Pastures

So July has come and gone, and I am into the eighth month of my tour in junior college. Life has passed me by like a Roberto Carlos free kick doing 150 kilometres an hour, and somehow, while I rue the way the days seem to sieve through my fingers like the soft sand of the beach, my subsconscious mind imagines that it would be best if I were to graduate from Raffles as clinically and as unannounced as they would let me. I will forever relish the fruitless hours spent, but not wasted, haunting the familiar hallways of Raffles Institution, but I fear that my current institute of study will permit no such fond memories for me, and in my lifetime yet to come, I shall only recall with any true nostalgia the four years I have had languishing in Bishan - and then the void. You can't cross the chasm in two small jumps. The numerous candidates who presented themselves for the Orientation Team interviews today did not seem particularly notable, and neither did their interviewers. Can councillors maintain an absolute objectivity when judging their peers?

16 more months, and it shall be pastures new, if not green.