My ultra-personal inner monologue

Fuel for the questions

I remember a teacher whistling in astonishment in front of my whole class when he read my IQ. I was 10 at the time. I remember my father’s repeated depressions, apparently brought on by the knowledge that his son was even more intelligent than he was, which we learned when I was 7. My first ever memory is from a flat we moved out of when I was about 14 months old. I talked in sentences when I was 14 months, and I walked when I was nine months.

My whole childhood was spent listening to people telling me I could be whatever I wanted to be. Primary school saw me winning book prizes – the only boy on stage between a sea of do-good girls. I sailed through high school, academic top 10 every semester for all the years, distinctions, leadership awards, sports awards, honours in culture, sport, academics and leadership. All of this without practising or studying a single iota.


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