Learning to climb down

You gave me something I did not know I was seeking: time to look at my other side.

I loved films, and somewhere within me lived a quiet wish to be a filmmaker. You did not fulfil that wish, instead, you made me a writer. What cinema might have taught me through images and movement, you taught me through stillness and reflection.

Living here, I encountered primary education from close quarters, not as an abstraction, but as lived reality.

When resources are scarce, intentions must compensate for infrastructure. Research, assumed a different meaning. It demanded patience. Managing research became a daily exercise in humility.

You also introduced me to some of the finest people I have known. Not necessarily famous or powerful, but grounded, generous, and quietly competent. Relationships were not hurried. Life allowed breathing space.

I lived a clean and largely stress-free life. I may not have made many friends, but I did not make a single enemy. That, in itself, feels like an achievement of a different kind.

Three decades passed, and paradoxically, you made me younger. Physically, I may have suffered the usual wear of time. Mentally, something sharpened. The gap between chronological age and mental age narrowed. I became less eager to prove and more willing to understand.

I can no longer climb as fast as I once did. You taught me how to climb down. I have understood that every descent is not a failure.