The Red Mist of Nostalgia

This is a recount of a dream I once had. — I stood rooted to the cold concrete, entranced by what I saw. Before me were glowing red mists, swirling in a curious fashion. It gained momentum and slowly manifested into people I knew. At this point more than twenty of them faced me. Though, they still had the reddish quality of the mist, each were frozen into the mannerisms they were well-known for. He had his trademark smirk, she had her cheeky grin; another had his hand on his nose, as if he had been rubbing it previously; yet another had her left eyebrow raised in exasperation. I gazed on, appreciating the quirks of my friends. I thought about how they left a huge impact, even though some didn’t talk much to me. This is the funny quality of youth. Drama...

What Am I Worth?

Sometimes I wonder if I had made a wise decision in choosing the same polytechnic as my secondary school friends. Then again, had I chosen another school, I’d be wondering the opposite. Friends come and eventually leave. Others change so much that you no longer identify their face with their new character. Some just hurt you without knowing it. It just seems that my pariah lifestyle in semester one was much more appealing compared to now. I had the freedom  to do as I pleased. And my only company, myself, would never take me for granted. Though I confess that I later joined my classmates, they were much more accepting of my quirks. They entertained my crazy tendencies. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m stabbing at. The only thing that is sure...