Waking up again to my blaring alarm clock, I yawned and lazily get dressed for school. Passing through the living room, I said good morning to my mother, stuffed a slightly stale crepe into my mouth and rushed to the elevator.
The empty compartment shook ever so lightly as it descended, unpleasantly reminding me of the many times this ancient machine malfunctioned: some, where office workers were stuck for hours. Failing to relax, I forcefully remind myself that my sister would be starting out next year, and thus would only have a half semester unbothered.
A beat-up, white van screeched to a halt, its doors hissing open to reveal a bunch of sleepy and silenced elementary school kids. Shoving my way in, I realized clearly that this wasn't my high school days where at least half of the seats were always empty - there's barely any room, and I ended up crammed next to a drooling second-grader who looked like they should sleep for the rest of the morning.
Despite the cramped space and the slow crawl of traffic, a nostalgic warmth washed over me. Simply not having to worry about deadlines and responsibilities is... liberating. Gazing out the window, a smile tugged at my lips. The dusty streets, lined with those plain, old buildings, held a strange sense of comfort. Though even the glamorous imitated Roman arcs looked lackluster compared to the future malls and landmarks, they made up for with uniqueness and relative class. It had been quite a while.
Upon arrival, I saw the three-meter-tall walls propping up in the middle of an empty block, each the color of spoiled milk - aesthetics was not quite the priority when the school was built somewhere twenty years or so ago. Though, considering its abrupt growth in both size and luxury, this sight is, in some sense, quite historical.
Having checked for every meager possessions, I joined the throng of students pushing through the creaky school gates. The familiar, slightly overwhelming smell of freshly-toasted bread mixed with steamed rice, sausages and instant noodles hit me, causing a light stutter in my steps. However, as it's both too early to go to class and too late to eat breakfast, I merely strolled casually through the hall and up the stairs towards 3rd grade – from muscle memory of this body, obviously.
I stopped at the 3-4 sign and peered through the clear windows into a half-full, all-distracted classroom of students. Even compared to a much pricier school nearly a decade later, something about Ms. Trikhan's classroom felt…right. It was tidy, as organized as can be, with a faint scent of cleaning agents wafting in the air. Light streamed through the windows, bouncing off the shiny wood floors, making the whole room look straight out of a rom-com.
Of course, the sleepy students laying lazily on their desks completely ruined this atmosphere. Unlike with long-time habits, however, I found myself unable to distinguish my position and had to look at the seating plan atop the homeroom teacher's desk, which showed that I am to sit at the very end of the class for the next week or so.
As I strode somewhat unconfidently forwards, a pink-haired girl tilted her head with a soft: "Good morning". From the plan, her name apparently was Elizabeth, and in my memory she's referred to by practically everyone as "Liz" - a decently common name, back in those days. So common, in fact, that in secondary and onward, we had to label those with that name A and B to figure out which one is which.
Before I start reminiscing more useless facts, I smiled politely and returned "Good morning". Of course, without clear recollection of my personality back in the days.
"...." Amy, in turn, went silent and stared at me in bewilderment. Considering her flippant personality, I would under scrutiny (jokingly, of course?) for the rest of the day. What truly bothers me, however, is the stack of impossibly unruly books found underneath my table that threatens to fall off at a light touch. Silently cursing my past self for this mess, I sat down on the floor depressedly and carefully separated the textbooks, notebooks and workbooks that would be changed in literally 5 months or so.
As I went through the pile, I quickly noticed the school timetable that displays:
"Monday
Morning
English
Literature
Math
Mental Wellbeing (MW)
Afternoon
Science
History"
During this period and until the end of elementary school, all "main subjects" like math, literature and science were taught by our homeroom teacher - Ms Trikhan, this third grade. I never liked any of them, to little fault of the teacher, but simply due to the seriousness expected from them. Though I learnt to appreciate the little fun she attempted, the knowledge is simply too insignificant for me.
Just thinking about living (read: enduring) another nine years until I reach my mental age is... terrifying. Yet, as my memory merged with this younger self, I remembered all those lost opportunities and people who could've changed my life: my Art tutor, possible chance to be a Math assistant, piano class - which starts a year from now, learning a third language, coding, debating...
As only the first and potentially second I can access right now, I separated a notebook just to doodle and sat up straight on my seat after arranging my desk space. While other students played with their school utensils and chat about who-knows-what, I reached for my pencil and drew a cartoon dinosaur.
Through the barred windows, the sky stretched out endlessly, simply. Despite the unruly noise and sluggishness of this body, a laughably disproportionate T-rex could be made out on the pages. At that moment, I did not notice the gifted Amelia's surprise and how my life's trajectory would veer off course in the very week...