Many people, when asked about their favourite school year, would name one of the later ones like the eleventh standard. But for me, the best and most amazing year will always be my eighth standard.
I cannot pinpoint the exact reason for liking it so much, because it was a combination of many things going right for me. It was our last year with that particular set of teachers and they realised it and were really chatty with us. They treated us like adults (which is an absolute dream for a thirteen year old) and by adults I mean they respected the fact that we had an opinion about everything. Another reason why I ended up falling in love with that year was also because I was given creative freedom, for the first time in my life. English classes were absolutely lovely and I would spend so much time writing my essays trying to impress my teacher and get her to draw loads of “stars” in my answer papers. After years of hearing “Don’t you dare write your own stories in paper” it was like rain to the parched earth when we were allowed to write our own essays in eighth. Call me vain; call me arrogant and call me hungry for praise, but I had so many shots for confidence during eighth with debates, essays and a few poems(awful ones). Sure, the poems were praised only because I was fairly young and the grown ups did not want to hurt my feelings, but reading what I wrote then and comparing them with what I write now, I see a sea difference which would not have been possible had they not encouraged me in my first few terrible attempts.
Eighth was the start of a beautiful journey. I discovered something I was good at. I discovered mild leadership skills (but its actually another way of saying ‘I did all the work and let others sit back’) Most important thing of all, I had fun.
At the risk of humiliating myself, I shall also include a poem I wrote about my eighth, in my eighth.
THE LAST DAY OF EIGHTH
The last day of Eighth,
It almost breaks our faith
That we are far, far away,
From the boar exams so grave.
Reflecting on the year,
I think about friendships gained and lost,
I think about thoughts at three half past,
The days just whizzed by,
It was not fair, it ended too fast,
Before I could etch every memory in my heart.
There will not be enough paper,
To write about this year so dear,
There will be a shortage of people willing to lend an ear,
While I narrate every single moment and movement.
But the boredom, the laziness, the excitement, the nervousness
The loss, the gain, the back-breaking strain,
The mounds of joy and the single drop of tear
Are streaks of colour in the canvas of my Life,
Mixing to form a brilliant picture
Expressing my every joy, fear, calmness and tears.
I could go on and on,
But I’m obscured by a sense of duty,
To study for my exams, no matter the pain,
Because there is so much to gain…
Oh, how I wish I could live through Eighth again!