Bits of memory I thought I lost long before, but it peeked into my eyes and made me question, whether I was there, or it all were just a dream.
I spent 7 years in a half orphan school, a missionary school that accommodated christian orphans/needy children along side other students. They were always sticking together though but I never looked down on them. I remember watching them picking lice from each other's hair, telling stories of their homes and stuffs. Everybody knew everybody's name in class. We had the same subjects and same teachers.
I knew myself, someday, I will get out of this school and go to a more renowned, standard school. I wasn't a good student. I was very unhappy studying there, I wanted to be in a smart environment, where I'd learn things, talk in a way that smart kids did. But today, I look back and think studying there had taught me how to cope up, added diversity and made me an understandable person. And it's not that I was always unhappy, I had good memories too. It wasn't that bad. We had singing lessons from Doyal Sir from class one through five, surprising how I remember his name till now, he even composed songs and the whole class had to sing the songs he wrote on the blackboard no matter how in less harmony our voices were. I remember waiting for that class, it was always in the last period but it always lifted our moods. The songs were very weird but as the days and years passed, we had grown to the lyrics. And it didn't feel weird at all, I used to even sing those in the shower. That sir had a kid, Dhroobo his name was maybe, he was the wickedest kid in the class, always fighting, saying dirty words and I remember him too! I had an aborigine friend named Shondhi, he was chakma, his seat was right next to mine, his handwriting was spot on and he used to be very polite, unlike dhroobo. Our school was co ed from 1 to five. So Shandhi left when I got into class six. I missed him. His sister was a senior in our school. I really wonder where these people are right now. I really wonder how they look like now.
When I left that school in class 8 and went to a standard school where my sister graduated from, I had a hard time keeping up with the class because everyone was so competitive and no one helped me as much. But both the schools taught me, made me grow.
And it was one night, I remember all this, and I never had recalled it before that, I forgot I was even a part of all these. Our minds work in mysterious ways.
I spent 7 years in a half orphan school, a missionary school that accommodated christian orphans/needy children along side other students. They were always sticking together though but I never looked down on them. I remember watching them picking lice from each other's hair, telling stories of their homes and stuffs. Everybody knew everybody's name in class. We had the same subjects and same teachers.
I knew myself, someday, I will get out of this school and go to a more renowned, standard school. I wasn't a good student. I was very unhappy studying there, I wanted to be in a smart environment, where I'd learn things, talk in a way that smart kids did. But today, I look back and think studying there had taught me how to cope up, added diversity and made me an understandable person. And it's not that I was always unhappy, I had good memories too. It wasn't that bad. We had singing lessons from Doyal Sir from class one through five, surprising how I remember his name till now, he even composed songs and the whole class had to sing the songs he wrote on the blackboard no matter how in less harmony our voices were. I remember waiting for that class, it was always in the last period but it always lifted our moods. The songs were very weird but as the days and years passed, we had grown to the lyrics. And it didn't feel weird at all, I used to even sing those in the shower. That sir had a kid, Dhroobo his name was maybe, he was the wickedest kid in the class, always fighting, saying dirty words and I remember him too! I had an aborigine friend named Shondhi, he was chakma, his seat was right next to mine, his handwriting was spot on and he used to be very polite, unlike dhroobo. Our school was co ed from 1 to five. So Shandhi left when I got into class six. I missed him. His sister was a senior in our school. I really wonder where these people are right now. I really wonder how they look like now.
When I left that school in class 8 and went to a standard school where my sister graduated from, I had a hard time keeping up with the class because everyone was so competitive and no one helped me as much. But both the schools taught me, made me grow.
And it was one night, I remember all this, and I never had recalled it before that, I forgot I was even a part of all these. Our minds work in mysterious ways.
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