Just like 12-year-old me

I changed schools a lot in primary school. Don't ask why. Long story. Class 4. A new private school.

You might be asking why private matters. I had been to public schools before. Private meant a sort of quiet luxury. Getting taken care of. Getting asked about your homework. Whether you completed it. It also came with stricter time requirements. We reported earlier than in my public school days. Anyway, that aside.

This new school had one other quiet luxury that the public school didn't have. Every Friday, 2 PM to 4 PM. They took us to a playground that had a swing.

Now stay with me.

The playing ground had other things. A football field. A basketball court. A swimming pool, even.

My friend and I never went to any of those places.

Not once.

We ran past the boys. Past the pool. Past everything. Straight to the swings. Two pairs of swings. Two. For over a hundred girls. I don't know why the boys never bothered with the swings.

My friend and I would run. Full sprint across that field. Commission ourselves one swing. And we would pass it around, to each other, and to anyone else who knew how to swing. Because there were many didn't know how to swing but who wanted to get on it and be swung.

Like a ride.

My friend and I were running a strict monopoly. We had no time for handing out such service. No time to push strangers. No time to teach. Anyone who didn't know how to swing would have to scramble for the other swing.

The other swing. Not the pool. Not the basketball court. The other swing. Isn't that strange? A whole playing ground. A swimming pool. And over a hundred girls fighting over two swings.

A few weeks ago, a friend, a different one, and I went to the park behind International House. It had other things too. A field. An outdoor seating area. A court. We didn't look at them. We found the swings. And as small girls again, we swung and swung until our hearts were full. We kept laughing and laughing. First at our foolishness. Our childishness. Two adults in a foreign country, pumping legs on rubber seats meant for ten-year-olds. Second, how very little can give you happiness.

So.

Finals are approaching. Deadlines everywhere. Studying until your eyes blur. I should be in the library right now. But I keep thinking about that playground. The two swings. The swimming pool we never once used. The hundred girls. The ones we left to scramble.

I will go again. And just for laughs and giggles, on Friday at 2 PM.

Just like twelve-year-old me.