Gazing at the Pale Indigo Sky

It was different when I came to Royal West.

Emboldened by the shared nervousness of the entire grade, I was outspoken among people I had not met before -- for the first time in my life since my talkative three-year-old days (and even then, by the way, I was shy around strangers). I was shy, but I was not afraid. I was tall, I was strong, I had to prove myself, and I revelled in the joy of the challenge. This was my opportunity, my chance to begin anew.

So it was for the first week. By the third day, I had completely adjusted to a rhythm that, although new to me, felt far more natural than my previous habits. I talked to people. I was naïve, I was happy, I said things without thinking or caring that I said things without thinking. I walked quickly through the corridors, but I watched every face that passed me by, memorising every detail.

I do not look at people who pass me anymore. If I see a friend, I will smile or reach out a hand (and probably look stupid through doing so). Yet I have acquired the customary high school Aloof and Distracted Air and Demeanour. My eyes are glazed when I stroll the hallways on my own, like most eyes around me. I am particularly good at this.

I can trace the origins of this tendency back to the eighth grade, when I moved up to the third floor. I was no longer one of the cherished and separated babies of the institution. And suddenly, things began to change far more quickly than I had ever imagined.

Enter grade eight. Enter drugs, enter true dating, enter advanced classes, enter that horrible feeling of being ignored, left behind. Enter a world where everyone analyses themselves constantly, trying to prove their depth of character. Enter hair straighteners and crises among friends. Enter skipping school, enter lying. So much lying, and I was so easy to lie to.

What about me? I suppose I developed a Personality, specially designed to be perceived by those I did not know well. I suppose I began to let more things go, learning that even on the battlefield, laughter is far stronger than insults. Perhaps I became more eloquent when speaking. Perhaps my horizons stretched a bit. And I began to be too important to look at people.

I am still the girl. I am still that bizarre, overly dramatic, Floyd-obsessed, long-haired, quiet, somewhat unremarkable, somewhat annoying, pen-pushing aspiring musician who was – and, more importantly, who will be.

Today we stand among the ashes. The dust moves a little in the breeze, as we hope for another dawn. We do not know what to do. We do not know what lies ahead.

But I am not afraid.

I think I would love it.