Primary schools are buildings that house within their confined walls tools of enlightenment, as well as memories of those who once studied and played on the premises. They serve not only as reminders of our past goals and dreams in life but also as mirrors of our past selves.

It was on a fateful day late in the month of June that I decided to visit my primary school after exactly 10 years. The excruciating heat, unbearable to say the least, was visible to all as waves of swirling warmth, perhaps the rage of the gods themselves, spiraled in the clear and azure sky. As I made my way to the school, I could not help but feel a hint of nostalgia as I reminisced and sifted through happy memories of the long-gone past.

The journey via cab took me about two hours, but the sight of the primary school, Head Start Academy, made the hair on my hands and the nape of my neck stand up with unease. The school looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries. Moss and algae covered the exterior as rats ran down the cobblestone path. The grimy windows reflected a lack of care, as if the creator himself felt disdainful toward the academy. The unkempt grass and rust on all the swings and slides in the play area hurt me to my very core, because this place that had previously acted as a refuge for me, a place of joy and hope, was now encircled by bleak colors, devoid of all love and care.

As I entered through the school door, disembodied voices of those who once walked these very halls seemed to rise through the cracks in the porous path. Classrooms had been abandoned, with desks and chalk lying all over the floor. This scene of disarray pained me immensely, as what I remembered of this beautiful place resurfaced to the front of my memories. The dank and grim atmosphere felt as if it tried to bury the spirit of goodness that had once filled this school with light. The whole school felt as if it was shrouded in darkness, with rays of sunlight not even trying to encroach on the territory that hopelessness had staked a claim to.

However, even after all this, the lovely memories of the past made me view Head Start Academy with a certain care and affection that you would lend to your beloved. Seeing the desk cluttered with filth and trash did open a chasm of sadness within me, but it was not enough to make me forget the guidance that I received while learning at this prestigious academy. People turn old just as leaves may wither, but the memories one has stored will never go stale. These memories, like old, shriveled hands, grasp painstakingly onto important events in our lives; events that fill our very core with fleeting happiness or solemn serenity. It is these memories and these moments that we try to cling to for the rest of our lives.

Thus, as I bade one final goodbye to this past chapter of my life, I revisited a prominent quote by Rose Kennedy which had stuck with me since childhood: “Life isn’t a matter of milestones but of moments.” It was with a heavy heart that I left the academy, but with renewed and revitalized memories of my friends as I saw the desks at which they sat, the park at which we played hide and seek, and the cafeteria where everyone talked about their harsh experiences wading through the obstacles of life.

All in all, the visit to my primary school was not a lost cause, since it taught me a valuable lesson regarding life: it is not the materialistic gains that give us joy but the heartening and exciting experiences that live in our memories forever. Life is but a mountainous landscape one must traverse to reach the pinnacle of comfort and satisfaction. Thus we must learn to cherish life, our family, and our loved ones, before time wrenches them away from our tight grasp.