I had more of an average grade, but I noticed how teachers looked at kids who barely studied. At first, they looked at them with pity, then got a bit angry, and eventually stopped paying attention to them altogether. If they did interact with them, disgust was clear in their eyes. I remember not all teachers were like that, but only a few were different. Kids were afraid of being bad students, not because knowledge might be useful in their future, but because they feared being treated poorly or ignored. Knowledge wasn’t the priority anymore—fear had taken over. My dad came up with a system: if I got an eight or higher, I was great; if lower, I got the belt. The lower the grade, the more lashes my butt had to endure. My mom tried to protect me from physical punishment, but in various situations, I often heard her call me things like “fool,” “idiot,” or “brat,” accompanied by a disapproving look. Fear of judgment, fear of rejection, fear of the belt. Fears surrounded me, and now I didn’t need knowledge—just good grades in my report card. Cunning came into play. Lying, swapping report cards, tearing out pages, cheating, turning a three into an eight. I used any easy way to get results because the process didn’t matter anymore. I only really started learning in my second year of vocational school, and even then, not in all subjects.
That wasn’t the only problem school brought. Due to different family issues, parenting methods, and outlooks on life varied, so naturally, kids had different perspectives. This difference was a reason for teasing. I never saw my dad fight or argue with anyone, not even with my mom—they always argued where I couldn’t see—so violence was foreign to my heart. I just didn’t understand why it was needed. My classmates bullied me, trying to assert themselves somewhere. Now I understand they did it because they got less love and care at home than I did. Over time, all the boys in class split into three groups. There were a few guys who proved their dominance with fists. There were those who tried to fight back for a while but eventually gave up. And there were kids like me, who were either too scared or unwilling to participate—maybe both. Sometimes I tried to stand out, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but it didn’t work, and now I’m glad it didn’t, or I would’ve lost myself back then. I wasn’t the only one trying to stand out. I had a friend who lived nearby, so we’d been friends since we were little. But at some point, everything changed. We were in class during a break, and everyone was doing their own thing. I can’t remember what started it, what reason I gave him, or if I gave one at all, but my friend just punched me in the chest. It wasn’t hard; it didn’t hurt physically, but it hurt to see what was in his eyes. Though there was a hint of uncertainty in his gaze, he wasn’t looking at me like a friend. It was clear he wanted to assert himself at my expense and rise above me. I could tell he didn’t want to hurt me but wanted to stand out. He hit me again and again, expecting me to fight back, but I didn’t want to. I was shocked by his behavior and deeply saddened because I realized that, though we’d argued many times, this was the moment I was truly losing my friend. After that, we never talked as friends again. He started hanging out with the guys who represented strength in our class. They accepted him but didn’t take him seriously—just teased him and sent him to the store for chips or soda, but now they did it like he was part of their crew. All he achieved was being a jester on errands. I don’t think that’s what he wanted.

Teachers didn’t favor us either. They took the easy route, focusing only on kids who wanted to learn. On one hand, that’s fair—why force someone to do what they don’t want? But if teachers could’ve found a way to spark kids’ interest in learning, that would’ve been great. Some teachers didn’t hesitate to crush kids’ dreams and expectations. They’d outright say who could never be what, even though no one asked. I remember one teacher talking about something and suddenly deciding to single me out, saying I’d never hold a leadership position. Though my life later proved her wrong, at the time, I had no reason not to believe her. She was older, had lived a long life, so she must be experienced and wise, and I should listen to people like her. That’s how I was raised. So I believed. You have to respect and listen to elders—they know what’s best for me and only say the right things. I think maybe that was true once. Why have people kept the words but lost their meaning and truth?
By then, I’d collected a whole complex of disappointments in myself. People were disappointed in me, and I saw myself through their eyes, so I was disappointed in myself too. People didn’t see me as an athlete, a scholar, a fighter, a creative person, a leader, or even middle-class material. Even my friend turned away from me. But I also wasn’t a troublemaker, so a successful career in the criminal world wasn’t in my cards either. A spineless nobody, incapable of anything on his own—that’s how I saw myself then. So I stopped looking for my strengths or trying to grow. I just latched onto people who, for now, saw something in me.

