Sorry I Deleted My Blog, I Got Suspended
A mini memoir about my school suspension, my phobia of closed footwear, and God's kindness. It's all randomly related...I promise!
Welcome to Letters From Heidi, a refuge for truth seekers, deep-feelers, and the homesick searching for Eternity.
Dear friend,
I’m taking a casual turn with a mini memoir and core memory from my past life.
In this story, you’ll learn why I got suspended from school, my phobia of closed footwear, and God’s kindness in the chaos. A word of warning that this story may come with a few unhinged tangents, but I promise it’s all randomly related and there’s (hopefully) a point to it all. Some names have been changed for anonymity.
Sorry I Deleted My Blog, I Got Suspended
“Heidi, pack your things and come with me.”
I paused my doodling and looked up to see Mrs. Lee standing staunchly by the doorway. She had swung by to interrupt my English Class. Judging from her piercing glare, I knew an interrogation was coming. Sensing that every eye in the classroom had swivelled to look at me, I quickly braved a smirk to mask my panic.
What did I do now?
Who ratted me out?
After one too many run-ins at the Principal’s Office, I was signed up to the school’s monitoring program and placed under strict surveillance. If I was late to class, or failed to show up to school, my parents would immediately be called. With graduation just around the corner and my fear of being forced to repeat another year, I decided to turn over a new leaf. The new Me was committed to staying both single and in school—books over boys. It had been months since I skipped school for a reckless adventure. For once, my record was clean! Or so I thought.
I ducked under my desk to pack my bag and to subtly pull up my socks from under my heel. Mrs. Lee was forever catching me with ankle length socks—a breach of the uniform code that would send her howling down the hallway, and me screeching like an over-stimulated toddler and bolting in the other direction. A few times, Mrs. Lee tried chasing me down, but at my prime I was a pro-sprinting escape artist, well-trained by the threats of a Tiger Dad.
You’re probably thinking at this point: Heidi, choose your battles…it’s just socks! The thing is, I have always despised long socks and closed shoes. My feet need to breathe. I suspect my phobia with closed footwear began when I learned about foot binding in Chinese Cinderella, a fascinating memoir by Adeline Yen Mah. I learned that while Westerners used corsets to crush a woman’s waist, the Chinese used cloth bindings to bend mutilate a woman’s foot, so that it would never grow beyond three inches. According to suitors from the Song (10th Century) to Qing Dynasties (1644–1912), the smaller the “lotus foot”, the better the bride.
In her memoir, Adeline described the extensive pain that her grandmother endured for marriage and beauty, and how lucky she was to be born in a time where girls could walk and run without limits. Reading her story, I shuddered at the thought of having a deformity forced upon me as a beauty standard. Even more so, I couldn’t believe my luck in being born in the ‘Thong’ Dynasty—a time and place where rubber thongs (flip flops) are a national icon and fashion statement. So this is why my ancestors fled their homelands! FREEDOM FOR THE FOOT! Anyway, I digress…
“Heidi won’t be returning to class today,” Mrs Lee continued, “so no need to wait for her.”
Uhoh. My crime sounded worse than usual. My stomach began to churn but I shrugged off the anxiety as any Class Clown would. Cool as a cucumber. I swaggered out of the classroom, with my head held as high as my newly adjusted socks.
“Principal’s office. NOW!”
Mrs. Lee drilled a finger into my back and marched me forwards without saying another word. The silence was deafening. I would have preferred a lecture, a screaming match, a spontaneous game of Taboo—anything to give a hint of my crime so that I could arm myself with a sensible defence.
We turned the corner into my Principal’s office, and I was asked to sit down. I beelined towards the leather lounge with firmer butt support, but before I had time to get comfortable, my soul left my body at the sound of an ear-splitting TWHACK. Was that a slap? Did I get nominated as tribute for Female Fight Club? It took a few seconds for my nervous system to relax, and to register the huge pile of A4 papers that had been slammed on the table before me.
“Explain this!” my Principal barked, pointing at the stack of printed paper.
Confused, I began flipping through the papers and quickly realised that my ENTIRE personal blog—years of unfiltered and unhinged teen drama—had been printed, highlighted, and digested by my Principal as though it were the latest edition of Woman’s Weekly.
