Hope Town School

Diary Extract from February 12.2026

Yesterday, I travelled back in time.

In that red and white school I heard our laughter, heard our squeals of delight, the patter of our feet across the sand. Games of tag, running around, going on school outings, the classrooms fresh with the ocean’s breeze - oh it all came back in waves of wonder. I saw my childhood ride up in her pink bike full of frills and sparkles, run up the stairs with her blonde hair uncombed and wild, uniform always slightly wonky, to match the lopsided, toothy smile. She loved science and English class - books books books ! where she’d read with Ellie as they got ice cream at Munchies’ cozy corner in the shade.

We played with all our plushies, all our little collectible toys - they all had names - for hours on end in the slow, warm afternoon sun. Everything from my childhood smelled of coconut, gravel, sea grape and goldfish. I loved nothing more than running on those wide, white beaches at any time of the day. My hair was full of salt and my smile as bright as the sun.

I hold my little self with tenderness, my tears falling on her freckled cheek as I whisper to her: “you will see so much of the world. you will always be loved. you will have so many friends, and so, so much fun. love yourself and others. always keep your joy close to heart.”

She looks up at me with a sparkle in her eye; I am dressed in colors and glowing with life. She is my inspiration, and I, hers.

I see my teachers from then - I am an adult now too! They haven’t changed from my memory of them - how funny that is. Do mentors stand still until their student catches up? Will I also be still at the core, while continuously stretching my mind, my limbs as I explore the wide wide world?

For that day, my wide wide world was little old Hope Town again.

The small, quaint houses’ little pastel colors and pretty patios line the town; some are gift shops, some mini museums, others artist residences. They all bow towards me with their hand on my head, accommodating and familiar, they say welcome home!! The air holds the sweetness of mangos, and I taste the salt of the sea and my tears. In my breathless joy, I run barefoot on cracked roads, racing with my youth in hand - we trip and fall hard, but lay in wonder. My newly scraped knee bleeds fresh and I laugh through my sniffles - I’ve truly become 7 years old again. But now, I can carry myself. I stand up, brush off the dust, and walk right on.

I am proud of who I’ve become, and although I didn’t become a Zookeeper at Jungle Island in Miami (I dreamed of becoming the handler of all the jaguars, lions and snakes in that little paradise), I think my childhood self is proud of me too. It’s thanks to her resilience, her willingness to adapt, her curiosity, and her friendships that I have come this far. Those friends have also grown now, and though we carry ourselves tall, our smiles show flashes of the youth we once shared. We share fragments from our memories, and fill each other in excitedly: “so, what have you become? I see you’re doing well! What are your passions and hobbies? - That is so you!” and as we joke and walk up familiar paths, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction.

Many places have become my home, and when I return there is the satisfaction of completing what has been meant for me. I am the snake who finds its own tail, and in celebration of life I feast on its impermanence.