Before it began, I thought coming here would be an adventure. In fact, finding myself hopelessly hopeless in finding the building promised me a promising start. Like, yeah, this was the kind of story we'd look back on and laugh about together, in hearty merriment and in a chorus of contemptuous maturity. We'd carry our stacks of books and saunter along corridors. And we'd be students of the arts, writers, masters of making up shit as we went along. My friends would be like me and we'd have unspoken rules, symmetrical thought patterns and bouts of mutual eye contact. I don't know if that was so much of an expectation or wishful thinking on my part. But whatever it was, it hasn't come true.
Instead, I find myself at this bus stop. Alone, but not lonely, and away from the school I had so desperately wanted to be a part of and to love. I could be more bothered by this fact but honestly, I don't care. Because I know that a few Bus C bus stops down, I have friends that think about my dietary and survival needs as they queue up to get their own Styrofoam-packaged food. I have friends that will wait and battle through this tiresome term with me despite my erratic moods and explosive expectations. And I know for sure that these friends don't want to meet my acquaintance to gain a "contact". Journalists.
So, yeah. Expectations not met but surviving on love and friendship. Therefore, all's well.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment