Most people think I’ve learned a lot from staying so long in my four years at High School. Well, partly, yes. But you know what? It wasn’t about the academic thingy that would make me proud of what I’ve been though but the fact that I managed to stay alive and pretend every day that I’ll be okay. It was hard. Harder than anything anyone could have been through. It was like – being in a forest and finding your way out.
I would pray at the chapel for about five minutes then go at the back and lean on the walls. I don’t know but I feel so secured behind the chapel where I could see the clear sky and I could feel the air. You know, I would look up then wish for the craziest things that I know won’t happen. But then again, I realized it was time to go back again to my dorm and pretend that nothing happened. It was an ordinary day.
Every catechism class, I would write poems and imagine silly things. I would doodle and scribble words like there wasn’t anyone talking. I’m glad Sister Daisy never suspected anything from me.
I remember going at the 7th floor every night just to see a sky full of stars. I remember how the dark blue shade of the sky remind me of something I won’t be able to see again. I remember how the air blow through my hair and whisper me words I won’t ever know. I remember the coldness I feel at the top of the roof and just feel the breeze. I remember my high school. I remember my old days but I don’t want to go back there again. Never again.