Memories of my School days
Has I sit back and let my mind race down memory lane to those wonderful days of my life, I have realized that growing up is one big mistake in the life cycle of a human being. Childhood were those days in ones life where every child had their freedom of speech, laughter and naughtiness without the World questioning their intentions.
I don’t really know how it must have started for me; guess once I turned 3 my parents must have decided that it was time for their little daughter, Nadia, to step into the intellect world of the Adults.
My first home away from home was “Aunty Celina”, a school for tiny tots. It had two rooms with walls painted in shades of pink and Disney characters drawn on them. Being the first child of the Fernandes family, I am sure I was pampered, no wonder “Aunty Celina” came has a shock to me. I still recollect my first day at school, all I did was cry. Not a single toy in this world could bring a smile on my face that day. It was a day where I felt very lonely without my dear ones around me.
This phase would continue for some time only. My mother tried to keep the enthusiasm within me saying that school was not all that bad, I would learn new games, new songs, she even promised to buy me, everyday, my favorite Ladoo from Café Central. I don’t know about the rest but at least having my favorite Ladoo in the tiffin everyday was very encouraging. As days went by I slowly realized that it was not only me but many other kids too that were going through the same suffering, that lessened my pain.
Step by step, I gradually climbed the intellect ladder. From Preprimary I was ready for my Upper KG which was now not at Aunty Celina but in a new school, the one that still seat’s on the top of the Dona Paul hill, “Our Lady of the Rosary High School”. Most of the Don Bosco’s school boys used to call us “Green Mangoes” because of our green uniform; it also helped them in differentiating the innocent girl’s from this convent school from the ones at Rosary school in Miramar. You may ask why innocent, well ours was a school run by Nuns. Anything associated with Nuns was supposed to be spiritually holy, innocent, good, and obedient, we were far from it.
By the time I was in the second standard, my sister, two years younger to me gave me company. We were both in the same school, traveling in the same school bus which used to pick us up right from our door step. Don’t remember exactly how the bus looked like. All I recollect is that it was a little uglier then the ones you see now a day and had a loud honk. Many of us used to giggle whenever it honked at the pedestrians.
This essay stands incomplete without the narration of my most adventurous moment that took place while I was studying in the 4th Standard. It happened some where during the monsoons; I don’t recollect the exact month though. It all began like this. I and my sister missed to catch our school bus and we both knew that if we went back home and told mom she would be a little upset . The usual reasons for delay was that I used to get up quite late, take a long time to brush and was more of a day dreamer.
Anyways, now that the bus was gone, we had to decide what to do. We decided to go to school anyways. The only option then was the public transport. We considered the odds, we had a few coins with us which was given has pocket money, that would be sufficient for our travel expenses and at the most we would reach school a little late. Not bad at all ! So we proceeded to the bus stop and waited for the public bus. We waited and waited and waited. There was no sign of it.
Time went by. When it was nearing 8:30 am, a passerby informed us an accident had taken place and that was the reason for preventing the buses from coming. He told us to go home. God, this was bad !. Now, we could either go back home and tell mom the truth or go to school anyways. We settled for the latter, we were going to school anyways. Not by bus nor by a auto rickshaw. We were walking to school. Two little girls, bravely fighting the heavy down pour, walked from Panjim market to Dona Paul. Kids as we were, we didn’t realize that it was a risky step that we had taken. For us it was more of fun because we were getting a chance to play in the water puddles and get ourselves wet. We even managed to surprise a passerby relating all this.
Everything went fine, not a soul knew about this. Mom was told about this adventure only a few days later. She was shocked to the core. Anything could have happened to her daughters, an accident, a kidnap, none of this happened, God was with us.
Now that the exams days are over, the class picnics are over, the interval bell ringing days are over, I have realized how important these days were in shaping our lives They helped us shape not only our future but our personalities too. Hence I dedicate this essay to all my teachers who were always there for me with their constant support and understanding. I also dedicate it to my dearly departed Principal, Sister Nancy Nazareth who valued the education of a child first rather then the child’s late paid fees.
