Us seniors’ last day of school is tomorrow, May 31st. Tomorrow will mark the end of slumbering through the day and of having to ask for permission to use the restroom. Tomorrow will mark our first day of freedom, if only for a little while for most of us, but at least we will be ourselves. True to who we are.
Tomorrow, the beast underneath all of us will be released. Finally a time and place to set free our true potentials. If you are thinking of something noble like finding a cure for cancer, I’ll tell you to forget it right now, because tomorrow we’ll be in the school parking lot. Armed with colorful water filled projectiles and shaving cream, we’ll fight each other battle royal style. We won’t stop until only one of us remains standing. Tomorrow our angers will get physical. Teachers and the administration be warned, you’ll be revenged upon for the four years of shit you have shoved down our throat. You’ll get pied in the face and have water balloons thrown at only the most uncomfortable place. Our level of anger toward you will be measured by the force we put behind the balloons and the amount of cream in the pies.
I’m certain, among all the joy and lighthearted pranks, tomorrow will also be a day of sorrow. There will be tears shed for close friends and awesome teachers as we bid farewell to each other. There will be many instances where we won’t be able to separate ourselves from our embracements, but in the end, as much as we don’t want to, we will have to let each other go. We might find ourselves separated far from each other after tomorrow, but no matter the distance of the separation, the strong bonds we had forged through four years of shared suffering and cruel jokes will stand the test of time. No one else in this world will understand you and me as much as we do each other, it will be childish and selfish of us to think and act otherwise.
Perhaps in the past four years I've done something stupid that had pushed you away from me. Perhaps in the past four years you've also done something stupid that had pushed me away from you, but I’m sure in the end, none of that will ever matter. You will forgive me as I will forgive you and certainly we will be best buddies again. This time it will be without the absurdity of an adolescent mind. A cookie shall never be again given the power to make or break our friendship. I promise.
In ten years when we meet again, I hope that you will have already have achieved your dreams. Maybe you want to be an astrophysicist, a doctor or perhaps even an evil billionaire. Whatever it is that you dreamt to have achieved, I sincerely hope that you would have it accomplished by then. In ten years when we have our class reunion, I would like to center our conversation around our success stories. About how you screw the other guy over. About how you came out of the pack fine and others not so lucky.
Anyhow, that is still in the distant future and today we still have unfinished business. Tomorrow we shall offer the one last embrace we owe each other. Tomorrow we shall shed the one last tear on each other’s shoulders. Tomorrow we shall give the one last “because we are friends, therefore I’ll slap you in the face” to each other. Because after tomorrow, we might not have the chance to do any of it again.
Class of 2013, I wish you guys all the best. You guys ROCK!
Showing posts with label Memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memory. Show all posts
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Autumn
A cold breeze had picked up, carrying away with it the last of the leaves from the almost bare branch. In the corner a twister had spun into existence. Twisting all alone, like a dancer without the appreciation of its partner. And up in the sky the clouds hang lowly, shutting out the much loved golden rays originated from some 93 million miles away. For days it would linger, dampening everyone’s spirit and creates a depressing but fitting mood. And the tide is also turned against day on the eternal battle between it and night. Autumn came with force, even the strongest of the weeds are now bending under its wrath.
Out here in the suburb, the temperature would differ significantly from the forecasted one; colder, most of the time. The lively sidewalks once filled with screaming children and horrified squirrels are now cold and desolated. The once lush and soft lawn where the same children and their pets loved to play on is now stiff and colorless from the cold. Off to the side, the dried fallen leaves and its rotten versions are now making a disgusting but yet flowery smell. Autumn is a quiet season, even the anomaly Halloween causes this year was suppressed by its cold.
However autumn will soon come to past, replacing it will be winter. Soon the smell of wood smoke will perfume the neighborhood and permeates into everyone’s house, uncovering the defects in the claimed to be perfect insulation. Soon the first snow fall will come, covering everything in an innocent white. The imperfections we all possess will be hidden. And just for a while, we’ll all drop our cloaks and be our real selves. Naked and clean.
