Life of a student

So school starts tomorrow, and we are back to a semester of strolling around, ducking in between corridors looking for empty classrooms to call our own. We’re homebodies and we crave the intimacy of an enclosed space, a table isn’t adequate as our base. We slip into lectures well into the hour; we sleep in the nest of our chatter. We make do with half done work, boast it like an adorable quirk; 5am rolls about and we’re still awake, msn blinking like a trapped firefly, caffeine burning high in our veins, we are twenty in university and we sleep when others wake. Turn on itunes and there’s a song by stars which says it perfect, “it’s hard to remember days, mornings lost in a chronic haze, breath is fast and the trains are slow, barely even feel it though”, soon six weeks are up and midterms are nigh. We congregate in a frenzy with stacks of freshly printed notes, calculate days and tabulate plans like battle strategies, and when all else fails instinct is there like a wife guiding your pencil to shade one of five ovals. The cycle repeats but our energies fade, when tenth week rolls round we are practically dead. We start our countdown and compile lists of what we think will please us when we’re free of tests, we hold them close like prayer books each to-do item a rosary bead. Then everything ends and we forget every item, only regaining our memory at the start of the term, suddenly everything repeats like deja vu, da capo, the carousel of a student’s life as we add another token to the ride.


One comment

  1. wertkh32 · August 11, 2011

    Well that was nicely written 🙂

    Here we go again. Entering the rat race. Cramming stuff in our heads. Learning stuff we will soon forget. Life is going to be mudanely mudane. Our interactions would be hardly sane. Infected with what we learn, we converse in reminders that help us earn. Life would be a bore, our work would be a chore.

    But in that grime swamp, we have each other to lump. There would be endless jokes, best served cold, tons of shenanigans that never grow old. We will never feel more alive, walking on the thin thread of life, holding on to each other, tighter than ever before as the seconds go by. This is the life we will lead, as we read each other’s thoughts, whispering about lecturers that can’t talk, looking into each other’s eyes to know its out the door we should walk. There’s much to come, nothing without a touch of a magical wand, as we look back and laugh at the things we should have done. All the drama, all the fun, all the we will hold close in years to come. I’ll say, it always better while its still being done.

    Have a nice sem.

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