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Waves rolled gently onto the fine white sand, spraying seawater ever so slightly into the air. Caucasian ladies clad in bikinis lay on their backs, their minimal clothing ensuring maximum absorption of harmful ultraviolet rays. Despite the tranquil surroundings, my mind was not at peace. I received my examination results a week ago, and the days that followed were filled with emotional conflict. The funniest part of my predicament? It has nothing to do with my results. I won’t elaborate on them, but I can safely say that my hard work has been repaid to a satisfactory extent. The problem lay in the uncertain future, or rather, my reluctance to move on from the past.

My four years in secondary school were wonderful, despite my torrid time in primary school being an unfair benchmark to begin with. On hindsight, there were many things I could have done differently in primary school, but I will save that topic for another post. I met all sorts of individuals, all with their own unique personalities. Of course, only some of them are my cup of tea, but what would school life be without a sprinkling of people who are not? Cross-dressing wierdos? Arrogant musicians? Lifeless academics? Hell, one of my best friends has a head the shape of a slice of pizza. These four years have been filled with colour, to say the least. I can put my hand on my heart and say I treasure every friendship forged and every memory made.

What was bothering me then, you may ask. It was the friendships that were simply not to be. I am sure most of you had someone in your life that you thought were the one, but your relationship could not stand the test of time, or the test itself revealed certain incompatibilities that ended it. Similarly, you might have had someone you were dying to be friends with, but the opposite party did not share your enthusiasm.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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