Soon, everything will change. Decisions made hundreds of miles away will arrive and my dreams will either come true, or stay as ridiculous wishes and left to be forgotten.
Soon, I will find out.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Legs, Not Fins
I don't know how to swim, I don't care to learn how to swim, and if you think I should do so otherwise please leave me your address so I can send a giant F to you. There is a reason why we were born with legs, not with fins attached to the sides and the end of our body. There is a reason why we have lungs, not gills. There is also a reason why we have the ability to consume marine creatures and thankfully, not the other way around.
Admitting this was hard, as a stranger, as a friend, or even as an anonymous blogger on the internet*. Other than my parents and now you, no one else know about my lack of interest in swimming. Living in a society where 11 out of 10 people know how to swim, admitting that you don't know how to do so is almost the same as admitting that you are somehow inferior to the others. Just watch a few of the recent Olympic games if you disagree. Why do people strive to achieve so much when in the end, it all means nothing. You might have made your mark in history, but give it a week, your existence will mean nothing for another four years and a crappy worthless medal is all that is left. Not to mention that out of a pool of able body only the lucky few will make it to the end and most will just suffer from the pain while gaining nothing. No pain no gain? So is much pain no gain.
Even though I don't know how to swim, at least I tried learning the how-tos. When I was little my dad quite often takes me to the pool, but I have never managed to stay afloat without the bubble. Back then I was rather underweight, but it appeared that I like to sink as if I were grotesquely overweight instead. I guess I was not biologically up for these kind of activities, but then again I was born with legs, not with fins attached to the sides and the end of my body. After a while my dad realized that I didn't appreciate swimming very much and stopped taking me to the pool.
Not long after, something happened. Probably could've taken my life if I didn't make a huge splash sound in the process. It was embarrassing to recall what had happened actually. I was out on a picnic trip with my family and some friends. We arrived at this one remote looking place with fruit trees all around. There were apples, oranges, pears, and other exotic fruits, all within arm's length. All of us were drawn towards this fruit forest, but my attention was soon captured by an out of place circle structure somewhat obscured by the trees.
The structure was about two meters tall and probably the same length in diameter. At first I thought it was a well but it was lacking a roof. A girl, who was maybe a year younger saw me and also came over to this well to investigate. Both of us climbed up to the top, and looked into it. The well was half filled with water with a large population of plankton, which gave the water a slime green color similar to the color of the tiles that lined the inside of this well. Of course for being such a observant fellow I was back then, I was arguing with the girl that the well was dry and that what she correctly thought was water was just green tiles.
She had none of it and claimed that there are even green snakes in the well.
"Are you stupid? The well is dry, if there are snakes down there we can probably see it! Fine I'll prove it to you that it's just tiles!"
I judged the height to be sure that I could climb back out and I jumped right in.
I was stunned instantly, physically as well as emotionally. I was almost completely submerged in the slime green water and I couldn't see a thing, it was thick with plankton. I was about to panic but one thought took hold of me. Something my mom once told me, "if you take a deep breath and hold it, you will float." For obvious reasons I didn't take the life saving(or ending) deep breath, but I didn't dare let my last breath to escape me either. I didn't struggle for air, like they do in the movies. Finally slowly and surely, I began to float toward the top and was able to see the sky, but I still couldn't breath. For what it seemed to be an eternity, I lay submerged in the water and thinking that I finally learnt how to swim(or at least how to float).
A few more eternities went by and my vision began to blur and darken, but help came at last. I heard a low murmuring voice and I did exactly it told me to do, to put out my hand.
"Huurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I gasped for air.
***
For the rest of the day while the adults and other children were having fun grilling and eating the fruits they found, I was busy trying to pick out the dried plankton in my ears and nostrils.
*There is no such thing as anonymity on the internet.
