It was Bajram (a great Muslim holiday), and I attended as I remember, the fourth grade of primary school. I loved the time of Bajram, because then everything in our house was different. Not only that the mother took care that the house was particularly clean, but smells of various dishes, both sweet and savory, and with it everyone in the house got some new kind of clothing or footwear.
So it was the case this time too. Mom made sure to our seamstress sew dress-shirts for me, which I wore in school that day. I remember that dress: a black background with tiny white flowers and pockets on the side. I came to school all happy, with a smile on my face and a new dress.
In my opinion, the dress was beautiful. My joy lasted as long as my close friend N.Z. who understand better than me the kind of cloth that are sewn dresses (and how she could not – she was not from a poor family like me), in front of everyone in the hall, during the break suddenly exclaimed:
”Look, she came to school in her dressing gown! ”
I do not quite understand why she said it, but for other pupils laughing, I realized that something was wrong, and I believed that she was right. I returned to the classroom, set down in the desk and cried … I’m not sure that my tears any of the pupils noticed, but most hurt me that my best friend offended me. At least I thought she was the best my friend. Perhaps she didn’t mean anything wrong, however she was only a child.
I only knew after this tragic event, I have never wanted to wear this dress, even in the house. I kept silent about this to my mom, and when she asked why I do not wear it, I answered that I do not like it.