Life, Lessons, and Love

I've been thinking over the last few days or so. There have been a lot that I've been thinking about. Life, lessons, love; whatever the average teenager thinks about. I think it's best to take note of my reflections.

Life and Loss

Regarding life, there is much to say. They all say that "life is too short," and to "make the most of it". They are absolutely correct. Three weeks ago, I learnt that a life can go as quickly as it came, that life is something that should be valued. I had found out that the person who I would consider my best friend, from the first year I came to Saint Patrick's Elementary until the year he left, had passed on. The circumstances I do not know exactly, and I will not speculate for the sake of respect for him. It is not his passing for which I mourn him, for when he had gone we were but strangers. No, it is his memory for which I mourn.

The days of old when a triumvirate of friends would spend countless hours together, remembered only by the photos. The parties and the games that came with them. The camaraderie and friendship that came out of these experiences. Those are the memories that only now I try to cling to. I cannot help that; we remember the negative experiences more often than the positive ones. There is one negative experience that signals the end of our friendship and, in retrospect, the catalyst for my guilt.

He left in seventh grade. I had the task of telling him that I had his school photos. He replied and, from what I remember, it did not sit well with me. It may have been in jest; I never pick up on that. And then I proliferated an image between my friends, one that portrayed him as not wanting to associate with us. It was stupid. It was out of bitterness. We didn't talk, we never talked. Time went by and I would jest at his expense, perhaps out of bitterness. His new style or his new name were concepts I was not inhibited of mocking. And I regret it fully.

I should have talked to him, found out his e-mail, made an attempt to reconnect. I didn't. He's gone. And it is my loss for that. But that loss does not come solely with regret or anything associated with the negative feelings of loss. The loss of a friend, literally and figuratively, comes with guilt placed upon me. I did not make an attempt to reach out to a best friend. I shall never have the chance, now. This will never get to you, bud, but I'm sorry.

Life and Perspective

That issue being taken care of, I'd like to reflect on life now and the perspective I have of life at this moment. Regarding highschool, there is not much time to do anything now. Like a teacher has said, once you realize that highschool is one of the best parts of your life, you're already three years in or, at the very most, graduating. These types of facts come by in my mind often but I never really have the time to think about them or reflect.

Highschool, I would say, is divided into three stages. The first is fitting in. This comes in Grades 8, 9, and maybe some of Grade 10. You find your cliques in which you associate with. You familiarize yourself with the people who you'll eventually hang out with in the future. You decide on your friends for the next couple of years. The second stage is getting by. I'd say this comes around by Grade 10 and 11. You just live your life as you would in any other way. You hang out with your friends, you develop rivalries and the subsequent drama, you take life one thing at a time. The third stage is realization and regret. A time where you think of what could have been and come to realize your time in highschool is coming to an end. This is by Grades 11 and 12. You're focused on the future and you start to think about what to do in the year or two you have left. Not many people are here yet, I would assume.

Being in this so-called "third stage" has me thinking about myself and other, maybe even the relation between the two subjects. I regret a lot of things and I only see it now, after thinking about the past so much. Living life day to day, taking everything as it comes has you miss certain big pictures. Go to this party now, play some videogames tomorrow. What happens in the long run? Get behind on your homework and miss out on some time you could be outside with your friends. Self-gratification is something that overrides the priorities for the future and to be quite frank, it sucks sometimes.

At the end of it all, you miss a lot. You only realize it when it's too late. The what-ifs start to pile up. When you start to move to take action to amend these, it's too late. Your friends have moved on, classmates have moved away, somebody's lived their life fast. Perspective is something that helps to see where you are at. Like a teacher's said, take a look at what you have, make your move, and then look at where you are. From there, make your next move. All comes in due time.

The Class and Camaraderie

You may find that I use this word a lot. "Camaraderie". What does it mean? Merriam-Webster's defines it as "a spirit of friendly good-fellowship." Is there not a word that describes our class more to a T? Is it not something that rings true for the collective attitude for the class, regardless of where we all stand?

We may not be a close class, but we are a class that gets by without the extreme prejudices or hatred that may fuel the conflict within other classes. We all have our enemies and the people who we dislike; I have many. Yet, in fellowship with each other, we all get along. We all show "a spirit of friendly good-fellowship," regardless of who the person is. We don't see it at first, but it's there upon further reflection.

There are jocks, the popular guys, nerds, and the people who fit in to either class. Likewise, there are the highly-popular "plastic" girls, the "elitist" group of girls, the everywomen, and the ones that socialize within their own groups. I'm not labelling anybody, just calling it as it is. Still, the beauty of it all is that, like pieces in a jigsaw, we all fit in to create the bigger picture. The jocks hang with the nerds because they both play videogames. The everymen hang with the popular guys because there is a sense of being down-to-earth shared by both. The "plastics" hang with the "elitists" because there are some bonds of friendship that cannot be broken. The everywomen hang with the others because they can relate to each other.

