The night before my first normal primary school day was quiet. I was excited, but also a little worried. I thought about endless possibilities, my imagination stretching into worlds that could happen or maybe would never happen. My head ached from thinking too much about what might come next, from trying to picture the future before it even began.
"Augh," I sighed as I lay down, pulling the blanket around me. "I need to rest. Tomorrow will be hard," I whispered to myself, yawning deeply. My eyes slowly closed, but my mind kept turning, spinning small stories of classrooms, teachers, and classmates I had never met.
In my dreams, I imagined a strange world where everyone was open, not physically naked, but mentally exposed. No secrets, no plans, no hiding. Everyone was just there, raw and real. Some were kind and gentle, and others were cruel in ways I didn't like. I ran through that dream world, trying to find a safe place to exist, wondering if someone would understand me there.
When I woke up, I went through my usual routine. I ate my cereals, simple and sweet, like every other day. But this morning felt different. Today was the first day of primary school, and I felt a little bigger, even though the world outside was still enormous. At 7:35 am, I grabbed my backpack, pencils, and notebook, and left the house. The walk to school was just a little longer than the walk to kindergarten, but now everything seemed wider, taller, and more serious.
I arrived at school and ran toward my classroom, eager for a good spot. I chose the front row, on the left next to the window. Sunlight shone softly through the glass, warming my back. I sat next to a boy with dark hair and a blue shirt. He smiled at me in a calm, friendly way, and I felt a little more comfortable already.
The teacher introduced herself. She seemed older, maybe around sixty, with white hair, glasses, and a dress that looked like it belonged in a different time. She was slightly overweight, but none of that mattered to us kids. She spoke kindly, and I could tell she would guide us through the day.
We moved the chairs into a circle and pushed the tables aside to make space. We started a game to introduce ourselves. A ball was thrown into the air, and whoever caught it said their name, age, hobbies, and home country. The first girl caught it and said she was from Poland. She loved rope skipping and roleplay. One by one, everyone introduced themselves. Finally, it was my turn. I caught the ball and said, "My name is Ömer. I love to play in the playground and sing. I'm from Turkey." I felt confident as the words left my mouth, a small spark of pride warming me inside.
After everyone had spoken, we returned the classroom to its normal layout. The teacher showed our weekly plan. It was simple: math, German, class hour, English, art, and a combination of biology and geography. Extras like reading or creative time were bonuses, little spaces of freedom. I tried to absorb it all, feeling excited and slightly overwhelmed.
Break came soon after. All the information we had received weighed heavily on us. It felt like we had learned everything at once. But even with that, we played and laughed. I was new, unknown to everyone else, and that gave me freedom. They treated me normally, like I belonged. I felt warm and happy, a rare feeling, knowing I was accepted just as I was.
After the break, German class began. We started with grammar and new words. Each word felt like a secret waiting to be discovered. Grammar confused me most of all. Speaking and writing were similar but different, like two layers of a language I had never fully known. Everyone struggled quietly, concentrating on the task, trying to understand the rules.
Math was next, and it was even harder. Numbers and operations seemed simple, but understanding them in the classroom felt like discovering a hidden world. "If I have one, and I add another one, I get two. But what is one? What is two?" I asked myself silently, confused but trying to focus. The first real challenge of the day pressed on all of us, and I could feel the weight of it.
When school ended, I walked home.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
My mom asked how it went before I even sat down. "Good, but very confusing," I said with a sigh. She yelled at me, forgetting she had shaped me like a girl in so many ways. "It's the first day and you're already tired. Be a man!" Anger rose inside me, and I went to my shared room, tapping my fingers lightly on the bed.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
The rest of the day was quiet. My brothers approached gently, without pressure, and I told them honestly how I felt. They understood and supported me. Seeing them understand gave me hope in a small way, a relief after the chaos of my mom's words.
Dinner was dolma and sarma, my favorite dishes. Paprika and vine leaves stuffed with rice, meat, and spices, warm and creamy, served with lemon and yogurt. German yogurt was perfect, less sour than Turkish yogurt, just how I liked it. The flavors made my mouth water.
Hmgh… Hmgh…
That night, I slept well. School had been confusing and overwhelming, but for now, I had been accepted as I was. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe in a world that wasn't mine yet. My small secret world of dreams could stay alive for a little longer, until reality would find me again.