I made new friends, and we went to places where no one really knew me, so I felt freer there. One day, my friend decided to enroll in a vocational school near our village. Knowing I’d struggle without him, I decided to join him. The choice of professions there was limited: tractor driver, crane operator, or cook. My friend wanted to be a crane operator, but I convinced him to go for cook—it seemed easier, and importantly, there’d definitely be girls in the group. When I told my parents, they weren’t thrilled and tried to talk me out of it. When I started gathering documents at school, the teachers also tried to dissuade me, saying only talentless kids with no future go to that school. It was strange to hear that from them since I thought that’s exactly what they thought of me. But I didn’t want to doubt my decision. Maybe that’s the one good trait I’ve carried from childhood. I was never afraid of change; I always stepped into the unknown with ease. I never felt sorry about parting with my past or a potentially bright future. I remember working at a big grocery store chain. I started as a salesperson, then moved to security. I understood many of the processes, so the manager soon recommended me for an administrator role, and I took company training to qualify. I passed all the exams and was ready to take the position as soon as one opened. By then, I was more confident, and the store management said I’d have no trouble climbing the ladder, at least to deputy manager. But then I started evaluating my prospects. An administrator, which I’d already trained for, works only nights, and the pay isn’t much higher than a security guard’s. The deputy manager usually worked for three people, constantly running around like crazy to keep up, and their pay wasn’t much better than mine. The manager was always stressed about inspections, dealing with staffing issues that popped up almost daily, and buried in problems, responsibilities, and worries. She even complained that if a regular cleaner worked overtime all month, their pay would be higher than hers. There was also a district manager with a decent salary, a company car, and a personal driver. But the more I understood her job, the level of stress, and the number of tasks she handled, the more I realized her schedule was erratic, and regular sleep was a pipe dream. Though no one said it outright, I knew that starting from deputy manager, there were opportunities for extra income through certain loopholes in the system. But even considering that, after analyzing all these prospects, I realized I didn’t want to be part of it. The very next day after making that decision, a funny thing happened. I was late for work, and Pasha, a strict but good and understanding deputy manager, decided to tease me for being late and handed me a resignation form. I went ahead and filled it out. His eyes widened; he looked at me, confused. I told him I actually wanted to quit. He crumpled the form and threw it in the trash, saying I had to discuss it with the manager. When I told her, she was surprised and tried to talk me out of it. It felt nice that these people believed in me so much. But usually, when I made a decision that erased my past, my future, and opened a path into that scary yet somehow alluring unknown, I saw it through, no matter how many people tried to dissuade me. Looking back now, I can say with full confidence that those were my best decisions. And now I understand what drew me to that dark, frightening unknown that people fear so much. It has something that life plans, expectations, and hopes don’t have—something you definitely won’t find in the revered stability. It has freedom. I’m writing these notes for the same reason. I want to thoroughly unpack my past so it can no longer disturb my present or influence my future.

