Some companions never speak, yet shape us in ways that words struggle to narrate. One such silent presence in my life was a Chinese tallow tree that stood in my school grounds—steadfast, generous and deeply woven into my childhood memories.
As children, we did not think of it as extraordinary. It was simply there—stretching its wide branches protectively above us, its shade welcoming us every single day. We sat beneath its branches, sharing snacks, stories, and small secrets that felt enormous at the time. The tree was our shelter from the sun and, in many ways, from the world itself. That patch of ground was not just shaded earth; it was comfort, friendship, and belonging.
The Chinese tallow tree had a personality of its own, one that revealed itself most beautifully during autumn. Its leaves shifted into vivid shades of red, orange, and gold, catching our attention every single year. While many trees quietly shed their leaves, this one transformed, as if it wanted us to notice the changes and embrace it joyfully. We admired it with our whole heart, gathered fallen leaves like treasures, and pressed them into notebooks—unaware that we were also pressing memories into time.
Right beside the tree lay a hollow trunk that sparked endless curiosity. For the world, it was an old tree trunk, but for squirrels, it was their home where they played an endless game of hide-and-seek completely unbothered by our presence. We would pause our own games just to watch them run, disappear, and reappear, filling our afternoons with delight. Those moments slowed us down and taught us, without words, how joyful it can be to simply observe life unfolding.
As years passed, our world expanded. Classrooms changed, friendships evolved, and responsibilities slowly replaced carefree play. Yet the tree remained—steady, familiar, grounding. On days when school felt overwhelming, sitting beneath its branches and gazing at the blue sky brought an unspoken sense of peace and serenity.
But now, our favorite tree is gone. The tree is no longer there today. The space has been used up to construct buildings for new classrooms and labs. The space it once occupied looks different now, but not empty. Because its presence lingers – in our memories and the never-ending stories of the past, which were heard by our Chinese tallow tree like a guardian angel.
Now, when I think of my school days, I don’t just remember classrooms or report cards. I remember laughter beneath the green and crimson leaves of our Chinese tallow tree, squirrels racing through the hollow trunk, and the comfort of a tree that asked for nothing and gave everything. The joy it gave continues to outgrow its physical absence. Though it no longer stands in the soil, its roots remain firmly planted in memory.
PS – I could not manage to get a photograph of the tree as it was uprooted last year for construction purposes. I feel disheartened, but it was not something in our hands. My juniors even searched in the nearby forest area, but couldn’t find another Chinese tallow tree.
About the author: Anita Nayak is a student deeply interested in nature, memory and the quiet stories that shape human experiences. She enjoys reflecting on everyday encounters that leave lasting impressions and believes that stories – like trees continue to grow long even after they are gone.
