High school in Trinidad came with its own set of challenges. My family lived about an hour from my school in the capital, so every weekday began early. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. and caught a shared taxi at 5:30. Secondary school started at age eleven, after the Common Entrance exam, and I had done well enough to be accepted into the top schools in the country.
I had already been taking public transportation since I was nine, so starting high school at eleven didn’t feel intimidating –just exhausting. If I missed my scheduled taxi, I walked five minutes to the taxi stand on my own. Once in the capital, there were transfers: a minibus or another shared taxi to get to school in time for the 7:30 start. Getting there each morning was a chore, one I repeated without complaint because there was no alternative.
My elementary school had been a Hindu school, where I was one of only two minority students. High school was different. It was Roman Catholic, and the mix of students was much broader –Asians, Caucasians, Indians, Blacks. I was less of a minority now, but the school came with its own twist: it was all boys. And I was suddenly surrounded by some of the smartest kids in the country.
When school ended at 2:30, there was no lingering. I traveled back home to work in the family store. There was little time to hang out with classmates, no casual afternoons or shared routines after school. Once again, I felt set apart –moving between worlds, but never fully settled in any of them.
When I hear Freedom now, I smile at the irony. My days were structured, demanding, and relentless. But somewhere in those early mornings and long commutes, I learned independence the hard way. Freedom didn’t look like ease back then it looked like responsibility, carried quietly, one bus ride at a time.
