Alma Mater

It’s been almost a year since I left Loyola School. For those who know me well, you know exactly which school I mean. And for those who don’t — well, you might want to keep reading because these memories mean the world to me.

Lately, I’ve found myself missing school more than ever. I’m not sure why exactly, but something about this moment in time has stirred those old feelings. 

Just last week, I returned to the school for the “School Day” reunion, along with other former Loyolites. Being back felt surreal.

Memories came flooding in — vivid and bittersweet. I remembered the day I danced as a little girl when I was eight, despite not knowing even the basics of dancing. Then, the year I dressed as a pirate at nine, and the time I performed as a item dancer at fourteen. Each moment was clumsy yet full of heart.

I recall reciting a great poem on stage, only to deliver it terribly — something you can probably imagine. Then I acted as a model in the school drama, which I’m afraid was nothing short of disastrous. And when I sang on stage, the result was more "rock band chaos" than harmony.

And now, as I write this, tears are streaming down my cheeks. These memories—both the embarrassing and the beautiful—are my treasures. They remind me of a time when life was a mix of excitement, awkwardness, and discovery. I find myself unable to continue without pausing to feel it all.

Leaving school was tough. But the memories? They keep me connected to those days — and to the people who shaped me.

To all my fellow Loyolites, wherever you are now — here’s to our shared past, and the countless stories we carry with us.