Yesterday I met an old secondary school friend whom I haven't spoken to in an inexcusable 4 and a half years. Seeing her again was surreal, like how I would imagine touching a phantom limb would be like. It brought back a sudden gush of memories that I didn't know I had forgotten (which inexplicably, made me giddy with excitement). We had both changed ("so irrevocably" she said), but for the most part, I was glad to see her happy.
We all need little reminders now and then, that life is not a race. And in slowing down a little, it becomes clearer that the people we are around can still amaze us, in that most unexpected way.
This past month, I've read about 10 books (Twilight will not count). And I'm not sure what the point of all this hapless reading is. It's doesn't enrich my life in any tangible way, help my grades or my eyesight, or even give me something to laugh about. So Anna chose Vronsky, Pip loves Estella, Heathcliff dies tragically. It's like that one time, this guy I have yet to forgive said that what I'm doing is irrelevant. And right now, it's hitting a little too close to home.
Tomorrow I will be helping out at a children's nursery, where no doubt they would try to reach the boundaries of my patience. Irrelevant, huh.