There are divisions within the class, yes, but those are just within cliques. By nature, the popular people have their drama. In contrast, the nerds have their own fair share of division and prejudice toward each other. Still, though, there is a camaraderie between all walks of life in our class. I'm glad that this exists; I wouldn't want to have a segregated class to the degree of certain grades. I can think of at least one example.

Love and the Nerds

Here is a highly selfish section within my reflections. They are mostly lamentations or expressions of grief or sadness. But to have a reflection, one must reflect on a diverse array of subjects. The exception of love would not be a rational reflection, especially considering the person that I am.

There is much to be said of love: what causes it, what it is, why it occurs, to whom it occurs to, the nature of love, the false pretence of love. Within this reflection, I will talk of the grief of love. It is not something that the happiest of lovers experience; they are in the smallest minority. Rather, the grief of love is shared by all walks of life. All who have been stung by the arrow of Cupid will have felt the grief shed on a lost love.

I, myself, have felt the grief of love for the better part of a highschool life. I can trace the origins well, but the origins of this love are not important for the topic. Simply: I was drawn, I pursued, I hoped, I asked, I fell, I retreated, and I was drawn once again. Perhaps it is the nature of her person; she is everything one such as myself should ask for. She needs not the overbearing hint of accentuated beauty; rather, hers lies subtle both in her smile and her words. She is smart, a thinker, somebody who I know I could never match up to. Perhaps it is something else. Surely logic should dictate that one must retreat and never remember why she turns you down. Still, though, I try.

I am not a person who will have matched wits with the sharpest of IQs or one who will have been compared to the men in movies or one who will have been graced by the blessing of plentiful abundance. Nerd though I am, not by self-declaration but rather by association, my qualities are flawed. Yes, I think well to match some but they are quickly defeated without a second assertion. Yes, I am not one who would be placed in a circus of rejects but I care not for my well-being as others would. Yes, I have my share of gifts and things for which I have worked, but I come from a family of hard work and tired eyes.

Perhaps it is the stigma of being seen with the nerd. Highschool society thrives on the standing of its beings. A queen does not benefit by marrying a peasant. Likewise, the peasant cannot live up to the glamour and splendour of the queen and her life. In this case, there is hope for whatever shall come after highschool. Perhaps it is the concrete fact that, as she has said herself, she is not ready. The optimist says that the door is open. The pessimist says that the words are just a gentle fall from the high point. I look to the optimist for hope. I wait and for every time I do, I prolong whatever the final outcome is. If only for hope.

Some walks I wish I could share. The night lights to illuminate a smile, the quiet sounds to ease away the day's stresses, the aromatic coffee to delight the senses, the newfound talk to acquaint the two. Highschool is not the time for these. Neither time nor circumstance dictate this as the norm. It is only wishful thinking that I delight in. Perhaps this will come one day. Perhaps the day shall come when the nerd and the conformist are strangers and the only acquaintance is the quiet one who would rather talk than stray.

Would it change anything if she knew any of this? I do not know. I should not know. If it did, I would gladly take the opportunity to make the most of the chance. If it did not, I would still wait. I would talk and wait until I was affirmed that I was wasting my time. Or I would talk and wait until there was something more. If only for the hope.

Friendship and Regrets

There are regrets that come out of the last few years. Friendships come and go. I should let you know that I am an introvert. I will talk for hours on MSN or have the quiet chats between singular peers, but in a social environment I am not myself. I am happy to say that I have built up rigid friendships with people. Of the ones whom I share much, I am happy.

Still, I have lost more than I have gained. I have lost the elementary friends who were instrumental in helping me become the person I am today. Now, I am but an acquaintance to some of them. For others, I have tried to rebuild what was had. I have been met with some success in this front but, for others, doors have been closed. It is not something that I am too keen on having happen but I, simply, am not in control of the reactions of others. Perhaps I have changed too much. Perhaps I am not the person they befriended all those years ago.

I regret not making the most of friendships. They come once in a lifetime, each one unique and offering their own hints on life. I regret my ignorance on days when I did not think to converse. For every silent moment, a moment of friendship was lost. I regret the things that I have seemed to act on impulse. I am not the person who I wish to be on some days, bending to the social pressure. I regret the loss. It takes a handshake to establish friendships but to mend them, it takes an apology.

***

And so I conclude my reflections. The days have been good, though in a perfect world they would be so much better. As it stands, the perfect days are impossible. One can only make the most of the imperfections, turning a soiled painting into abstract art. In the same vein of thought, I can only hope to improve the many flaws I have developed.

In thought I leave the reflections of my mind. In writing, I leave the door open for the reflection of yours.