If I remember correctly, it was June of 1991 when I started going to school.
Most kids at that time were accompanied by their parents on the first day—but what I remember most is the excitement. I must have woken up early that morning, eager and ready, because I loved the idea of going to school.
Even before I was old enough to attend, I would beg my mom to teach me how to write. I’d sit with her, asking to learn my ABCs, determined to be ready. By the time school officially began, I already knew how to write the alphabet—and maybe even read a few words.
There was a little tradition back then—maybe even a superstition—that if you put a coin inside your shoe on the first day of school, it would bring good luck and success. My mom slipped one into my shoe that morning. I can't remember now whether I used the money to buy something or if it was still there when I got home, but I do remember the feeling: like something magical was beginning.
My mom didn’t walk with me to school that day. I think it’s because even as a child, I was already seen as responsible. I just walked with our neighbors, probably with my little bag bouncing at my side and a heart full of excitement.
That little girl—hopeful, curious, and ready—still lives in me. And looking back, I see now how those early moments shaped the way I meet the world even now: with wonder, independence, and just a little belief in good luck.
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