I am eight years old in this memory. Every morning, after breakfast, I pick up my rose pink schoolbag on my back and reluctantly leave home for school. School is not an exciting place for me – I don’t feel comfortable being in a room with many people. I would rather stay at home and play on my own.
My school is close by, about 20 minutes walk. Just before 8 am, I put on my shoes and open the front door of my house with a sigh. My mother follows me outside.
“Have a great day!” she says with a big smile, in a cheerful voice, which I feel is slightly overdone.
“Bye now,” I say and start walking down the block.
As I walk, I know that my mother is still standing in front of the house, watching me. A few times, I turn back and wave at her. She waves me back.
When I come to the end of our block, I look back for one last time before turning right to continue my journey to school. As I see my mother wave at me, I feel as if it were such a big good-bye – me going to school and my mother going back inside the house to resume her tasks, two different worlds.
After the last lookback, I turn right and carry on with my walk to school. This is my morning farewell routine.