Life goes on.
On Thursday, I took a train ride with my childhood. I had run for the train that was about to leave the platform so I just entered a cabin randomly and sat down on one of the seats that were readily available. As I settled down and took out a book to accompany me on my long ride, I heard a familiar voice. Peeping over the book, my small eyes grew as big as they could as I took in the scene before me.
Directly in front of me, sat my primary school English teacher, my secondary school Literature teacher and another teacher from the same school who didn’t teach me. Right before me was my ten years of compulsory education. The petite Mrs K was as agile as ever, though she was smiling and joking with the others, unlike her stern persona that I was so afraid of. Ms T, still tall and slender, still carried herself with a haughty air even though she was now more feminine. The weird thing is, they didn’t look like they aged at all! Mrs K must be at least 60 now, and Ms T looked even younger than she did a decade ago, if that was possible.
As I looked at them in amusement, Ms T looked in my direction and held my gaze. Did she recognize me? After all, I once tried to correct one of her interpretations of The Diary of Anne Frank (unsuccessfully of course, but I still think I’m correct). One part of me wanted to go up to them and introduce myself, but the other (maybe 20) personalities forced my ass to grip the plastic seat as hard as it could. What’s the point, they argued.
Four stops later, they got up and left the train, giggling like school children (pun not intended). I smiled, both at them and also at my scary but wonderful memories, then went back to my book. Life goes on. What it must be like to be able to part of someone’s childhood.