And now, I am standing face-to-face with a reminder of the time I have been through.
Her appearance looks the same as the last time I saw her, only her figure no longer exhales the air of power. When I was little, she was the mightiest in this school. Her words were orders to me, and my duty was to obey without questions. Now my body still shivers instinctively when I am in front of her. But quickly, that feeling is engulfed by her current image in my eyes – a woman who took my hand from my mother, who once stood tall and proud, who would fight the boogeyman if I behaved - now becomes ordinary like others. Yet, seeing how the other children follow her every word, it is not her who has become small; it is her influence on me.
Te teacher enters the classroom and leads my sister out. As my sister steps into the hallway, her round, black eyes widen in surprise at seeing me. I can feel the unspoken questions buzzing in her mind, so I give her a reassuring smile. Taking her small hand from the teacher’s, I say: “Dad just picked me up from my extra class. He is waiting for us.”
As I am taking her downstairs, watching her slowly go down step by step, a sense of pride dawned within me. Tis staircase, the obstacle that once seemed insurmountable, has become steppingstones, and I realize how far I have come. Te roles have reversed; I am no longer the one struggling, but the one offering support and guidance.
Before getting on the scooter, I look back at the building. In a child’s eyes, that preschool was her whole world. But now,
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as I am staring at it, it is only a normal building like every other, except for the striking colorful walls. A normal place, however, carries a noble purpose. Tis place lies here, against any challenge of time, as a marker in my process of growing up and discovering the world. It undeniably played a crucial role as a foundation to help me reach other milestones in my life. Moreover, this place itself is a milestone. Its existence is an affirmation of my maturation whenever I feel lost on the road. Te missing pieces I once left are now picked up from where they came.
As we are sitting on the scooter on the way home, my sister asks me: “Dad told me you used to go to Roses preschool. How was it?”
Gazing at the distance, knowing that I now have an answer, I reply: “Well, it was…”.
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