I had it in my head all-school-break long, I was gonna write this yesterday. Unfortunately, my work comes before blog.
I remembered my first time in school, year 1989. I was a speck of dust, really small that mom worried about me carrying my bag pack. My first attempt landed me on my back. Yeah, I was tiny and weak.
It was Monday morning, mom took the day off to send me to school.
Upon registration, I was assigned to 1A. My first deskmate was the principal’s grandson, Najwa, dark and handsome. I took my seat and stared at him when he offered a black pencil color. I took out my 24-color pencil and smirked. HAH! I have more colors than you do! *kids*
Some of them were crying while stomping their feet. I had no reason to weep, school was nothing new for someone who’s been to nursery since 3 years old.
While the teacher was giving her introductory speech, I looked outside and saw flocks of parent waving at they’re kids from the aisle, so was my beautiful mom. I signalled her that I’ll be ok, so just go, leave me be.
There she stood, her eyes gently gazed mine as tears build up.
I never understood why she cried then. It was this morning I realized, those weren’t tears of joy nor sadness. It was HOPE.
In dire hope that her son will turn out good and noble. Hope that he’ll be useful to the society. Hope that she released him under safe hands. Hope that, what I learned from today onwards will shape me into a better person.
Ma, thank you! Thank you for standing on that aisle all this while, waiting to catch my fall. If it wasn’t for you, I KNOW, I wouldn’t have come this far.
ps: Funny. I wrote this with tears running down my cheek.