The morning school bell rang indicating class would start in 10 minutes as students walked through the halls of Somerset High for the first time in two months. Back from summer holidays, students were glistening in tans, exchanging holiday spots and stories about camp. I walked up to a familiar brunette and giggled. She turned around, swishing her hair letting the world know that it had grown out, squealing a cordial hello. She was clad in a yellow sundress with matching shoes and her usual scent of spring. She hadn’t changed one bit; Lyla was still the same old girl with lustrous eyes and a smile that warmed your heart. We’ve been best friends since the seventh grade and my dear friend was still as hyper as she was three years ago.

She gave me a huge hug then started jumping about telling me how great Paris was at this time of the year. Since she was four she had been going to Paris every summer holiday as her grandparents who were French lived there. You would think she would get bored of the delicious food, romantic language and high fashion after all these years. Well think again, ‘cause this girl hasn’t gone through a day without complementing the French culture. Who could blame her anyway, I was there also ranting about my prestigious riding camp.

We both then took out our timetables making sure where our first classes were. Truth be told, we had already checked it a thousand times before. As we were taking different courses, she the accounting course and I the medical, we only shared physical education for an hour in a week. This meant no more gossiping during lessons or sharing each other’s notes or humming to the same tune. This was going to be our first time being separated but somehow, we would definitely find a way to survive and get through it. We decided to meet at our usual table at the canteen during lunch.

I walked along the accustomed corridor to my class. I recognised the same old door of the same old classroom and smelt the familiar fragrance of whiteboard markers. Suddenly realising that I was walking through the hallway of grade nine students, I made a sharp turn into the next lane leading to my fellow tenth graders. I was surprised to find the wonted noise missing. I ran around the school looking for my peers and to my chagrin, I had failed to read the huge notice in front of the school building instructing all grade ten medical students to gather in the hall. So as presumed, I was late for the assembly.

Entering the school hall, I grabbed a seat next to my friend Sam, the only other person from my previous year’s class taking the medical course. Our principal, Ms Brookes was standing on the stage announcing that all students would be assigned a cancer patient and will be spending a week with them. As our first activity, we were asked to list the best things in life. This was simple to me: I wrote bubble baths, caffeine, shiny cars, mansions, designer outfits, horse riding and money. After all, I am a typical spoilt brat born with a silver spoon. I got up, confident my list was perfect and handed it in to Ms Brookes. She skimmed through the sheet of paper written in salmon-coloured ink and shook her head disapprovingly then put my list along the hundred others in a box. Then she told us that we would have to rewrite this list after the week spent with the cancer patient. I muttered under my breath, “My list isn’t going to change a bit, what else could be any more significant than money and coffee.”

As the minutes of the day went by like hours, I pondered upon my list. It was as if something was missing, maybe I misspelt Jimmy Choo or did I forget Versace? I went home that day thinking about nothing else but the list. It somehow burdened me, worried me and made me wonder. I told myself I had to get some beauty rest because tomorrow was the day I was going to meet my “life-changing” cancer patient and I refrained from looking like a raccoon with dark circles surrounding my eyes.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Mum screamed from downstairs. I sighed and begrudgingly rolled out of bed. Still groggy, I washed my face then walked down the staircase as if I were fuddled by alcohol. I reached the bottom of the stairs and found a lanky woman in her mid forties staring at me. She started giving me a lecture on how one could dress conservatively and still look good. She continued, “By the way, Ms Brookes just called. She said that it would be nice to bring the patient some breakfast.” Anyhow I went back up and took a long hot shower and got into my newest dark wash Juicy skinny jeans and a coquelicot coloured Chanel wrap dress. nderdressing would have injured my status so I stuck to my usual couture style statements and boy did I look impressive as if I was ready for the pages of Vogue. Was I that overdressed?

Instead of taking the normal route to school, today I had to go through an alley leading to the other side of town where Eliza Bennet, my cancer patient, was living. It was a simple neighbourhood, with unpretentious cars and modest houses. Maybe I should have listened to my mum and stuck to dressing decent. I mustered up my courage and knocked on her door. An old woman with barely any hair and multiple tubes surrounding her body answered the door. I introduced myself and she let me in. As Ms Brookes had instructed me, I brought her breakfast: two ham sandwiches and a flask filled with coffee. We talked and talked for what seemed like hours. I wasn’t planning on staying long but we got on well, surprisingly. She seemed so happy even though she didn’t have “shiny cars or a mansion”. She made me realize the missing piece in my list: contentment. She taught me in a matter of days that the best things in life were the simplest of all. She told me she found joy just knowing that her daisy had bloomed or that God hasn’t taken her life away or that the two characters of a soap opera fell in love. She made me discern life.

The next week at school I was altogether a different human being with so much more than just designer clothes, I felt like I just started to live life and feel all its pleasures. Tenth graders were asked to get together again in the school auditorium. We were told to rewrite the list. My mind set had changed totally, last time thinking that I would never amend my ways but here I am a whole other person. It was hard to believe that just a week ago, the only thing I thought about was fashion and Gucci. I started writing my list, “During the week spent with my cancer patient, I realised that the best things in life may not be materialistic; simple and humble things can also bring so much joy to one’s life. I learnt that this includes knowing that God gave me the chance to live life and knowing that I’m happy and that God’s there whenever I need him. It’s as simple as that.”