Well, I’ve veered a bit from the timeline. I think it’s time to return to the vocational school. It really wasn’t the best place. There were a lot of troublemakers trying to set their own rules, which toughened up the local guys, so the police were frequent visitors. As far as I remember, there was only one serious incident while I was there. In the men’s dorm wing, in the section where our group lived, there were many rooms, so another group of guys training to be crane operators lived with us. In the room next to mine lived one crane operator. He was a skinny, short guy with big ears and a very short haircut, so everyone called him Baldy. He was a constant target for teasing among his peers. Periodically, groups were given cleaning tools, and we’d tidy up the school grounds. One winter day, it was the crane operators’ turn to clear snow, so they were given shovels and sent outside. I didn’t see it myself; I was told after it happened. While clearing snow, some guy was picking on Baldy, harassing and insulting him. Apparently, Baldy’s hatred and anger crossed the line of fear, and he hit the guy in the head with a shovel, cracking his skull. The guy was taken to intensive care and survived, and the police took Baldy. I don’t know what happened to them after, but I never saw either of them again. There were plenty of stories with bad endings there. From what I can recall now, someone was thrown from the third floor of the dorm—think it was even during my time there. Another story stuck with me. One of the deputy directors limped; he had leg issues. I was told some drunk students pushed him off a bridge into a river, where he hit a beam underwater, and after that, he couldn’t walk properly. There was also one incident that didn’t end badly but I still remember. We were in the girls’ dorm, just hanging out. Two guys started arguing. Since girls were around, neither wanted to back down, up to a point. One guy just told the other he’d grab a knife and kill him, saying it confidently enough that the other didn’t test him. The other guy thought for a couple of seconds and pleaded, “What’s the point? You’ll go to prison!” He got a reply so senseless I still don’t know how you’d counter it: “I’ll go to prison and get out in fifteen years, but you’ll be dead—that’s the point!” The desire to win blinded this guy so much that nothing else mattered. One person’s desire to be above another. All you can say is thanks to everyone who lives by a system of judgment and holds up others as examples of who we should be.

But despite all this, there were plenty of good guys and lots of top students. From that same crane operator group in our section, there was one guy who was amazing at chess and didn’t even need to think long about his moves—none of us could beat him. Yet he was an active guy, not a hardcore chess nerd, and rarely played. There were many talented kids—some sang well, some played instruments, some even wrote poetry. I loved performing on stage, especially in funny skits, so I was active in the school’s cultural life. They even trusted me to host the first bell ceremony in my third year, alongside Nastya, a second-year girl. I enjoyed being on stage, and it came with perks. When I started performing actively, teachers paid more attention to me and were more lenient, and the dorm supervisors sometimes turned a blind eye when they saw me in the girls’ wing.
The dorm wasn’t great. The windows were old, and we’d stuff them with cotton in winter to keep warm, which made the rooms cozier but meant no ventilation. The showers often had no hot water, and no one had seen toilets—just a hole in the floor. The beds had stretched springs, and you’d wake up with back pain—a relic of the past, but there were no others. So I stayed in the dorm when I felt like it, otherwise going home. Home wasn’t far, about a half-hour bus ride, but there was another issue. Two paths led to the bus. One went through the forest and took about twenty-five minutes—the short route. The problem was that at the forest’s edge stood someone’s house with a fence high enough to hide what was inside but not high enough to stop two Alabai dogs from jumping over. So we only used that path when we were in a hurry or too lazy to take the other. The other path was safe but took forty minutes at a brisk pace.

Overall, studying there was decent. My classmates accepted me, and that’s all I needed. But there was one situation that made me blush and feel ashamed for years. It started in my third year. The friend I enrolled with—we barely talked anymore. We stopped after an incident that could’ve landed us in jail. But we weren’t enemies; I didn’t wish him ill, and I’m sure he didn’t think badly of me. It just happened that we drifted apart. Maybe neither of us dared to make the first move. Since we weren’t at odds, our mutual friends felt a slight awkwardness when we were both around, but it wasn’t strong, so we all got along fine. Then I started hanging out more with another classmate, Yaroslav. Yarik was a good, cheerful, open guy, so he was easy to talk to. We got along well and often hung out together. Yarik was also in love with our classmate, so he’d invite her along at every chance, convenient or not. Alina was a beautiful, sweet girl. Though she looked very young, she was four years older than us, so I didn’t even look her way romantically. At the start of the third year, we split into small groups for cooking practicals. Yarik and I teamed up, and he said he wanted Alina in our group. Knowing he liked her, I was all for it to support his efforts. That’s how our trio formed. We were together not just for practicals but often after classes too. Time passed, and my friend kept trying to get closer to Alina, with me supporting him, always putting him in a good light and leaving them alone when I could. After a while, I saw his efforts weren’t getting anywhere, and it became clear Alina’s heart wasn’t with Yarik. Instead, I started noticing she paid more attention to me. I liked her too—she was fun and interesting, and we clicked easily, laughing a lot and quickly developing our own inside jokes and phrases only we understood. But I only saw her as a friend; I didn’t even think about stealing Yarik’s love. At some point, I decided to talk to Alina openly. It felt awkward watching my friend try to win her over while she gave me signs of attention. So I told her exactly what I thought. She said she saw how Yarik was trying to win her and that he’d even directly asked her out, but she turned him down. Still, she accepted his small gestures because she felt awkward refusing them. Alina confirmed she liked me, but I said I didn’t want to upset my friend, so I wouldn’t cross the line of our friendly communication. Back then, I still hoped something would spark between them, so I kept supporting my friend in his futile attempts to build a romantic relationship with the girl he loved. But time passed, and nothing changed for them, while Alina and I got closer and more interesting to each other. Though nothing happened between us, we looked like a couple from the outside, so at some point, Yarik decided that’s how it was and started hating me. And I, like an idiot, instead of talking to him properly, just accepted it and became what he thought I was. Instead of explaining myself, I let it slide and started a romantic relationship with Alina. I don’t regret it at all—she was a great, fun girl, and I enjoyed being with her. The only thing I regret is not having the guts to clear things up with Yaroslav.

