Lost In Time

"A decade ago, I was in 6th grade," I woke up after an afternoon nap today and had this thought first thing. How did time run away so fast? There I was, trying to mingle with new school friends, trying to fit in, trying to learn to speak English, trying so hard to adapt to the CBSE syllabus because that was hard to do coming from a matric background; the chorus "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, next, change" still rings in my ears—from those sports day mass drills to the dance practices for the annual day. I remember them all vividly, but I am scared, scared these memories will fade. Nostalgia has been hitting me so often in the last couple of days, and I am drowning in those favorite past moments of mine that leave me with a big sigh.

I still remember the exact moment that led to my school best friend and me becoming who we are today. I still remember those school assemblies, how we used to fake faint to escape from the boring daily morning drill. I remember those happy celebrations we had for every important day—from big ones like Diwali and Christmas to the small ones like Kamarajar's birthday. We celebrated everything, every tiny thing, and the laughter of the students and teachers together used to echo in the assembly hall—we made our teachers sing and dance, and they would do it all dearly. I heard that my school has changed now; they don't celebrate events as much as they did when I was there. Almost all my favorite teachers have left the school. Yet every time I pass by it, I look at it longingly. I can never get enough of that school. The sandpit, the slides, the dance room, the AV hall, the assemblies, the playground, the evening extra hours we stayed for sports, the evening classes for the 10th graders, the different houses, the library, the canteen food, the principal's room, the school van journeys; the friends, the teachers, the non-teaching staff; the first days of the year, the last days, the new uniforms, rainy days in the classroom, sudden leaves, parents coming to pick us up.

So wholesome, right? I am not saying I am not happy now, but those days were so wholesome. I feel like I wasn't grateful enough for them when they happened. Maybe that is life? Maybe what they say about not understanding the worth of something until it's gone is true? Yeah, that makes perfect sense. I know I can't go back, and that's what makes it so beautiful. I just want to sit somewhere with a great view and reminisce about these moments. God, I really miss being that 10-year-old girl. But you know what? I know she is still there inside me, somewhere, forgotten. And she is just cheering for me now. I hope she is happy, I hope she likes the progress I've made so far. I hope she is proud of me.