Admitting this was hard, as a stranger, as a friend, or even as an anonymous blogger on the internet*. Other than my parents and now you, no one else know about my lack of interest in swimming. Living in a society where 11 out of 10 people know how to swim, admitting that you don't know how to do so is almost the same as admitting that you are somehow inferior to the others. Just watch a few of the recent Olympic games if you disagree. Why do people strive to achieve so much when in the end, it all means nothing. You might have made your mark in history, but give it a week, your existence will mean nothing for another four years and a crappy worthless medal is all that is left. Not to mention that out of a pool of able body only the lucky few will make it to the end and most will just suffer from the pain while gaining nothing. No pain no gain? So is much pain no gain.
Even though I don't know how to swim, at least I tried learning the how-tos. When I was little my dad quite often takes me to the pool, but I have never managed to stay afloat without the bubble. Back then I was rather underweight, but it appeared that I like to sink as if I were grotesquely overweight instead. I guess I was not biologically up for these kind of activities, but then again I was born with legs, not with fins attached to the sides and the end of my body. After a while my dad realized that I didn't appreciate swimming very much and stopped taking me to the pool.
Not long after, something happened. Probably could've taken my life if I didn't make a huge splash sound in the process. It was embarrassing to recall what had happened actually. I was out on a picnic trip with my family and some friends. We arrived at this one remote looking place with fruit trees all around. There were apples, oranges, pears, and other exotic fruits, all within arm's length. All of us were drawn towards this fruit forest, but my attention was soon captured by an out of place circle structure somewhat obscured by the trees.
The structure was about two meters tall and probably the same length in diameter. At first I thought it was a well but it was lacking a roof. A girl, who was maybe a year younger saw me and also came over to this well to investigate. Both of us climbed up to the top, and looked into it. The well was half filled with water with a large population of plankton, which gave the water a slime green color similar to the color of the tiles that lined the inside of this well. Of course for being such a observant fellow I was back then, I was arguing with the girl that the well was dry and that what she correctly thought was water was just green tiles.
She had none of it and claimed that there are even green snakes in the well.
"Are you stupid? The well is dry, if there are snakes down there we can probably see it! Fine I'll prove it to you that it's just tiles!"
I judged the height to be sure that I could climb back out and I jumped right in.
I was stunned instantly, physically as well as emotionally. I was almost completely submerged in the slime green water and I couldn't see a thing, it was thick with plankton. I was about to panic but one thought took hold of me. Something my mom once told me, "if you take a deep breath and hold it, you will float." For obvious reasons I didn't take the life saving(or ending) deep breath, but I didn't dare let my last breath to escape me either. I didn't struggle for air, like they do in the movies. Finally slowly and surely, I began to float toward the top and was able to see the sky, but I still couldn't breath. For what it seemed to be an eternity, I lay submerged in the water and thinking that I finally learnt how to swim(or at least how to float).
A few more eternities went by and my vision began to blur and darken, but help came at last. I heard a low murmuring voice and I did exactly it told me to do, to put out my hand.
"Huurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I gasped for air.
***
For the rest of the day while the adults and other children were having fun grilling and eating the fruits they found, I was busy trying to pick out the dried plankton in my ears and nostrils.
*There is no such thing as anonymity on the internet.
Monday, July 9, 2012
When the Egg Sticks to the Nonstick Skillet
I held such high hopes when my mom announced their arrival in August of last year. I was thrilled, overjoyed, and out of my mind; or as my mom called it - behaviors only to be found in insane asylums. Whatever mom.
I didn't get this excited for no reason, she was a long lost friend. After I moved to Michigan, seven years have gone by without any communication. We went to the same school together and lived in a close proximity, I guess the latter was the reason why I visited her so often. Now that I look back at it, our parents were unreasonably close friends as opposed to "good morning, you" kind of relationships. Suppose they also had high hopes of us getting serious with each other. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there wasn't free access to pornography, or else we would've gotten serious. Too much for the liking of our parents though.
