Post by BALLS-IS-TICK on Jan 9, 2010 23:43:37 GMT 8
One of the advantages of being a reject, a bottom feeder or in short, a retainee, was that you'd never need to pack away anything at the end of the school year. You could simply pop back in on the following year and voilà, everything would still be the way it was.
The sweet stench of the past year's physical labour had always, and will always, be the red carpet which would welcome me 'home'. Over the years, it had had its various mood swings. During my first return, she left a sour taste in my mouth for a week. The hearty welcome I received on the following year left me in a paralysed state. However, in the recent years, she showered me with nothing but optimism towards another year's worth of slogging.
The same old sleeping bag was huddled in a corner. In all honesty, it reminded me of a Christmas turkey, save the fact, its stuffing was probably made from bugs and the like.
Good old desk rested on its bad-leg, ready to carry the weight of my abandoned assignments for yet another year. That desk had been my only encouragement to explore my artistic side. Specifically, erecting monoliths from my test papers stained with red Xs and giving my history papers a chance to make history by being my first paper plane which could actually take flight. Ah, the good days.
But in all seriousness, I know I'm no model student, cream of the crop, or whatever you want to call it. The school is more or less a hotel for me. A hotel where I can simply observe the folks who are constantly scampering through hallways like vermin. It's not the most polite term, but hey, even amongst the rodents there are several heads which seem to stick out.
I seem to be addicted to scouting for such figures. For one of those little critters who have actually realised that the world isn't just about what society wants you to believe. That's right, there's more to the world than one believes, or would like to believe. I've been disappointed thus far, perhaps even to the point of depression. Why? Has society siphoned from them their ability to communicate with their own hearts? Money, love, friendship, power, stability, peace, security, and the like, I've heard so many claim that they're 'fighting' for one of these. Well, in a less straight forward manner of course. What an exaggeration, what an insult, an utter mockery of those who've admitted their true desires. Why do we all fear these innate desires, deluding and distracting ourselves with such frivolous social promises?
The irony of it all is that I've no answer to this as well. It seems... unjustified that I despise this illusion which we're all so comfortable with. However, experience has taught me that the alternative, the unknown, was much more inviting than the norm. Perhaps, by attempting to seek out those who've found their true 'justice', I am hoping to find my own?
Each year, these thoughts strike my mind. Each year, I'm marooned, no answers but only questions to support me. But for now, there's no point in drowning myself in these doubts. After all, The Garden was calling out to me.
The sweet stench of the past year's physical labour had always, and will always, be the red carpet which would welcome me 'home'. Over the years, it had had its various mood swings. During my first return, she left a sour taste in my mouth for a week. The hearty welcome I received on the following year left me in a paralysed state. However, in the recent years, she showered me with nothing but optimism towards another year's worth of slogging.
The same old sleeping bag was huddled in a corner. In all honesty, it reminded me of a Christmas turkey, save the fact, its stuffing was probably made from bugs and the like.
Good old desk rested on its bad-leg, ready to carry the weight of my abandoned assignments for yet another year. That desk had been my only encouragement to explore my artistic side. Specifically, erecting monoliths from my test papers stained with red Xs and giving my history papers a chance to make history by being my first paper plane which could actually take flight. Ah, the good days.
But in all seriousness, I know I'm no model student, cream of the crop, or whatever you want to call it. The school is more or less a hotel for me. A hotel where I can simply observe the folks who are constantly scampering through hallways like vermin. It's not the most polite term, but hey, even amongst the rodents there are several heads which seem to stick out.
I seem to be addicted to scouting for such figures. For one of those little critters who have actually realised that the world isn't just about what society wants you to believe. That's right, there's more to the world than one believes, or would like to believe. I've been disappointed thus far, perhaps even to the point of depression. Why? Has society siphoned from them their ability to communicate with their own hearts? Money, love, friendship, power, stability, peace, security, and the like, I've heard so many claim that they're 'fighting' for one of these. Well, in a less straight forward manner of course. What an exaggeration, what an insult, an utter mockery of those who've admitted their true desires. Why do we all fear these innate desires, deluding and distracting ourselves with such frivolous social promises?
The irony of it all is that I've no answer to this as well. It seems... unjustified that I despise this illusion which we're all so comfortable with. However, experience has taught me that the alternative, the unknown, was much more inviting than the norm. Perhaps, by attempting to seek out those who've found their true 'justice', I am hoping to find my own?
Each year, these thoughts strike my mind. Each year, I'm marooned, no answers but only questions to support me. But for now, there's no point in drowning myself in these doubts. After all, The Garden was calling out to me.