One fine day. With tender breeze and a sunshine, it was a perfect day to have a walk. The stony road leads to the school where I had spent one year of my childhood. Small mountains covered with trees embrace the school.
It has been such a long time. I have not been here since I was six years old. In my memory, there was a very beautiful garden with different colors of flowers and plants. I could hear the melodious songs of birds and smell the sweet scent of fresh grass. I often imagined that it was the scene of heaven when I was small. Only in my dreams I added a mountain spring to the scene.
I used to play hide and seek with my fellow classmates in the garden where the trees and bushes were much taller than us. We were so happy and carefree that we did not mind if we fell down on the grass, it was just like a bed. The days used to be full of laughter and lovely faces. My memories are so vivid. I can still remember that I played basketball for the first time in the large playground. I was very happy because I had never played it before, although it was such a tough task for me to score as I was not even a meter high.
The classroom used to be so large to me and I can still remember where my seat was- always the second last of the row. I was proud that I could be a vice-monitor of the class for one session. As I used to have afternoon classes, I had always started my day-dreams in the class whenever I looked out to the blue sky through the shade of trees during the summer time. The faces of my little fellow classmates have become fuzzy. But, I can remember that we went to catch fish in the river nearby after school and we had a really great time. This memory is from Primary one. And I know it is becoming blurred but I still think of it from time to time.
Now, looking around the sleepy little school, there is such a big difference. The school is already closed and all the children are studying in town. The buildings here are old shanties.
Well, people nowadays are becoming more forgetful. Maybe, this is beyond our control that we must keep moving in order to survive. But, I think that it is sometimes a pleasure to think about the little pieces in our memory.
~Doris Cheung Yim (Hong Kong)
Return to In Class: Poems & Stories about School Life & Education (Asian Voices)