Istill remember that wonderful, balmy evening when I learnt how to ride a bicycle without training wheels. I was daydreaming on my balcony when the loud sound of a rickshaw jolted me back to the present.

I sprang up from the small plastic chair I was sitting on and saw my father waving at me. His dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead and sweat dripped off his brows. He beckoned me to come over as he hauled a gleaming red bicycle out of the rickshaw.

Waves of both excitement and anxiety surged through me as I bounded down the staircase. Feeling overwhelmed, I realised I would have to master how to ride a bike without training wheels.

My dad asked me to come with him to the lane outside our house, where he would teach me how to ride it. I dragged the new shiny bicycle across the street, towards an empty plot. My heart was beating at lightning speed as I mounted the giant, for I had never ridden a big kid’s bicycle before. I gulped in fear and excitement.

My dad tried to calm me down. He promised he would keep supporting my bicycle while I pedalled. I said a prayer and started paddling, and was thankful that I didn’t lose my balance as dad was supporting me at the back.

By the time we ended the first round, I was more excited than nervous. When the second round started, I rode some distance and as I made a slight turn, I was shocked to see dad standing at a distance. Not believing what I was seeing, I quickly turned to look behind me. Yes, he wasn’t there! That was when I realised I was cycling on my own!

I shrieked in delight and started to increase my speed. I went round and round the block, the gentle breeze blowing my hair back. I was feeling on top of the world. Seeing me riding confidently, dad had returned home.

Out of nowhere, a stray puppy ran towards me. I yelped in fright and veered to my left, landing straight into a pile of rubble. The pain was excruciating! Tears welled in my eyes and I tried to stifle a sob when I saw bright red scratches on my leg. I scrambled to my feet and picked my bicycle up.

As slow as a snail, I hauled the bicycle home. When my parents saw me, their jaws dropped to the floor. I narrated to them what had happened and told them that I would never ride a bike again.

My mother cleaned the nasty scratches on my leg and consoled me. She then persuaded me to not give up and keep on trying.

The next day, like a warrior, I marched outside and sat astride the bike. I pedalled slowly at first and fell many times, but I finally mastered how to ride a bicycle. That day, I learnt to never give up and keep on trying until I accomplish what I intend to achieve.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 22th, 2023