There have been umpteen such phases, but there’s one that was just a little more difficult to bid goodbye to, and the worst part was, I didn’t know what I was letting go.

My new school boasted a fleet of buses to transport us children (and occasionally a few teachers) between school and home.
From the very start, I was an eager explorer, often hopping onto different school buses for the journey home, opting for the more scenic routes and inevitably arriving late. I’d concocted a tale about extra periods at school to justify my tardiness, a fib that went undetected for a month, fueling my audacity to venture even further.
One fateful afternoon, around 4 o’clock, I strolled back home only to find my father waiting at the entrance, a rare sight indeed. His smile was disarming, and I greeted him happily, unaware of the revelation awaiting me.
Engaging me in conversation, he inquired about my day and the lessons learned. Stepping indoors, to my surprise, I found a schoolmate accompanied by her older brother, there to extend a personal invitation to her birthday celebration later that evening, oblivious to my fabrications of extra classes and the like. It turned out my mother had phoned my father at work, prompting his early return home, all because of me.
In front of my friend and her elder brother, I endured a thorough interrogation. They were mortified, and I wished intensely for the floor to open and swallow me whole.
Despite my embarrassment, my parents insisted I attend the birthday party later that evening, knowing full well that my escapades would soon be common knowledge among my classmates. Yet, my adventures persisted, now with the added company of friends who had learned of my antics.

On one occasion, we even played truant to explore an abandoned house rumored to be haunted.
As we progressed through the grades, those carefree excursions gave way to the demands of coaching classes and self-study. Looking back, that phase was the best phase of my life, the one I’d give anything to revisit.