However about two years ago they've also emigrated and settled in Maine with her uncle. They weren't exactly having the best time of their life, she said they were conned into staying there with their uncle. Her dad left for home, her mom worked long hours in the restaurant, from day break util stars twinkle in the night sky. All the while she was struggling with school because of the language barrier and was forced to help in the restaurant with whatever spare time she has left. From what my mom told me, it didn't sound like they liked it very much over there.
"Why don't we invite them over for a visit ma?"
My mom agreed and so did my dad and we soon formulated a flawless plan to help them if they do decide to live here, the visit was just a way to show them how nice it was over here. We were too nice back then.
Undoubtedly expectations didn't translate well into reality. I was still excited when my mom and I picked them up at the airport. Her physical appearance didn't deviate too much from what I had imagined but she was a little shy. Okay I can understand that, tired, overwhelmed, shocked; I've thought of every imaginable possibilities to explain her lack of talkativeness to convince myself that she is still the person I knew.
As days gone by I've discovered that she was a lot less intelligent than what I thought she would be, a lot less. Total lack of common sense and not capable of carrying out intellectual discussions about anything useful. Out of all the other things she could've done, she does exactly the ones that fueled the anger inside me. She is either dumb, clueless, ignorant, or all of the above. But I managed to keep the fire contained, with a lot of effort of course. I couldn't wait for the last day to come.
It was such relief when it did came. When they disappeared into the crowd, my mom and I acted as if we had won the lottery. We were smiling and cracking jokes all the way from the airport to home. We couldn't help ourselves, we were too happy and so was my dad. He described it as having the giant cactus off his back.
Ever since that week, I forcibly cut off all kinds of communication with her established during the first few days of her visit. I blocked her account on my instant messenger, closed my email account and pretended to be busy when they called. And I didn't feel bad about doing any of it.
Just the other day, my mom told me that our family had dinner together few years ago when we went back for a visit. Funny how I had no memory of it. Suppose my subconsciousness knew all along how much I hated her.
I didn't get this excited for no reason, she was a long lost friend. After I moved to Michigan, seven years have gone by without any communication. We went to the same school together and lived in a close proximity, I guess the latter was the reason why I visited her so often. Now that I look back at it, our parents were unreasonably close friends as opposed to "good morning, you" kind of relationships. Suppose they also had high hopes of us getting serious with each other. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there wasn't free access to pornography, or else we would've gotten serious. Too much for the liking of our parents though.
However about two years ago they've also emigrated and settled in Maine with her uncle. They weren't exactly having the best time of their life, she said they were conned into staying there with their uncle. Her dad left for home, her mom worked long hours in the restaurant, from day break util stars twinkle in the night sky. All the while she was struggling with school because of the language barrier and was forced to help in the restaurant with whatever spare time she has left. From what my mom told me, it didn't sound like they liked it very much over there.
"Why don't we invite them over for a visit ma?"
My mom agreed and so did my dad and we soon formulated a flawless plan to help them if they do decide to live here, the visit was just a way to show them how nice it was over here. We were too nice back then.
Undoubtedly expectations didn't translate well into reality. I was still excited when my mom and I picked them up at the airport. Her physical appearance didn't deviate too much from what I had imagined but she was a little shy. Okay I can understand that, tired, overwhelmed, shocked; I've thought of every imaginable possibilities to explain her lack of talkativeness to convince myself that she is still the person I knew.
As days gone by I've discovered that she was a lot less intelligent than what I thought she would be, a lot less. Total lack of common sense and not capable of carrying out intellectual discussions about anything useful. Out of all the other things she could've done, she does exactly the ones that fueled the anger inside me. She is either dumb, clueless, ignorant, or all of the above. But I managed to keep the fire contained, with a lot of effort of course. I couldn't wait for the last day to come.
It was such relief when it did came. When they disappeared into the crowd, my mom and I acted as if we had won the lottery. We were smiling and cracking jokes all the way from the airport to home. We couldn't help ourselves, we were too happy and so was my dad. He described it as having the giant cactus off his back.
