Chapter 3: "New Beginnings in Varnara"
After the storm of St. Martins, my life changed again in ways I never expected. I always say there are four main elements that build a person's character: how they're raised, who surrounds them, their culture or environment, and who God wants them to be.
When I left St. Jamorra in December of 2017, I hadn't yet realized how much I would change—from a shy little girl to the speaker, cultivator, and writer I am today. If I'm being honest, I didn't even know I was going to stay. I left St. Jamorra to finally embark on a long-awaited vacation, set to return in January of the next year and start preparing for the new school term. But none of that happened. Instead, for the next ten years, I created a whole new life for myself.
When I came into this country, we were given no more than thirteen days—thirteen days for a family vacation. And though I suppose that was enough, the date on our return ticket alone meant we would've overstayed. So my mother did what any other person in that situation would do—she went to immigration. But we couldn't leave. The only thing they could offer us was an additional six months.
Six months.
I remember my thoughts as we rode into this new country on a city bus, as broke as sewer rats with not a penny to our name. Jamorran money was worth nothing here, though it's the same elsewhere too. Our only refuge was the no-good riffraff that was TJ's father, Gaeye.
I came to Varnara with a sound foundation—that was my childhood. And for the first six months, life seemed fair. My mother got a job because Gaeye was as useless as a blind bat. TJ and I started private school, which we only afforded because Gaeye knew the owner. Life was nice, and my new friends seemed not to come with a price.
That school was Harmon High.
Harmon was as diverse as a school could possibly be—Jamorrans, Varnarans, St. Giderians, Gaaynarias I never felt alone there, and my education was quite top-tier.
Omifa Sterling—number one in our class before I came along. I remember the stink-eyes and annoyed glances every time I raised my hand in class. But I didn't care, and I made sure to let her know that. She did the same.
Harmon High was the height of my life. I played hockey (though I wasn't quite good), had friends, and aced all my classes. Harmon was the foundation of my growth into Varnaran culture. I learned the words of the pledge and the song from posters in the classroom. Friends taught me the right tone. I tasted what's now my favorite dishes—bakes with sausage inside, smashed banana—from the canteen lunches and school events.
But just as I was starting to feel like I belonged, the bubble burst. Harmon raised their fees, and reality came knocking.
I left Harmon after the increase. Children who hadn't paid for the term were taken out of class and sent downstairs until their parents came. That day, I had never been more ashamed. But I wasn't alone, and I suppose that helped. My best friend, Ganish, was with me as we waited in a small room outside the principal's office, doing nothing but the idiocy of children—building paper airplanes, eating each other's food—just trying to avoid confronting the situation we had found ourselves in. The school shut down a few years later i suppose the fees really were too high
But That moment marked a shift.
We transferred to a new school: Winser high. A school that looked like nothing special, but became the cornerstone of everything that came after.
There were about four other kids in that waiting room with us, trying to entertain themselves just like we were. I lost contact with Ganish after I left Harmon, but I will never forget how brave and strong he was that day. Ganish wasn't only a good friend in that moment—he stood beside me for the five months I spent at that school. Ganish, Puercash, and even Omifa at times. We were what I now call a killer group. Our personalities all matched, and our stories, though different, all seemed the same.
Ganish and Puercash, both being Indian, opened up a different type of ethnicity to me. Before then, I had never interacted outside my race. Yet here I was, in the company of two wonderful, kind, and outgoing human beings with smooth black hair, olivey skin, and smiles that could rival the sun.
Up until that moment, I hadn't known what it felt like to be part of a group that genuinely cared about me. Sure, there was Dayna and Taliah before they turned against me, but even that was nothing compared to this. I had two best friends and a community of people just like me, willing to fight for each other.
That was the best thing about Harmon—the community of immigrants focused on making it. But not by themselves—with everyone around them.
Ganish and Puercash weren't the only ones I met at Harmon who helped change my life. Along with Omifa, there was Azara—a Jamorran like me, though she was a few years older. Azara became like the sister I never had, and my mother, being the woman she is, charged her to walk home with us every evening. I loved Azara. She didn't just look out for us during school but outside of it too.
After I left Harmon, we stayed in touch, and to this day, though we aren't as close, I still see her every once in a while. Those moments are only ever met with joy.
If I ever saw Ganish again, I'm not sure he'd remember me. I'm not even sure I'd remember him. But if by some slight chance God places him in my life again, I know it would only be for good.