At my age, lucid, I remember my first day of school as if it were yesterday. That first day of school at the San Jose Educational Unit, Caracas, Venezuela, was preceded by an event that marked me: the last of a series of four operations allowed me to see the world for the first time. It awakened in me a photographic memory that persists after more than six decades.

Dressed in khaki, we lined up in order of height, boys on the right and girls on the left. In front of us stood the teachers of all grades and the flagpole. Following the baton, we sang the national anthem. Words of welcome.

The classroom still smelled of fresh oil paint, a sky blue colour filling the room. We opened our backpacks, heavy with everything our parents had been asked to provide. Inside, the aroma of new pencils, the smell of wax crayons, plasticine and, of course, the smell of our mid-morning snack: an empanada, an orange and a small carton of juice.

I always wanted to attend a school for sighted children. That day, I ran around the school, engraving in my memory the murals of that time, the garden, the areas where I could walk freely. I was on the sports field, in the library, and even in the chapel. It was a day, or rather, a wonderful season of my childhood.

Happiness, freedom, and gratitude for being able to see the world through my left eye. Excited about the first day of that moment I had dreamed of and longed for a couple of years earlier, when I was at an institution for the visually impaired. You see, I started primary school at the age of nine. I simply felt like a hare in the field, like the wind blowing or the rain falling.

Hi! Everybody, if you've made it this far, THANK YOU! You are welcome to participate; the link with all the information is below. But I also hope to read your comments in the reply box. Thank you for joining us in these waters of HIVE.