Ever since that week, I forcibly cut off all kinds of communication with her established during the first few days of her visit. I blocked her account on my instant messenger, closed my email account and pretended to be busy when they called. And I didn't feel bad about doing any of it.
Just the other day, my mom told me that our family had dinner together few years ago when we went back for a visit. Funny how I had no memory of it. Suppose my subconsciousness knew all along how much I hated her.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
To Kill A Rat
It all began when my mom breaks the news that banana peelings are mysteriously disappearing from the trashcan in our kitchen.
I use to live in an apartment 6 stories above ground, with three rooms and a bath. There is the master bedroom, my room, and the storage room. Strangely, the size of the so called storage room challenges the size of the master. The temperature in the storage is unusually cold compared to the rest of our apartment, probably due to the fact that there is a gaping hole in the ceiling connecting the storage to the apartment above. I once visited our very friendly neighbor upstairs and the first impression he gave me was "holy shit, what did your mom feed you!?" He is like one of those Sumo wrestlers, dribbling with fat and wears a shirts that is always soaked in his sweat. To compensate for his overly excessive heat buildups underneath all that insulation, he has an apartment of arctic climate. I don't know how he does it, the moment he opened the door I begin to shiver from the cold and my own breaths can clearly be seen. This is not an apartment, it is an industrial grade freezer! He invited me into his subzero climate zone and immediately after I entered, I tripped over a box, stacked on top of another box. Things are littered everywhere, old ones, new ones, broken ones, everything he had once owned. At that moment it had occurred to me that he is a hoarder, which explains where the rat that resided itself in our storage room came from.
Enough of our arctic explorer upstairs, the banana peelings were mysteriously missing, we were all confused. I mean who would break in to just steal banana peelings? To solve the mystery, we all took turns to stay up in the dead of night the following day to see just how banana peelings are running away from their home.
***
4:00 A.M. I'm sitting in a seat facing the trashcan in the kitchen, watching the banana peel we put there the night before. This is really silly, I know, but my parents won't approve of my "putting a tracking device on the peel" idea. They claimed that it was too smart of a gadget for such a dumb task. So now I'm up at four in the morning, staring at a trashcan, imagining all the ways which a banana peel can disappear from it. I guess you must do dumb things to solve dumb problems.
4:30 A.M. The peel is still there, unmoved. Boring. I think I might just close my eyes for a second.
6:00 A.M. I opened my eyes to check on the peel, it was gone. Oops, and since I couldn't put up an amber alert for the peel, I sneak back into my room and lay down to relieve the throbbing pain in my neck.
8:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom yelling at me, and she tasked me with an irresistible job, to find the peel that had slipped away under my supervision. Of course, I didn't actually looked for any peelings, all I did was moved some tables and chairs around the house and pretended that I looked everywhere for it.
***
A few days later, my mom notices ungodly smell of rotten banana peelings in the storage room. Knowing that I wouldn't actually look for the peelings, she armed herself with a pair of tongs and entered the storage room to look for them. Soon she came running out, shrieking and accusing me of letting a mouse into our apartment. To this day, I'm not sure why she had thought that I had let a rat into our apartment.
When my dad returned home from work he was forced to go after the rat, imprisoned in the storage room. It was actually really hard for my dad too, to go after a thing that he dreaded the most. In order for him to enter the room, I had to go with him, carrying a stick and a flash light to help flush out the rat hiding somewhere inside.
At first we weren't able to find this uninvited fussy little thing. I pointed the flashlight everywhere, hit places and shouted threats to the rat. The only thing that moved was the boxes that I hit. Finally after about 20 minutes of nonsense, I saw a triangular looking thing sticking out underneath a table. I knelt down to get a better look at it and it started to run in a circle wildly. It was so sudden that it made me jump, almost out of my own skin.
