Time passes effortlessly. The next thing we know, we are fools walking on the wrong path. On the other hand, we'll never know unless we try. That is exactly what is happening to us. We are brought to a pathetic, inarticulate and chaotic world where the means of survival is figuring out exactly what the meaning of our existence is.
That is hard. That is just sufficiently hard. The hell we want from this? The hell we get from this nonsense? Absolutely nothing except 4 years of struggle, pain and shattered principles. Its nothing except the blinding truth that after high school, the beginning of the quest to purgatory begins.
And so I start.
Meek, na�ve and totally childish individuals set forth the beginning of this journey, 4 years ago. Yes, us and yes, we. It seems unclear, as we picture a squinting image of a distant memory. Yes, high school. Some don't even want to remember it. Devastating it seems. Nothing is fun these days anymore. Okay, I sound like a moron now.
We were carefree back then. Ahh, yes. We were the lucky few of high school that reached out for one another. We were true friends, 1 for all, all for 1. Slightly nauseating? Not quite yet.
We are unique. No cliques, whatsoever. Our batch was the best. It had the drama of a thousand lives put together. Our lives overlapped on one another, and weaved upon a certain tapestry too intricate to even talk about and very much diverse enough to distinguish. Rather complicated to ponder upon.
I'm a biased human being. Yeah, yeah. It's sad we can't go back and rekindle the joys of those precious 4 years anymore. This is just so sad.
A lot has happened after graduation. Things inflicted to us by the game of life. In particular, everything that have become instruments for our own decisions for a lot of gossip has been said, a lot of rumors has been spread, a lot of hearts have been broken, a lot of minds have remained unspoken, a lot of tears shed for the right and wrong reasons, and a lot of loves lost in completing this so-called paradise.
After the hugs felt, the last goodbyes bid, the last holding of hands and the whispering of calming words that weaken the soul to realize that "shit, this really is the last...", we part separate ways that have been chosen to be our destiny. And that is all I can remember of our batch. The fulfilling drama. Yes, it has been proven.
And so, I welcome you, dear reader, to our world where memories are caressed and remembered fruitfully as an exquisite gem, precious and never fading. Our batch, batch 2003. The batch never to be forgotten. |
