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I haven’t been writing/typing/poking at keys in the longest time, a time that seems all that much longer simply because I can barely remember what my last bit was about.
School played a big part, as it always has; deadlines and assignments and an exam (no plural, thank heavens) – the final semester was a heady rush of almost challenge. I had not missed the return to tedium, to handing in work unsatisfied with.
But I’m never satisfied.
In any case, it’s all over. I have graduated from the Diploma. Or will have, once they force me into that silly gown – I’m still pretty sure I don’ want to go for the ceremony. And I have done well enough to please even me. Not, perhaps, my target gpa, but what’s the point of setting attainable goals?
This is the end of it all, the end of a road I took with a heavy heart. There are certain things you want to do, and certain things you need to do. This was something I needed.
I left behind people, beautiful people, people I’d love forever. People whom I’ve drawn away from, simply because it’s difficult to keep reminding myself of the whatifs.
And found more people, people I wasn’t expecting to find. People who made this miserable trip all that more bearable, all that more worth it, and, perhaps most importantly, people who reminded me why I was on the trip.
And now, it’s all over. With a mode grade of a Distinction, with a mean gpa of 3.83, with possibly (and hopefully) a few awards on the way, it’s all over.
–
Oh wait. It isn’t. This was just the first step on a road. Uni, scholarships, scholarship; I can do this.
I need to do this.
–
Job hunt, before the army. Though I’m tempted to rest for a bit. It has been a little tiring, making sure I constantly peak. But I worry I’ll fall out of practice.
We can’t have that, can we?
–
Being a bartender was fascinating, even for just two days. The job itself was a bore – I bemoan that now, I’m a jobsnob – but the experiences were brilliant.
You look and you watch, and you make stories in your head.
-
A lady sitting, digging up coins and pennies, actual pennies, to get a pint. A pint she made last for hours and hours, as she stared out into the river. Her dishevelled hair and clothes and bag resting on her knees starkly out of place in this chic evening crowd, offending some of my chic evening crowd, and their loud money and loud voices and loud women.
I liked her.
-
A man waiting, with a two pints before him. His lady had popped away for a bit, he’s looking interestedly at the chic night crowd. The minutes pass, he fiddles with the glasses. He draws little designs in the trails of moisture left on the bar-top. The hour passes, and he covers his lady’s drink with a coaster. His own drink is left untouched. Another hour passes, and he leaves, both pints untainted.
I pitied him.
-
A woman smiling hesitantly, without understanding, as a drink is placed in front of her. She nods, and smiles, without understanding, and says thank you in her heavy filipino accent, meaning each of the two words. She is sitting, facing the bar, staring at the drinks in front of her, without understanding. A group of large men, white men, stand behind her, boisterously laughing and making rude gestures, spilling drinks on the granite tiles. There seems no connection between the two poles, but for the hand of one of the men gripping tightly the wrist of the woman. He was reached behind him, to accomplish this feat; not once did he look at her. For hours she sat there, not another word, not alone, but lonely, her wrists turning white as the men drank more.
I mourned for her.
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