Pinatas
I have yet to decide whether or not I like pinatas. I like how they look, so colorful and cute, but I hate smashing them to little bits, just like I hated killing our OM fairy godmother/dragon after the World's competition, because I feel bad for inanimate objects. But then pinatas are designed to be smashed, they exist for that purpose only, so I guess I don't like them at all. It's complicated like that.
So I graduated. "How do you feel?" is the question that turns most of my non-senior friends and their parents into news reporters with microphones in my imagination. How do I feel? Not much different, a little exhausted, a little depressed still, because the trauma of leaving high school hit me a little late. In fact it didn't hit me until my mother and I, coming back from Mr. Moore's good-bye lunch at Pierre's, passed by the crossroads stadium and I thought of how the band will soon start practicing there, and then I realized that by then I won't be a part of it any more.
(Did you notice I've been reading too much in Russian? My sentences got longer.)
And then I realized how I won't be part of a lot of lovely things within the broad concept that we call "South Brunswick High School".
(Rereading "Lolita", in case you were interested.)
And then I thought of all the people in the senior class that I wish I had gotten to know better and whom I probably will never see again, like Gary for instance, who I believe is going to Michigan.
And then I thought of all the lovely underclassmen that I wish I were better friends with (like Emily, for instance. Haha, you're probably reading this, Em), and whom I might see again if I visit, but I'll never really get a chance to be very close with them, because there won't be school to bring us together.
And I don't believe I can rely on "the bomb" for that.
("If it's not [school], then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together!")
And then all the teachers whom I liked, as well as those that I never really appreciated as much as I should have until the very end, like Ms. Wallert and Mr. Burnett.
I keep on thinking of all of these people, and I keep on catching my mind as it slips to "Well, next year..." and there won't be a next year, not in SBHS anyhow. And I don't particularly want to go to college and live in a dorm albeit my college is small and cozy and nice and already I like my future physics professors. I also know that in two years I'm not going anywhere, because it's all just dreaming and pretending. Something will happen and I will forever stay here, in the USA, in central New Jersey.
In other news, which is not really news because you probably already know and because it happened a while ago, Mozart ran away and never did come back.
This is really not a happy entry, is it? Anyway, I was going to talk about pinatas. Pinatas, and how I'm not sure if I like them or not. But then again, I'm not sure about a lot of things, so I'll leave it at that.
Cheers.
~Katia
So I graduated. "How do you feel?" is the question that turns most of my non-senior friends and their parents into news reporters with microphones in my imagination. How do I feel? Not much different, a little exhausted, a little depressed still, because the trauma of leaving high school hit me a little late. In fact it didn't hit me until my mother and I, coming back from Mr. Moore's good-bye lunch at Pierre's, passed by the crossroads stadium and I thought of how the band will soon start practicing there, and then I realized that by then I won't be a part of it any more.
(Did you notice I've been reading too much in Russian? My sentences got longer.)
And then I realized how I won't be part of a lot of lovely things within the broad concept that we call "South Brunswick High School".
(Rereading "Lolita", in case you were interested.)
And then I thought of all the people in the senior class that I wish I had gotten to know better and whom I probably will never see again, like Gary for instance, who I believe is going to Michigan.
And then I thought of all the lovely underclassmen that I wish I were better friends with (like Emily, for instance. Haha, you're probably reading this, Em), and whom I might see again if I visit, but I'll never really get a chance to be very close with them, because there won't be school to bring us together.
And I don't believe I can rely on "the bomb" for that.
("If it's not [school], then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together!")
And then all the teachers whom I liked, as well as those that I never really appreciated as much as I should have until the very end, like Ms. Wallert and Mr. Burnett.
I keep on thinking of all of these people, and I keep on catching my mind as it slips to "Well, next year..." and there won't be a next year, not in SBHS anyhow. And I don't particularly want to go to college and live in a dorm albeit my college is small and cozy and nice and already I like my future physics professors. I also know that in two years I'm not going anywhere, because it's all just dreaming and pretending. Something will happen and I will forever stay here, in the USA, in central New Jersey.
In other news, which is not really news because you probably already know and because it happened a while ago, Mozart ran away and never did come back.
This is really not a happy entry, is it? Anyway, I was going to talk about pinatas. Pinatas, and how I'm not sure if I like them or not. But then again, I'm not sure about a lot of things, so I'll leave it at that.
Cheers.
~Katia