Royal Commonwealth Essay Competition 2025 Submission
A Symphony Beyond Borders
They always said light travels faster than anything, but I never
expected it to carry me through time.
My name is Aari, and I was born in a part of the Commonwealth
where light flickered in dusty bulbs, textbooks were shared six to
a page, and dreams, especially the kind tied to education, were
rationed like clean water. My grandmother used to say, "Even the
brightest flame can't burn without air." I didn't understand what
she meant, not until the night I vanished.
It started during a storm. I had snuck out to the old library, a place
with more cobwebs than books, chasing a signal from my
homemade solar battery. I was trying to finish a physics diagram
on refraction. That's when the light struck. Not lightning, but
something stranger, soft and silver, pulling me forward. Before I
could scream, I was gone.
When I opened my eyes, the world was quiet. Clean. Bright in a
way that didn't hurt, but healed. I had landed in a different
Commonwealth, one where everyone had the same access to
education.
It looked like the future, but it felt like the world we should've
already had. No iron gates around schools. No fees, no uniforms
as barriers, and no broken benches. Just open learning spaces
shaded by solar trees. Children of all ages huddled in circles ,
debating, building, laughing. I passed a group crafting a water
purifier from plant waste, while another coded a weather app in
three languages.
The biggest difference wasn't what they were learning. It was how
they learned with curiosity, not fear. With freedom, not pressure.
With support, not silence.
Then I remembered home.
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A classroom with one ceiling fan that worked only in winter. A
teacher who hadn't smiled in weeks because their salary was
delayed again. My friend Ravi, who dropped out to work at a
garage, and my neighbor Tara, who missed class every third day
to help at home because her parents couldn't afford help. Lessons
scribbled on reused pages. Exams that tested memory, not
meaning.
But here, in this version of the Commonwealth, education looked
like liberation. Healthcare units stood beside schools. If a child
had a headache, they walked into a wellness pod and came out
with a diagnosis, care, and even mental health support. Teachers
weren't overworked or underpaid; they were mentors, smiling,
respected, and still learning themselves.
Even meals here weren't just food, they were lessons in nutrition,
sustainability, and culture. Children served one another with a
dignity that could silence any parliament.
In my world, children were taught obedience before
understanding. Here, they were taught empathy before equations,
and that made the equations easier.
I met a girl named Malia who explained the rules of their
Commonwealth. Everyone contributed, and everyone was
protected. Corruption wasn't a threat because transparency was a
given. Everyone could see how decisions were made, and
everyone had a voice, even the youngest.
There were no wars. Not because people had no disagreements,
but because they had learned how to disagree without hate. That, I
realized, was a result of education, too. Real education.
At sunset, Malia took me to the Hall of Origins , a glowing library
shaped like a spiral galaxy. She showed me a hologram of my
world. It was labeled: "Before the Equal Spark."
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"You're from a time before balance," she said softly. "But the fact
that you're here means your world still has time to change."
Before I could respond, I was pulled back by that same silver
light , this time, gentler. I woke up in the library, the storm now
calm.
But something was different. In my hands was a tablet, glowing
faintly. A message blinked on the screen: "What will you do with
what you've learned?"
I smiled.
I shared everything. I taught my classmates using models from
that world. I started a club, The Light Circle, where we
questioned, built, debated, and listened. We didn't wait for
policies to change; we became the change. Every lesson I passed
on was a seed planted. Some grew into projects, some into
protests, some into hope.
Because real education isn't memorized. It's shared. And maybe,
just maybe, if we learn the right way with truth, with empathy,
with light, then our Commonwealth too will step into that future.
Because when every child gets to learn, the world doesn't just
grow smarter, it grows kinder.
And maybe, just maybe, the true sound of peace is the world
learning together.
Author's Note: I've watched how education can be both a whisper
and a roar, sometimes a quiet hope, sometimes a fierce light that
changes everything. This story is a spark from my heart,
imagining a world where every child's mind blooms freely,
unchained by circumstance. On the Commonwealth's journey, I
pay quiet tribute to the theme ‘Together We Thrive’. Aari's path
reminds me that even the smallest flame can brighten the darkest
night. We all shall carry that light forward, sharing knowledge,
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kindness, and hope, because when we learn together, we grow
together.
