The Life

I remember the anxiousness of moving into primary 3, Bar Mitzvah; an old boy becoming a man. Primary 3 was a new phase, a new mantle would grace my right hand, something I had longed for for about two years since advancing out of the nursery and there it was, the key to the world, the key to everything, that which they say is mightier than the sword; the pen. Colloquially known as Biro in these parts. I had left the pencil ages for the pencil cavers. This maturity came with its responsibilities as in the first class on the first day of resumption, the English teacher gave an assignment, the assignment, that assignment, that assignment that would clone it over the next few years till I was in senior secondary school, the ultimate one and only “Write a composition on how you spent your last holiday”. Right there…

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