vigorous tasks are the most rewarding and the most painful. we slay over carving the wood because we know it will eventually be a coffee table. we spend countless hours refining our works, perfecting our works, and dreaming of our works. our works become our lives. our pain and reward become our drive. our dream becomes a girl lounging with her feet propped up on the coffee table, our coffee table, sipping hot tea. and that image resonates in our mind and fuels us. such a trivial moment, such a trivial coffee table, and such a lifelong dream. the vigorous task is worth the fulfillment of accomplishment, even if it is only a girl sipping hot tea on a saturday morning. the task is worth it. mostly because, that is how i met you.
I sometimes wish I had more pictures from certain times in my life, so that I could see how foolish I was. I have easily forgotten what I look like with bangs, now that I’ve grown my hair out, and I have systematically forgotten what my interests were. I often wonder if I ever spent hours in front of the mirror as I do now, if I was happy, or if I was sad. I just don’t remember. Maybe if I take the leap of faith and cut my hair once more I’ll remember what it was like to spend hours talking about boys and remembering 46-23-15 for my school locker. But I don’t want to cut my hair, it took two years to grow my bangs out, and the number for my social security is taking up memory space in my head. I guess it’s time to move on. I guess it’s time to forget. I guess it’s time to grow up.
The Classroom Generation
the classroom smelled of
burnt erasers from thinking too hard.
it tasted of yesterday’s pb&j sandwich
with a hint of cheetos. and it felt like the sweaty bodies
of two high school boys after a wrestling match.
but in the classroom, minds
collaborated and produced
a logic greater than the microwave mac
and cheese instructions that were
followed every tuesday night.
and somehow the smell of burnt erasers, the hint of
yesterday’s lunch, and the coercion of
humidity against our bodies
produced and environment that yielded thinking
and new ideas.
and somehow, in that small
classroom we grew into
the generation of the now that would conquer
the world with Einstein’s equation’s and
Pythagorean’s triangles. yet,
the world had only begun, and we
had only been opened to
the stench, the aftertaste, and the
feel of the classroom.
but, in that classroom we could
conquer the world - all we needed was to open
it’s my last month to walk in the hallway with people I have known for four years. it’s my last month to stop by my favorite teacher’s class and talk about my terrible day. it’s my last month to sit in a classroom that I have memorized left to right. it’s my last month for everyone to know my name. it’s my last month to be called a high school student. it’s my last month to feel like I truly belong. and the sad part is, I just found my ground.