A story of eleven years

In just a few days, I will be stepping into a different phase of my life. I will be stepping from this transit phase between school and college to a higher stepping stone. It isn’t excitement or anticipation that dominates my mind, but more of sadness to leave school behind. Eleven years is just enough time to have my school attributed as my ‘second home’.


It was a place where I found security, guidance, friendship and more than that, love. Love from those who knew me, and those who taught me. The walls were high but I was taught and tenderly nurtured so that I could fly above them with ease and expertise. They were indeed the most secure boundaries I could ever find in my life. It was a safe and happy bubble that I lived in, protected from the harsh realities of the outside world. Laughter and happiness mingled together to create just the right anecdote for any worries and wonderful teachers were always there to lend a helping hand, to welcome a burdened soul into their arms as lovingly as a mother would.

Right from my childhood and now into my teenage years, I have spent the most important phase of my life in that beloved building as I now leave school as a young lady. The Mama Parsi Girls’ Secondary School is an institution I shall always recall with pride. It instilled in me valuable and essential traits; honesty, hardwork, dedication, sincerity, punctuality, without which I would be an incomplete person today. As a teacher once said, we students all enter school as mouldable pieces of clay; today, I would proudly say that my school has done a fine job of crafting us to perfection.

Nostalgia overwhelms me each time I recall school; the giggles, the laughter, the pranks, the heart-to-heart talks, the confessions, the school song that I would still sing with pride….. It is as if a video starts playing inside my head and each time, I struggle to bring those memories back to life. It is one of those chapters of my life that I want to read again and again until I know it by heart. I will miss the wide and long corridors, the biege stone walls that seemed to hold infinite secrets, the old, tall trees which had leaves rustling in the breeze, the windows beyond which lay the whole world unknown to us. . .

During my last few years at school, I aimed to do as much as I could to reciprocate what the School has done for me, but that would truly take an eternity. I hope and pray that the banner of The Mama School flies high for times to come. It is indeed an institution par excellence and for me, it is my identity.


4 thoughts on “A story of eleven years

  1. Ilsa, this is just amazing.. it was like I’m standing in the school and listening to you.. I loved it. Keep it up! 🙂

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