Amogh shares a page of his diary as he prepares to change schools. Again. A difficult goodbye or the chance for a new beginning. Find out in this edition of Dear diary. 

Dear diary,

“You’re joining a new school!”

These five words (or six, if you count “you’re” as “you are”) basically shake up everything in your existence when you’re a kid. And I really mean everything. 

The words sink in, and suddenly, you realise what this means: this is the last time you see your friends. The last time you see your teachers. The last time you’re going to walk the familiar hallways, the last time you enter through beloved gates, the last time you enter homeroom. Think about it… the place, the people you spent 8 hours every day with? You might never see them again. It genuinely feels like all that you loved, lived and laughed for is just…ending. Ok, so it’s probably not that dramatic. But still. 

The feeling is complex. It’s a mix of shock, excitement, stress, melancholy, and basically everything in between. I’ve moved schools and moved countries 3 times, and yet, the idea of moving schools still catches me completely off guard. Well, I’m shifting schools. Again. Fourth time’s the charm?. And those five words still spark some sense of how I felt moving schools for the first time, back when I was 6 years old. My father had just gotten transferred to New York, and we were leaving the country in a month-and-a-half. And everything I said about moving schools in the second paragraph? Well, all that is compounded to the power 8 when you’re moving to another country. 

Back then, I didn’t really know what to feel. To be honest, I was more like: “Well, what am I supposed to do? New York? What’s that? Huh? Lego? Wait… can I have a Lego for my birthday? Please… Lego Star Wars? Darth Vader? Kylo Ren? Wait… the Force Awakens is in theatres? Papa? Can we go watch?” So, I really didn’t feel too much. 

As little kids, I guess we’re more optimistic, because I didn’t really care about the fact that this was the last time I’d probably see most people around me at school. I didn’t feel most of the melancholy. All I really cared about was the new Lego AT-AT Walker set which was releasing in New York a lot earlier than it was in India. 

But fast forward two years, just as I’m completing third grade in New York, I hear those five  words again. Followed by “We’re moving to Dublin, in Ireland!” Initially, I’m dumbfounded. Which Dublin again? And after I’m done pondering about how I’m going to shift all my Lego sets to Dublin – the one in Ireland, I realize what’s going to happen. And an uneasy feeling hits me. So the next day in school, I tell all my friends that, in a month, I’m probably never seeing them again. Every day, I get more and more anxious. I had finally started to feel comfortable in New York, and now we have to move again? I’m helplessly crushed, and I have no idea how the heck I’m going to survive in Ireland.

The time finally comes. The first day of school in Ireland. Gotta remember to call soccer football again. After 8 long hours, I’m like: Well. It wasn’t that bad. Maybe I can get by. 4th grade goes by, and so does 5th grade, and 6th grade, and finally, I’m nearing the end of 7th grade, when I’m bombarded with another announcement. “You’re going back to India. We’ve enrolled you in a great IB scho-” 

What?! This time, I feel like I’m going to go crazy. Once again, just as I was finally enjoying my life in Ireland, I got the news that I’m going back. So, everytime I laugh at my friend’s joke, I think maybe this is the last time. Every time I take a bite out of my lunch, I think maybe this is the last sandwich I eat in this country. Maybe the last St. Patrick’s day parade… 

Fast forward again, this time to 8th grade. I’m in India, and life is good. I have a bunch of friends, and I’m enjoying playing cricket and competing in chess tournaments. The year goes by fast, and 9th grade comes by. I’m feeling great. I’m enjoying my life, and the only thing that can upset me is if someone reminds me that India lost the 2023 Cricket World Cup. But, otherwise, I’m having a blast. And then… the day comes… again…

A different school. A different country. Different people. The last time I’ll play football with my friends. The last time I’ll go to the second floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the first floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the third floor bathroom. All these thoughts, and more, keep replaying in my head during the last day of school. To be honest, I really don’t know what to feel, once again. 

But maybe that’s fine.

Someone wise once said “change is the only constant”. So I guess this is just “change” reasserting itself into my life. Because moving schools might mean the end of one experience, but it’s also the beginning of another. Because for every last day of 9th grade, there’s a first day of 10th grade. Maybe it only gets easier when we embrace the change. When we normalize it, instead of resisting it. Because… without change, we really wouldn’t be here. 

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