I chased the rat into a corner and everything after this point goes downhill for the rat. It made an attempt to escape, running up a bamboo stick which leads to another bamboo stick hanging horizontally across the room. I was amazed by the acrobatic ability of the rat, running across a stick smaller than my pinky finger at an incredible speed. For a moment I actually thought that the rat was going to escape, at least temporary, but my dad picked up a tennis racket and he took aim... He smashed the racket into the rat.
SPLAT! Gore and blood everywhere.
No really. My dad actually missed the rat by a hair, but he bent the flexible bamboo stick enough that the rat was shot off of it. The rat flew high into the air, which made me felt like a child in an amusement park. Laughing my guts out and clapping with such enthusiasm that I lost all my strength. After spending some time flying across the room the rat finally hit the ground, dazed by the experience the rat stumbles around. My dad then picked up the thing with the tong my mom left in the room and drop it into a plastic bag, and he threw it out of a 6th story balcony through a window.
The next morning I took a walk like I always do, and I happened to sight a plastic bag in the flowerbed in front of our balcony 6 stories high. I walked up to the flowerbed and studied the bag.
Through a ripped hole, I can see rat droppings inside.
I use to live in an apartment 6 stories above ground, with three rooms and a bath. There is the master bedroom, my room, and the storage room. Strangely, the size of the so called storage room challenges the size of the master. The temperature in the storage is unusually cold compared to the rest of our apartment, probably due to the fact that there is a gaping hole in the ceiling connecting the storage to the apartment above. I once visited our very friendly neighbor upstairs and the first impression he gave me was "holy shit, what did your mom feed you!?" He is like one of those Sumo wrestlers, dribbling with fat and wears a shirts that is always soaked in his sweat. To compensate for his overly excessive heat buildups underneath all that insulation, he has an apartment of arctic climate. I don't know how he does it, the moment he opened the door I begin to shiver from the cold and my own breaths can clearly be seen. This is not an apartment, it is an industrial grade freezer! He invited me into his subzero climate zone and immediately after I entered, I tripped over a box, stacked on top of another box. Things are littered everywhere, old ones, new ones, broken ones, everything he had once owned. At that moment it had occurred to me that he is a hoarder, which explains where the rat that resided itself in our storage room came from.
Enough of our arctic explorer upstairs, the banana peelings were mysteriously missing, we were all confused. I mean who would break in to just steal banana peelings? To solve the mystery, we all took turns to stay up in the dead of night the following day to see just how banana peelings are running away from their home.
***
4:00 A.M. I'm sitting in a seat facing the trashcan in the kitchen, watching the banana peel we put there the night before. This is really silly, I know, but my parents won't approve of my "putting a tracking device on the peel" idea. They claimed that it was too smart of a gadget for such a dumb task. So now I'm up at four in the morning, staring at a trashcan, imagining all the ways which a banana peel can disappear from it. I guess you must do dumb things to solve dumb problems.
4:30 A.M. The peel is still there, unmoved. Boring. I think I might just close my eyes for a second.
6:00 A.M. I opened my eyes to check on the peel, it was gone. Oops, and since I couldn't put up an amber alert for the peel, I sneak back into my room and lay down to relieve the throbbing pain in my neck.
8:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom yelling at me, and she tasked me with an irresistible job, to find the peel that had slipped away under my supervision. Of course, I didn't actually looked for any peelings, all I did was moved some tables and chairs around the house and pretended that I looked everywhere for it.
***
A few days later, my mom notices ungodly smell of rotten banana peelings in the storage room. Knowing that I wouldn't actually look for the peelings, she armed herself with a pair of tongs and entered the storage room to look for them. Soon she came running out, shrieking and accusing me of letting a mouse into our apartment. To this day, I'm not sure why she had thought that I had let a rat into our apartment.
When my dad returned home from work he was forced to go after the rat, imprisoned in the storage room. It was actually really hard for my dad too, to go after a thing that he dreaded the most. In order for him to enter the room, I had to go with him, carrying a stick and a flash light to help flush out the rat hiding somewhere inside.
