Aditya Deshpande, Alumni - Grade 11
UWCSEA (East)
“Ok students, go ahead and begin”. Mr Tymms’ voice fell over a peering class of grade 6 EngHum (English and Humanities) students. The calmness with which it was delivered, ironically, broke the room’s tranquillity into fragments of childish conversation.
“I want you all to be done before lunch” Everyone smiled, including me. We all were thinking the same thing and unknowingly facing the same delusion, “Forty minutes? It will be done in 5”
I, with all the eagerness that a 12-year-old could muster, headed to my seat and began typing furiously. With my brows furrowed in thought, I tried to recollect the forgotten stories that my grandmother used to tell me about her childhood: the unremembered experiences of her time. Thankfully, I had a poor memory.
Aside from all the praise that she gave him for being a hardworking and diligent student, something my parents were at that time struggling to make me into, there wasn’t much that I could remember. So, naturally, putting my work in the most eloquent and poetic way I knew how I wrote a chronologically ordered list of hallmark events and places: starting from the day my grandfather was born to the current moment. An air of confidence slowly enveloped me as I got closer and closer to finishing the task. I could not be happier at how productive I was being. Albeit, it wasn’t the expected 5-minute task, but the duration was still inconsequential when compared to the time remaining until lunch, which was slowly being counted down by some of my hungrier classmates.
I stood up proudly and walked over to Mr Tymms desk securely placing the laptop between my arms. As if on cue, he looked up with his commanding blue eyes complemented by the gentle smile on his face, motioning me with his hand to come forward. With his chin tucked into his neck and his spectacles right at the tip of his nose, Mr Tymms began silently treading his eyes across the blemished screen. Despite a relatively recent acquaintance with my teacher, I could immediately tell that the submission was not what he was expecting, because he wasn’t expecting a series of events that describe my family’s history. Neither was he expecting a list of locations of where we’ve moved from and lived. No, he was expecting something quite truly different, he was expecting a… story.
About 15 minutes ago, Mr Tymms had stood before the class and explained the origination of the UWC movement, all while introducing a phrase that all UWC students know a little too well by now.
“UWC makes education a force to unite people, nations, and cultures for peace and a sustainable future”
“I want you all to be done before lunch” Everyone smiled, including me. We all were thinking the same thing and unknowingly facing the same delusion, “Forty minutes? It will be done in 5”
I, with all the eagerness that a 12-year-old could muster, headed to my seat and began typing furiously. With my brows furrowed in thought, I tried to recollect the forgotten stories that my grandmother used to tell me about her childhood: the unremembered experiences of her time. Thankfully, I had a poor memory.
Aside from all the praise that she gave him for being a hardworking and diligent student, something my parents were at that time struggling to make me into, there wasn’t much that I could remember. So, naturally, putting my work in the most eloquent and poetic way I knew how I wrote a chronologically ordered list of hallmark events and places: starting from the day my grandfather was born to the current moment. An air of confidence slowly enveloped me as I got closer and closer to finishing the task. I could not be happier at how productive I was being. Albeit, it wasn’t the expected 5-minute task, but the duration was still inconsequential when compared to the time remaining until lunch, which was slowly being counted down by some of my hungrier classmates.
I stood up proudly and walked over to Mr Tymms desk securely placing the laptop between my arms. As if on cue, he looked up with his commanding blue eyes complemented by the gentle smile on his face, motioning me with his hand to come forward. With his chin tucked into his neck and his spectacles right at the tip of his nose, Mr Tymms began silently treading his eyes across the blemished screen. Despite a relatively recent acquaintance with my teacher, I could immediately tell that the submission was not what he was expecting, because he wasn’t expecting a series of events that describe my family’s history. Neither was he expecting a list of locations of where we’ve moved from and lived. No, he was expecting something quite truly different, he was expecting a… story.
About 15 minutes ago, Mr Tymms had stood before the class and explained the origination of the UWC movement, all while introducing a phrase that all UWC students know a little too well by now.
“UWC makes education a force to unite people, nations, and cultures for peace and a sustainable future”
Guest Writer |
Apart from the UWC mission, Mr Tymms also entertained us with gripping stories of Kurt Hahn’s experience in Germany right before WWII, and his unforeseen interactions with mirrors, morse code, and the sea. I was mesmerized; however, the significance of the engaging narratives that Mr Tymms highlighted had not resonated with me yet. Not until I truly understood what the task was meant to be.
Each person has their own story, a collection, not sequence, of moments that describe their journey of existence. Ultimately, it is those moments that culminate over time to define where we are and who we are. UWC is not just a movement or a belief. It is the celebration of the infinitesimal probability that chanced to bring together the arrays of diverse stories compiled of a collection of moments. I just had to figure out what mine was. |
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