Descriptive Essay: I Want To Go Home

I want to go home. I really want to go home. It’s the last block and I’m sitting cross-legged on the carpet of my kirtan class.

Feeling a slight chill, I pull my purple jacket closer and tug on the black cashmere turtleneck that I wear underneath my uniform hoping to feel its warmth and softness. Mom says I always have to wear my jacket and turtleneck. She says it will protect me from the germs that always left me ill. I didn’t mind though. It made me feel like a rebel. In a school where the students are a monochrome picture of perfection, I felt that the vibrant colours of my wondrous jacket gave life to the dreary surroundings. So, I treated my jacket as if it were my armour. It was my secret weapon and defender that annihilated any disease

I begin singing the shabad very quietly hoping she doesn’t notice the croakiness, with my hands quivering as I pressed the keys.

“Louder” she scolded, “sing louder and make it sound melodious”

I started shrinking further, and in a panic, I began pressing the wrong keys and singing the wrong words. My face grew more and more red as I started to look up at her. Angrily, she slams her hands on the harmonium, and I flinch back at the sound which was loud enough to shatter windows. At this point, I knew there was no going back from the blunders I made.

She yells and yells at me as I stare down at the carpet clutching my fists and trying to swallow the knot in my throat. She scolds and screams yet the words refuse to process in my head. I can feel the stares. I can hear the snickers.

“Stand up and go put your jacket away” she yelled, “Did your parents not teach you to follow rules and regulations? I don’t want to see that ugly thing again!”

I stood up and slowly walked to the back of the class trying to avoid eye contact and turning deaf to the sneers. Blinking several times, I slowly started taking off my only protection, my jacket. I heard laughter

The class was soon filled with laughter, yet all I wanted to do was cry. With balled fists and watery eyes, I stand stiffly staring at everyone, clutching my precious jacket. The sounds of their laughter and mockery get louder and louder, and I feel my turtleneck squeezing my throat, choking me until I found it hard to breathe.

“I don’t need a student in this class that is unable to follow rules, go stand outside until class is over,” she says monotonously.

Hesitantly, with a knot in my throat, I turn the doorknob, my hands quivering and my eyes stinging. I open the door and step out. The door shuts loudly behind me, drowning all the screeching, the thumps, and the stupid laughter.

Slowly sitting on the floor, I clutch my jacket and sob into it trying to grasp any ounce of warmth and comfort it no longer