At first we weren't able to find this uninvited fussy little thing. I pointed the flashlight everywhere, hit places and shouted threats to the rat. The only thing that moved was the boxes that I hit. Finally after about 20 minutes of nonsense, I saw a triangular looking thing sticking out underneath a table. I knelt down to get a better look at it and it started to run in a circle wildly. It was so sudden that it made me jump, almost out of my own skin.
I chased the rat into a corner and everything after this point goes downhill for the rat. It made an attempt to escape, running up a bamboo stick which leads to another bamboo stick hanging horizontally across the room. I was amazed by the acrobatic ability of the rat, running across a stick smaller than my pinky finger at an incredible speed. For a moment I actually thought that the rat was going to escape, at least temporary, but my dad picked up a tennis racket and he took aim... He smashed the racket into the rat.
SPLAT! Gore and blood everywhere.
No really. My dad actually missed the rat by a hair, but he bent the flexible bamboo stick enough that the rat was shot off of it. The rat flew high into the air, which made me felt like a child in an amusement park. Laughing my guts out and clapping with such enthusiasm that I lost all my strength. After spending some time flying across the room the rat finally hit the ground, dazed by the experience the rat stumbles around. My dad then picked up the thing with the tong my mom left in the room and drop it into a plastic bag, and he threw it out of a 6th story balcony through a window.
The next morning I took a walk like I always do, and I happened to sight a plastic bag in the flowerbed in front of our balcony 6 stories high. I walked up to the flowerbed and studied the bag.
Through a ripped hole, I can see rat droppings inside.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
That Trip to Canada
We woke up at 4 in the morning that day. It was an unusually hot night and none of us had gotten much sleep. We had some "just add hot water and it will be done in 3 minutes" breakfast and fussed about how to arrange things in the car. After about 40 minutes of that we left home and filled up at an uncomfortably friendly nearby gas station. We were finally off to Kingston, Canada, where my many of my mom's former classmates were said to meet.
We were finally knocking on the doorstep of Toronto after hours of driving through nothing but trees and farmlands. Soon after we entered the city limit, I caught sight of high-rises, the one thing that can clearly slap the word HUMANITY in your face. There they stood, in unity, sparkling under the sunlight(like a Christmas tree? now that I think of it). It gave me an uneasy feeling as we drove pass them, the same feeling that I would get when driving next to a semi. As we were leaving the city limit, a corroded iron bridge spanning the whole width of the highway hung there in midair. It sprinkled rust on whoever drove under it(would that be considered a thank you gift for visiting Toronto?).
Ironically, when we arrived, we were the first one there.
The road that led us towards Kingston was a hideous one. A long stretch of highway in such good condition that no driver can resist the temptation of going over the speed limit(110 kph(60 mph), blah). Throughout the whole way I was nagged constantly by my mother to slow back down to the speed limit. The highway divided the vast landscape populated only by the few lonely farmers and their animals. The farmers were busy harvesting their crops, all of which were golden and bending under their own weight. The animals were allowed to litter themselves around the field and a few cows even mooed as we drove by(a friendly gesture, right?). It was beautiful, though the blinding sunlight prevented us from indulging ourselves in the scenery more.
We were finally knocking on the doorstep of Toronto after hours of driving through nothing but trees and farmlands. Soon after we entered the city limit, I caught sight of high-rises, the one thing that can clearly slap the word HUMANITY in your face. There they stood, in unity, sparkling under the sunlight(like a Christmas tree? now that I think of it). It gave me an uneasy feeling as we drove pass them, the same feeling that I would get when driving next to a semi. As we were leaving the city limit, a corroded iron bridge spanning the whole width of the highway hung there in midair. It sprinkled rust on whoever drove under it(would that be considered a thank you gift for visiting Toronto?).
Ironically, when we arrived, we were the first one there.
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