As a result of procrastination over the summer. I am now feeling the danger of the IB monster creeping in.
Today I was just at school for the Freshmen Orientation since I’m on the Link Crew and had to lead the activities. But godamit. For some reasons I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, but last night I just dropped dead the moment I got home. No shower, no nothing. Got to school an hour and a half later than I should have.
Tomorrow: first day of the last year. last first day. first day as a senior. all these ‘firsts and lasts’ are getting me all anxious. Being on Link Crew to help the kids but I really am just Link S-crew-ed. (:
One good thing I liked about the training today was the end. Not because it ended, but because of the poem our high school principal gave us:
The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim-
That sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when he reached the other side,
And build a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength in building here.
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm deep and wide,
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
– WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE
That’s how I feel…or felt? Not just about Link Crew, but anybody. And the reason I put a question there is because I know I want to do that. But I don’t feel so motivated at the moment.
I’m wondering why I start to fall in love with almost everything that I do.
Busy trying to leave behind a legacy, building bridges and personal relationships.
But at the same time, I crave for that late night silence. And while having trouble sleeping the other night,
Insomnia or delirium?
Late night hours, or simply early morning, long ante meridian?
Serenity, or simply idleness?
Inner peace, or simply delirious?
I sit there in the old wooden chair,
in my grandpa’s room, at 4 am while he’s on a trip to upcountry.
Watching and following the ants’ train down his room’s wall.
Has this too, been his midnight hours companion?
only with his back turned, eyes closed, mind at rest.
Half mesmerized, half already a blur,
pondering about those antsy kisses they give each other,
at every rendezvous.
One comes out from the hole closer to the floor,
another one comes out the hole under the light switch.
Along the electric chord, they marched alone.
A colony not so crowded, I suppose.
Do they feel as lonesome as I do now?
When all the world is quiet,
all its creatures dreaming.
Except the insomniac me and the hard working little ants.
Except for a few motorbikes that seem to be riding itself,
grunting because they own the sleeping street.
For who would be up at this hour except for me?
Oh it could not be.
For these four walls tell me I am the only one.
These four white walls…
They tell me I am alone.
Not much is left now as the clock is ticking away each second and tomorrow is stealing all my time.
I am lost. Too anxious of what is coming to actually face it when it is coming. And here tonight, I search for myself.