When I think back to my secondary school days, I can’t help but smile. That chapter of my life was filled with unforgettable memories — laughter, friendship, a bit of trouble here and there — and a few hard-learned lessons. One particular memory stands out clearly, not just because it was hilarious but because it taught me a lesson I’ve never forgotten.
There was one thing I seriously disliked back then — the school morning assembly. I don’t know if it was the early wake-up, the long speeches, or the standing under the sun, but I just never liked it. I wasn’t alone, though. I had a small circle of friends who felt the same way. We were kind of like partners in crime when it came to avoiding the assembly. Our strategy was simple: stay back in the hostel premises, pretend to be busy or sick, and only show up when the assembly was over. It worked for us many times, and we began to feel like professionals at dodging school routines.
Then came that unforgettable morning in my final year.
As usual, we had made our plans the night before. Once the assembly bell rang, we stayed back in the hostel, laughing and feeling smart. What we didn’t know was that it wasn’t just any ordinary assembly — it was a special one, organized specifically for final-year students. That day, they were taking attendance individually, with everyone signing a register after the assembly.
We had no idea what was going on. After the assembly ended, we casually strolled out like kings who had just pulled off another successful escape. But that confidence lasted only a short while. Not long after, a junior student came to inform us that we were being called to the principal’s office.
At that moment, my heart sank. You know that kind of fear that makes your body suddenly feel cold even under the hot sun? That was exactly what I felt.
When we got to the principal’s office, there was no shouting, no long talk — just straight to the point. “You were not in assembly today,” he said, “so as punishment, you’ll be cutting grass and cleaning the school drainage.”
Boom. Just like that, reality slapped us in the face.
We were divided into groups. Some went to cut grass. I ended up with those cleaning the drainages. Under the scorching sun, with my sleeves rolled up and my trousers stained with dirt, I was scooping out smelly water, leaves, and wrappers. My mates were in class receiving lectures, and I was out there learning a different kind of lesson. The regret I felt that day? It can’t even be televised.
I was soaked in sweat, my uniform was a mess, and my stomach was making noise — not from hunger, but from shame. That experience humbled me. From that day forward, once I heard the morning bell, I didn’t even wait to be told. I was always among the first to arrive at the assembly ground.
Now, whenever I remember that day, I just laugh. But deep inside, I know that was the day I truly understood that avoiding responsibility might feel smart for a moment, but the consequences always have a way of catching up — and when they do, it’s not always funny.
Thanks for reading.