Monday, July 21
I realised yesterday that I can barely remember Andrea's face. That's really sad. They say you don't grow apart but you do. They're all grown up now, bordering on year 11. On their fucking summer holidays. Andrea would be touring Paris in her dad's Porsche, stupid rich girl. She was so adorable though, that cute French accent and me and her listening to Cher in her Dad's car. Good times. And of course David heckling us in the back. That was hilarious! It feels sad that the memories are slipping me like water off a duck's back. Like for example: playing Goldeneye at Steve's house and putting on the big head cheat. All the guys (Steve, David, Nick and Greg) would always comment when I played, and I always had to wrestle the bloody controller off Steve coz he thought I'd die and that he'd 'just do a little for me'. *rolls eyes* They always put on all the cheats for me. Silly bastards.
I remember when I first came here and how dreadful it sounded to come to a 'Girls School'. I'd never been to a girl's school. I'd always been surrounded by boys. Boys I'd liked. I really didn't like girls. They were all clothesy and girlish and backstabey. And of course my best friend in the entire world was David, except for Justine. Gawd, my first year here was awful. I don't know I got through it. I suppose this year could be a whole lot worse, I really don't know how I got through Year 7. Year 8 was one fucking waste. And Year 9 and 10. I barely remember them now. They seem so far away.
I still have the guys' picture, and Harry's I took in the locker room. I miss them all. Jacob and Tony too. Whenever I write for my friends now, I remember writing for my them. Its always a brief pang but its there. I remember reading out what I'd wrote in the locker room. It was so great. I miss them all now. It still hurts to think about it. All those missed opportunities.
It's said that we leave a history behind us when we move. But then, they say too that your 'real' history begins when you're twenty and can do something. I've left this history behind me that stretches a mile long and I'm only 16 and I left when I was 10. It seems strange that it was a history. But there is so much to tell and share that sometimes I can't keep it inside. My friends don't want to know about it but I'd tell them if they asked. But then again i couldn't, because so much of it is just in me. In what I've done and cultivated myself into. I find it strange to think of myself in terms of these memories, I am so different that I was back then. I mean they tell me they grew up in these primary schools full of boys and girls and gangs and they think they've 'lived'. I've had to grow up in American schools, a middle school not a primary school. And they are very much different, you go out with each other in fourth grade, boys are hot in grade 5, there's gossip and candour rumoring around. And of course there are the dances. You don't grow up in those schools. You're either there or you drown. That's the lesson I learned and adapting to MLC, a school built on innocence knows nothing of this.