Ranked 5th in the Essay Contest
I don’t really know how it must have started for me; guess once I turned 3 my parents must have decided that it was time for their little daughter, Nadia, to step into the intellect world of the Adults.
My first home away from home was “Aunty Celina”, a school for tiny tots. It had two rooms with walls painted in shades of pink and Disney characters drawn on them. Being the first child of the Fernandes family, I am sure I was pampered, no wonder “Aunty Celina” came has a shock to me. I still recollect my first day at school, all I did was cry. Not a single toy in this world could bring a smile on my face that day. It was a day where I felt very lonely without my dear ones around me.
This phase would continue for some time only. My mother tried to keep the enthusiasm within me saying that school was not all that bad, I would learn new games, new songs, she even promised to buy me, everyday, my favorite Ladoo from Café Central. I don’t know about the rest but at least having my favorite Ladoo in the tiffin everyday was very encouraging. As days went by I slowly realized that it was not only me but many other kids too that were going through the same suffering, that lessened my pain.
Step by step, I gradually climbed the intellect ladder. From Preprimary I was ready for my Upper KG which was now not at Aunty Celina but in a new school, the one that still seat’s on the top of the Dona Paul hill, “Our Lady of the Rosary High School”. Most of the Don Bosco’s school boys used to call us “Green Mangoes” because of our green uniform; it also helped them in differentiating the innocent girl’s from this convent school from the ones at Rosary school in Miramar. You may ask why innocent, well ours was a school run by Nuns. Anything associated with Nuns was supposed to be spiritually holy, innocent, good, and obedient, we were far from it.
By the time I was in the second standard, my sister, two years younger to me gave me company. We were both in the same school, traveling in the same school bus which used to pick us up right from our door step. Don’t remember exactly how the bus looked like. All I recollect is that it was a little uglier then the ones you see now a day and had a loud honk. Many of us used to giggle whenever it honked at the pedestrians.
This essay stands incomplete without the narration of my most adventurous moment that took place while I was studying in the 4th Standard. It happened some where during the monsoons; I don’t recollect the exact month though. It all began like this. I and my sister missed to catch our school bus and we both knew that if we went back home and told mom she would be a little upset . The usual reasons for delay was that I used to get up quite late, take a long time to brush and was more of a day dreamer.
Anyways, now that the bus was gone, we had to decide what to do. We decided to go to school anyways. The only option then was the public transport. We considered the odds, we had a few coins with us which was given has pocket money, that would be sufficient for our travel expenses and at the most we would reach school a little late. Not bad at all ! So we proceeded to the bus stop and waited for the public bus. We waited and waited and waited. There was no sign of it.
Time went by. When it was nearing 8:30 am, a passerby informed us an accident had taken place and that was the reason for preventing the buses from coming. He told us to go home. God, this was bad !. Now, we could either go back home and tell mom the truth or go to school anyways. We settled for the latter, we were going to school anyways. Not by bus nor by a auto rickshaw. We were walking to school. Two little girls, bravely fighting the heavy down pour, walked from Panjim market to Dona Paul. Kids as we were, we didn’t realize that it was a risky step that we had taken. For us it was more of fun because we were getting a chance to play in the water puddles and get ourselves wet. We even managed to surprise a passerby relating all this.
Everything went fine, not a soul knew about this. Mom was told about this adventure only a few days later. She was shocked to the core. Anything could have happened to her daughters, an accident, a kidnap, none of this happened, God was with us.
Now that the exams days are over, the class picnics are over, the interval bell ringing days are over, I have realized how important these days were in shaping our lives They helped us shape not only our future but our personalities too. Hence I dedicate this essay to all my teachers who were always there for me with their constant support and understanding. I also dedicate it to my dearly departed Principal, Sister Nancy Nazareth who valued the education of a child first rather then the child’s late paid fees.
Ranked 5th in the Essay Contest
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