By Elizabeth Tang Grade 6
The summer wind always hides a coolness that urges people to leave. The last leaf had fallen off the tree outside our classroom. Just like that leaf, we were ready to pack our school bags and finish our last day of primary school.
However, the leaving was not as I had thought—filled with tears and sadness. It was just a normal day. Maybe, growing is not an emotional farewell, but rather a leaving that happens quietly.
The final English exam paper lay on my desk. I looked at it carefully; after all, this was my last exam. The dappled danced across my exam paper , trapping the memories of our youth within the margins. As my pen streaked through the paper, my eyes caught the essay topic — “Growing”. The topic asked us to use the phrases given in the blanks, such as “I am taller” or “I already know how to ride a bike or swim.” But, I knew, these were just surface-level changes.
I was going to write something new.
I am growing — not because I have grown taller, but because I have grown closer to my classmates.
On the day of the sports meeting, you taught me what empathy was. I will always remember that day. There were no cheers and laughter, only the sound of the whistle drifting in and out of hearing, and the bitterness of medicine—I was ill. When I came back to school, no one was angry at me for missing the team event. I thought you might have all enjoyed the sports meeting. But what I didn’t know was, because of me didn’t come, you all lost your eligibility. When the referee said that, everyone—girls and boys alike—all cried. I couldn’t believe how much sadness you withstood as you cried, even though you were all so strong.
I am growing — not just because of knowledge, but because I have received love from my teachers.
Every day of your teaching, you taught me what solicitude was. Dear Chinese teacher, you always said you were “casting pearls before swine,” yet you never stopped giving us homework every day. And my Math teacher, you said you couldn’t “wake up students who are pretending to sleep,” but you tried to wake us for six years. My dear English teacher, I am very sorry to tell you that we were the worst students in your career. Although you never stopped teaching us in different ways, maybe to you, we were just a “nightmare” in your teaching life. But the solicitude you gave us is the most powerful magic we have ever received.
I am growing — not because of so many activities, but because of my dearest home — school.
I have to admit that I have hated you a thousand times. But when I look back at my life in your embrace, I realize you have given so much.
I used six seconds to walk into the classroom; I used six minutes to meet the teachers; I used six hours to get to know my table mate; I used six months to become familiar with all my classmates; and I used six years to say goodbye…
May time never age, may we never part!
