The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
– Leslie Poles Hartley

It’s been a while. Mrs. McCall, Ms. Scott, Mr. Puddicombe, Ms. Dinter (lol i can’t spell Kenon(?)), the smartboard, book fairs, triangle park, the trees, yu-gi-oh cards, the rock tower, 203, 303, and Montcalm.

Every time summer comes around, I feel like a dove (lol english essay. =w=”). The sudden amount of freedom I have. The importance of final exams dwindles and eventually disappears. I feel as if every weight has been lifted off my shoulders, with not a care in the world. But obviously I’m wrong in that regard. I have tonnes of pressure looming ahead. RCM exam, Civics 11 online, biology 12, more SAT prep, and the good old NCLS trip. But beyond all that, I’m only in the mood to think/care about two things.

Photography and gaming.

Sad, yes. But fun nonetheless.

Today was the socials essay. The last (somewhat) heavy load before a combo of 4 miniscule ones.
I bombed it.
But oh well, it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

Now let’s go back further. Back to last year? No, farther. Back to January of 2009.
Grade 8. Fun times.

I tried Mabi again during then. Best month of my life.
Sadly, the following months were not as interesting.

Things fall apart, you know? Nothing stays the same. We live in a ‘dynamic’ world. Not a ‘static’ world. Wouldn’t Hauck be proud of my English terminology now.

Going back forward. Lack of chronological order? Yes. Does it really even matter? Most likely not (unless you’re a history teacher).

Summer of ’10. Summer school for math. I loved that.
Angela (she gave me her phone number. e_e) and the other guy (I can’t remember his name [sadly] and shall from henceforth mention him as ‘The-One-Who-Cannot-Be-Named’), lots of fun breaks, coming back to class late, sitting outside the door, going to the library, and ‘sleeping beauty’. Fun.
Behind the scenes (or in my room), I played more Mabi. I reconciled with friends that I had ignored for the past year, rekindled my passion to amass wealth (lololol), and had a great time. To Casey, to Kim, and to Cathy, I had a great time. To Cloven&Sister (I feel horrible I forgot their names. Though this was longer than 3 years ago), sorry I lied, but I’m even more sorry that I neither apologized nor saw you two off. Have a great time. To Neil & other Kevin, sorry for being plain stupid. Over exaggerating needless things, and even losing my profil3 while I was at it. I can’t even log on anymore. I’m too scared to see you online, though Kevin probably doesn’t even log on, and neither do you.

Moving forward a few months (6-7). First step to SUCCESS (not a pun)! One step closer from reaching that impossible goal. Who would’ve thought that another 6 months after this, things would still be the same. Things haven’t fallen apart just yet.

Skip back 4/5 years. End of grade 5. Oh gosh how bad grade 5 was for me. Whenever I feel the urge to visit David Lloyd George again, I cringe at the thought of grade 5. Am I going to walk in, and get scowled by her? Or will she point out to her class, and tell them, yet again? It really hurts when you’re the example of something negative. It hurts, it hurts.

Jump another 10 months. Not yet a full year, but the last few months of grade 6. Mr. Puddicombe wrote me a recommendation letter. And it didn’t work, not even from an alumni student. I guess that just goes to show how bad I was; not even Catholic, but applying for a Catholic school regardless. I still feel guilty for that incident. I crushed all that I had built up, in a single, swift moment. Undermined myself, and still somehow got out of it, safely.

Move back a little more than 3 years. To half-way through grade 3. Joey was leaving. I didn’t really think much about it then, but after a year or two, I started to.
It’s funny. Taking things for granted, then realizing it’s worth once it’s gone. Is this a human flaw, or just mine?

Before our final trip to the past, I want to take a minute. A minute to think. Was it better before, or is it better now?

Before when we struggled to rent the basement, yet had much more fun; or now where money is readily available (to a certain limit, of course).
It’s still useless of course, useless to ponder about the past for:

You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.
-Jan Glidewell

One last time, one more trip down memory lane. Back far, far in the past, close to another galaxy, but not quite.

To before kindergarten, before school, before age 5.
Obviously it is age 4.

Slowly trotting through the layers of freshly grown grass, the boy stared up to the shadow above him. He pointed at the pear tree, not too far away. He stared. The pear tree was bearing fruit. The fresh, new, golden pears gazed down from their view almost as if to say, “Hey! Hows the view down there?” The boy could not drag his gaze away. The shadow waited. It waited and waited and waited.
They’re ready!” the boy exclaims.
The shadow stays put.
“They tell me fall is coming soon, and I’ll get to make friends and learn!”
No reaction. Enough time has passed. They boy is eager to move on, but the shadow lingers. It seems as if life had stopped dead in its tracks, but it has not. In the midst of it all, new life was being born. Out from the shadow came new, smaller shadows.  They slipped and slid off their mother and reached the edge. Then they jumped. “Weeh!”, they seemed to say. Their joy was cut short, by the introduction of a new enemy. The newborns smashed into the concrete, and promptly disappeared. More and more newborns fell prey to the same unfortunate end. Until at last, there was but one left. It appeared to be hesitating; stalling for time.
The mother asked, “Why do you hesitate? This is your fate, you cannot change it.”
Swiveling its head around, it replies, “Because. Because I am the embodiment of your hope. Your last remaining string of light. It’s not impossible, albeit not easy, but nevertheless it can happen. He will learn new things, he will make friends. It won’t be a repeat of last time; it will be different. And until you come to accept that fact, I will not move, for I am hope, forever stuck in the box, allowing you to continue your on your path.” With that, the young shadow evaporated, waving goodbye to its siblings below.
The mother had then realized. She could not change her past. She could not change the fact that people act in a certain way. She could not change the inevitable. But the only thing she could do is play on the last string she has, and continue to hope.