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COMMENDED: Coming of Age

Pooja in Year 9 Shares a lovely tale about her memories of her native India. Pooja said: The mango tree reminds of my origins and keeps me in touch with who I am as a teenager. When I reflect on these memories, I do sometimes feel down, but most of all it makes me happy to recall.


The Mango Trees

The weather was extremely hot and seemed like it was suffocating me. The concrete was melting like snow in springtime. As I walked in the street, I saw colourful houses like little magical creatures lined up one by one. I looked up to find kites flying in the air like floating angels. Giggling children ran around with grins as big as Chesire cats drawn across their little faces. Their only spectators - stray dogs - lay on the floor because it was too hot to chase after them.

As I reached my house, I felt a gentle rumble of the ground beneath my feet. I looked up. An elephant waddled slowly past my house. On its head were a crown of patterns and flowers. The elephant came towards me and allowed me stroke its rough head, filled with ridges and creases like the skin of an old woman. I could feel its heartbeat as if it was my own. Its big ears were a smooth pink chasm.

When evening finally came, the sunset seemed to explode like a bomb of orange, yellow and red fireworks. I relaxed. As the explosion subsided, I could feel the cool breeze of the evening blow through my fingertips.

I sat exhausted underneath the mango tree and I could smell the juice at the heart of every hanging fruit. The tree seemed to hold these beautiful golden orbs like treasures on a wising tree.


And I made mine.


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