It was a bright Saturday when I finally joined the seventeen year reunion of my Saint Anthony Secondary School class, an event I had heard about for years but never managed to attend. The school hall had been transformed with banners bearing our graduation photo, and the familiar chime of the old school bell echoed as alumni streamed in, greeting each other with laughter that seemed to bridge the gap of time. I was able to recognized some faces that had aged gracefully, some with children in tow, others with the same mischievous grin that had once earned us detentions and there are some faces I was unable to recognized.
The evening began with a short slideshow of old photographs, each image sparking a flood of memories: the first day we nervously entered the gates, the triumphant feeling of winning the inter‑house sports, and the quiet moments spent in the library cramming for exams. When my name appeared on the screen, accompanied by a caption from a former teacher reminding us to keep the flag flying, a warm applause erupted, and I felt a deep sense of belonging.
We were invited to share a favorite school memory, and stories flowed as effortlessly as the soft jazz playing in the background. One friend recounted how we had once organized a surprise birthday party for our math teacher, complete with a cake shaped like a calculator. The room erupted in laughter, and for a moment we were transported back to the carefree days of youth.
As the night drew to a close, we exchanged contact details and promised to stay in touch, vowing to make the reunion an annual tradition. Walking out of the hall, I realized that the true treasure of the evening was not only the reminiscence of shared history but also the renewed sense of community that only a reunion can inspire. I left feeling grateful and hopeful.
