I have stood here through many monsoons and morning bells. People think I am just buildings, courts, and a swimming pool, but I remember everything.
Grade 6: Small bags, big eyes
They arrive clutching their schedules like treasure maps. They get lost on day one, find the canteen before the library, and make a best friend within a week. I hear their first laughter echo off my walls, and their first sniffles behind the staircase after a bad test.
Clubs, courts, and chaos
Soon they discover the debate society, the art club (paint on the floor, the ceiling, and one teacher’s sleeve), the drama room, and the music room with its out-of-tune guitar. On my basketball court and futsal ground, friendships are tested in ninety seconds of “That was a foul!” And every year, at the pool, someone nervous finally lets go of the wall.
The harder moments
It was not all sunshine. I have heard whispers and seen children eat lunch alone. I have watched friends try to pull each other down over marks, sports, or nothing at all. I remember a girl who cried before every assessment, and a boy who stopped raising his hand after being teased.
But I also remember the teacher who asked, “Are you okay?”, and the classmate who finally said, “Stop. That’s not funny.” Kindness spreads more slowly than cruelty, but it lasts longer.
O Levels and A Levels
The laughter mixed with highlighters and exam timetables. Teachers explained the same topic a fifth time, with the same smile, and believed in students before the students believed in themselves. On one rainy evening, when roads were blocked, teachers and students sat together in the corridors sharing snacks and stories. Nobody wanted to leave.
Then came the last day: signed shirts, long hugs, and rivals who became friends. They walked out through my gates, and I whispered, Go. Be great. Be kind.
Years later
One morning, a woman stepped through my gates, and I knew her at once. She was the girl who cried before tests, and is now a doctor. Behind her came a man who runs his own company, once the boy who stopped raising his hand, and a national athlete who used to run away from every assessment.
They walked straight to their old teachers, a little grayer now, and said the words they could not say back then: “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
My message
The marks will fade, and the arguments will be forgotten. But how you treated people, and how people believed in you, will stay forever. Some of you will become big names, and some will build quiet, good lives. Both are success.
Wherever you go, come back and say thank you. I will be here, waiting for your story to return.
By Ms. Ghazala Umair