By the way, that wasn’t the first time I was cruel to him. About a year before, I created a fake account on a social network and made a profile for a girl our age with pretty photos. I wanted to prank someone, thinking it’d be funny. Yarik seemed naive enough, so I messaged him. After about a week of chatting, I convinced him he was talking to a beautiful girl from a rich family and set up a meeting at a café near the school. We were sitting there with him and other guys, having a good time. Besides me, my friend who enrolled with me knew about it. He was sitting next to me, nearly bursting with laughter after every message, so keeping it a secret was tough. When the girl was supposed to arrive in her own car, and Yarik, burning with anticipation and pride, kept glancing at the parking lot, I told him it was all a joke. But when I saw how deeply disappointed he was, it wasn’t funny anymore. Yeah, I was quite a jerk. I think I was just jealous of his sincerity and openness, jealous that he was trying to be himself while I was afraid to because I knew the real me wouldn’t be accepted. So instead of learning from him, I tried to shatter his naivety. The funniest thing is, I only understand this now. Back then, I might’ve felt it but definitely didn’t get it. It’s ironic that from childhood, we’re taught everything except how to understand our feelings, which is so important.
Time went on, and I kept abandoning myself more and more. I tried harder to fit in with others and even took pride in it. I thought I was cool because I could change enough to blend into any crowd, mimic people just right, and they’d see me as one of them. One day, I had to rethink this. I was living with Alina in Kyiv, working as a phone and accessory salesperson at a chain of stores, which were either kiosks or small shops, so usually only one salesperson worked per store. It was evening, and Alina came to the store where I was working. We were waiting for closing time to go home together. The store door opened, and a guy about twenty-seven walked in, acting like a typical “tough guy from the block.” Without realizing it, I automatically adjusted to him. After a few sentences, he started eyeing Alina with an appraising look, saying things like, “Wow, what a catch!” I responded with pride, “Yeah, that’s my girl!” expecting some kind of bro respect from him. Only then did I notice how uncomfortable it made Alina. Only later did I realize I’d adapted to a guy I’d never met before instead of focusing on the girl I lived with. That moment shook my confidence in my worldview, but instead of drawing the right conclusions, I started feeling sorry for myself and grew even more disappointed in myself.

The years that followed, I spent trying to prove to someone that I was worth something, even though I didn’t believe it myself. I clung to people who believed in me, even a little. And with those who started to lose faith in me, I quickly cut ties. I developed a fear of making mistakes. When I messed up at work or in my actions or interactions with others, I was terrified they’d be disappointed in me forever and abandon me. Even the smallest mistakes sent me into a panic.
Now, thinking about all this, I feel a bit sorry and a bit amused at how much time I wasted on nonsense. But there’s no point in regrets—what matters is that I understand it now. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past or what will happen in the future because all I have is the present.