I hit puberty when blogging was still cool, and I built an online kingdom of teen gossip and brutally honest opinions about teachers and students I disliked. Naturally, I made a lot of enemies but physical confrontations from school girls never scared me enough to stop. My words were a greater weapon. Using bitter wit to destroy and tear down, my biggest fans found it juicy and entertaining.
“Heidi, this is defamation of character,” my Principal said sternly, pointing to a paragraph cruelly mocking my English teacher, “we can sue.”
“PORNOGRAPHY!” Mrs. Lee interjected, pointing to photos of me posing in swimwear at the beach.
“Is this what I think it is!?” my Principal gasped, pointing to a photo of my classmate hugging a personalised stuffed toy in the shape of a sperm.
“Who sent this to you?” I asked calmly, trying not to laugh.
“An ex-student who is proud of our school,” replied my Principal while handing me a pen, “and if you want to graduate, you better share the names of other blogs from your grade.”
I might have been a terrible person, but I’ve never been a rat. So, I called her bluff and refused to comply. My poor mother was called to collect me, and I was slapped with a two-week suspension. On the bus-ride home, my mobile started buzzing and blowing up with texts.
Heidi, are you ok?
The cops have been called!
*^$#*&$^#*&^! this is CRAAAAZY!
It turns out that my entire grade of 150 students was informed of my actions and called into an emergency meeting about the consequences of defamation (and perhaps, the distribution of ‘pornography’). That afternoon, my writing became the talk of the town and my blog traffic SOARED.
That Sunday, I went to Youth Group as usual to see my best friend, Jess. She was the opposite to me in every way: rule-following, high-achieving, consistent, and a classy private-school lady. Although our values were very different, she was someone I learned to respect—the patient ‘Mum Friend’ who was always gracious with my chaotic life choices.
Although I was a difficult kid and stubborn atheist, I enjoyed the social part of church and feeling like I was part of something bigger. Although antagonistic towards authority, I also learned to respect some of the leaders who were kind and hospitable to me. Two of these leaders, Marcus and Clara, lived close to me, and would offer to drive me home—a gesture that would save me a 1.5 hour trip on public transport.
That Sunday, I ranted to them about the ‘injustice’ of my suspension, attempting to rationalise my behaviour and justify my actions. As always, they listened patiently and did not interrupt to lecture or correct me. Instead, Marcus responded with an unexpected word of encouragement:
“Heidi, you have such a way with words,” he said, “wouldn’t it be great if you could one day use this skill to bless people and write about Jesus?”
He was so kind and sincere, but I laughed in his face.
Me? Heidi? The atheist suspended for truancy, bullying, and defamation, writing words to bless others and talk about Jesus Christ!?!?
It would take a divine miracle for THAT to ever happen.
.
.
.
I guess the joke is on me.
Concluding Notes…
During my suspension I penned a formal apology, deleted my blog, and my Principal graciously allowed me to graduate with a Higher School Certificate. In all honesty, I deleted my blog not because I felt fully remorseful, but because I was afraid of getting caught again. Despite being humbled by so much grace, my heart was still unchanged.
As of today, I celebrate my 15th year as a Christian, 12th year as a pastor’s wife, and 10th year as a Christian writer. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t be where I am today without the (undeserved) kindness of Christians in my life when my heart was still hardened. My conversion is a testimony of loving Christian witness, and that any kindness faithfully extended to ‘difficult’ people is never a waste.
I may not have always appreciated past moments of grace—but you can trust that I’ve never forgotten it. Every act of patience, kindness, hospitality, and forgiveness served to chip away at my hardened heart, and to convince me that the gospel of grace is not just an abstract concept, but a tangible truth pointing to a God worth living for.
Over the years, God has helped me to truly grieve the impact of my words and to make amends with people I had hurt. As a writer, I have learned that my words have influence to build others up or tear them down; to bless or to curse. I need to write wisely. Most important of all, as a Christian writer, I have learned that my pen exists to serve a Greater Story—written by the Word who has existed from the very beginning (John 1:1).
And this is why I write.
Warm & Fuzzies!
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Enjoy Mini Memoirs?
Here’s a few more from the archives.
Thong dynasty?? Rubber thongs??
Wow. You’re an amazing writer.