The Law of Continuous Nurturing

It's packing day, and I’ve never seen the house this chaotic. The kitchen is buzzing, and my mom tells me to stay out. From a distance, I catch glimpses of my favorite snacks being prepared. A stainless-steel rectangular box sits ready to be filled with goodies. In the living room, a large silver trunk dominates the space, with my "home clothes" scattered around it. I sit on the sofa with my teddy bear, watching the commotion, excited to go to boarding school. This moment feels like the first tangible step toward a new chapter in my life—one that would shape many of my thoughts and decisions. Boarding school would become a small but significant part of my life. The first day passed in a blur of excitement and anticipation. Before reaching the school gates, we stopped at a quaint cantonment area, where the main camp was alive with activity. Shops lined the streets, offering everything from school supplies to uniforms. We made sure to pick up all the necessities before heading to the school. Mom and I ate our last meal together before parting ways for what felt like an eternity. When we finally arrived, I was met with a wave of excitement. Having visited the school before with my older sisters, I was familiar with it, but this time felt different. This time, it was my turn, and I was filled with wonder and anticipation. The dormitory, now my new home, was a vast room filled with rows of beds. The white walls were tinged with grey at the bottom, and small windows dotted the space, their wooden shutters creaking open and shut. The air buzzed with energy as girls laughed and chatted—old friends reuniting, new ones just beginning to form. Meeting the headmistress was nerve-wracking. She immediately noticed my shiny gold earrings, which were deemed too large by school standards. I watched with a heavy heart as my mom removed them—a silent reminder of the strict rules that governed life at boarding school. Our goodbye was brief. She hugged me one last time and was gone, leaving me amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces. As evening descended, it was time for dinner. We lined up outside the dining hall according to our houses, and I found myself standing with the girls of Blue House, known as Helen Keller House. This felt like a comforting connection to my sisters, as they had been in the same house. The dining hall was cavernous, with long tables stretching across the room. That night, as the lights went out, I lay in bed. The whispers faded, and soon the room fell into silence. For the first time, the reality of being alone hit me. Tears welled up, and I longed for the warmth and familiarity of home. I cried myself to sleep, and this became a routine for the first seven to ten days. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day left me too tired to cry, and I began to settle into the rhythm of boarding school. Looking back, I realize how those early days were filled with loneliness—a constant reminder of my separation from everything I knew. But amid the loneliness, I also glimpsed the resilience that would carry me through the days ahead. Living without my family was difficult. At just 10 years old, I was utterly miserable and unprepared for the challenges ahead. Making friends felt impossible. I didn’t quite fit in with the other kids, and it seemed like they didn’t like me either. I wasn’t good at sports, so I missed out on the games. Worse still, the teasing and name-calling began. The shared bathrooms became a battleground, with girls lining up for a chance to bathe. But when it was finally my turn, there was often no water left. This small injustice amplified my homesickness, making me feel even further from home. At that age, the isolation felt complete. There was no escape—no neighborhood friends, no extracurricular activities, no comfort of home. I faced the same kids who teased me every day at school, during sports, at meals, and back in the dormitory. Conversations were rare, mostly limited to asking teachers about homework or exchanging... But the moment that truly broke something in me was yet to come.