And the results are in!

Greetings! This is coming from a person newly liberated from the confines of that old, beloved institution: high school. It certainly feels odd, this sensation of having no real responsibilities; a sensation which will soon pass, come college's beckoning in a few weeks or so. That said, there comes with such a feeling a silver lining, and that is the payoff, the real McCoy...the exam results.

Whether you like them, hate them, or are generally unbothered by them, exams have always been the main port of call for quantifying a person's successes (at least, in schools). And, in my view, that's for the best: they allow for an equal playing field for those who are especially studious, as well as for the students that perhaps aren't, but still have the chance to try their best and 'pull it out of the bag,' if you will, in the real thing. In short, exams bring a certain finality to the high school experience. A whole other beast, then, would be attempting to tackle the question of whether exams should be wholly reliant on the process of memory, with the retention of which being the focal point, as opposed to understanding and applying the information you have learned over the course of your time studying it...but I suppose that's an essay destined to remain on the backburner, for now.

Rather than waste my precious brain cells on that particular subject matter, I shall instead speak of a separate, though overarchingly significant, topic. This topic is one associated with abnormality, albeit subconsciously: a concept often met with derision, in reaction to its 'weirdness,' as if it were specifically designed to arouse from all those around it an unshakeable feeling of discomfort, by the Gods - their own special way of laughing at us. With such an introduction, I bet you're fit to burst with excitement at the direction of this piece (though, really, I could've done with using the analogy of a boxing ring; a bit of "AAAAND, IN THE BLUE CORNER..." would've cranked the whole thing up to 11), but I'm afraid the English language can be deceiving. Or, I can, anyway, for I'm just talking about sentimentality. 

Exhibit A: a useless, if unique, gift...

I was once a believer in this idea of reflection being an outrageously pointless endeavour; upon reflection (cue laugh track) I may have been in denial about my true disposition. The issue in question isn't so black or white, however. Take the act of keeping objects - of the likes of souvenirs and mementos, perhaps presents from relatives or friends - for example: in premise, it's a gesture of appreciation for a place you've been to, a time in your life, and (in the case of a gift) a gift-sender. Despite the comfort and happiness it may bring, though, this behaviour has one, single outcome, and you and I both know it's lying inside a drawer, tucked away in the darkness, collecting dust for years until it emerges once more...only to be returned to its previous position. Sure, cherishing the odd bits doesn't do anyone harm, but in possession of excess there looms always the question: 'do I need all of this?'

Back to the point of being 'in denial about my true disposition.' There have been life events of relative significance passing me by as of late (see, 'turning 16' and 'leaving high school') that seem to have reawakened what once could've been a 'sentimental soul' somewhere within myself. Today merely confirmed my inclinations: it was as I awoke and started to prepare for the 'big day' that I began to experience this rising sense of finality. Rising, as I left my house, schoolbag and coffee flask in tow; ascending at pace, as I took the same bus route I'd taken for the past 5 years to school; reaching a crescendo as I approached the self-same buildings I for a time had scarcely noticed. By the time I returned to the bedroom I'd woken up in hours before - and feeling quite emotional in contrast to the morning's indifference - the presence of a desire to reflect had become too powerful to ignore any longer.

It's at this point in the show article that I, ruthlessly and unrelentingly, try to argue in favour of my view by taking those of others down! (Should I be giving off children's TV show host energy in my pieces...probably not!) In regards to sentimentality, which as I previously outlined has encountered its fair share of naysayers, I find that some, if not most people, will tend to write off simply reflecting on events as being too 'deep'; that is, an overly time consuming activity requiring thoughtfulness to a degree that renders it useless in the long run. What hogwash! Surely, if ever we're going to progress in our respective lives, it's with a healthy - rather than excessive - dose of reflection; be that in the form of comparing exam results with previous test scores, or taking in how you as a person have developed over time, or however you see fit. If we went through our lives like a flame through sheets of paper, leaving in our wake a tunnel of faded and forsaken memories, their inevitable progression from cradle to grave would appear an awfully lot quicker than it would've, had we just taken life as it came; stepping forward and looking back in equal measure all the while.

So, with a decent set of grades and tertiary education waiting in the wings, I can safely say that - and forgive me for this fleeting use of cliché - a door in my life has today been firmly and permanently closed. Though I could, in the throes of boredom, embark on that same bus journey as I had many an 8 o'clock in the morning in years passed, or take a stroll past the school building for old time's sake, it will forever be from an outsider's point of view. That, I shall come to accept in months to come as being one of life's many rites of passage; you leave school, you leave home, you conquer (though I might reserve that last one for history's warmongers). As for the long term, well, I suppose that me and my newfound sense of sentimentality will continue to reflect for reflection's sake - to take a life on the cusp of incessant hastiness and try to live it slowly. 

To test this new superpower: I wonder why it is that I spend over 3 hours writing pieces that I know not a soul will read...

(I could benefit a whole lot from this 'reflection' business, as it turns out!)

5 years spent in that place and only a lousy shoebox to show for it!