Like Dandelion Seeds in the Wind…

I really wish I could write about this later, because every time I write about it a bit of me turns into ashes. But I have to now, because it’s already begun.

If you’ve read my semi-disguised ‘About Me’ section in this blog, you’ll know I’m a college student. Well, that’s a temporary lie. I’m about to be a college student. Graduation happened in June, and classes don’t begin until September in college. I’m sitting in that temporary lull between the two major events in my life. Recess, a primary school student might call it, the time between first and second block class in the morning.

I live in the tropics, and to specify a bit more, I live in the Far East (or just “Asia”, if you’re not from the West). I graduated from an international school just two months ago, and so almost every one of my graduate friends will be moving across the Pacific and scattering themselves across North America, where they will begin new lives, with new people, with new habits, new surroundings and new challenges. We’re a bit like dandelion seeds being dispersed about a piece of land, meeting new seeds from different parent dandelions as well drop onto the ground and find new roots.

I’ll be honest with you, I’m not ready yet. Most of me wants to stay in this peaceful intermission, just enjoying life with my current close friends and having some fun. The little bit of me remaining wants to head back to high school and correct whatever errors I’ve done. And to put things in a bigger perspective, so that those of you who aren’t post-high-school-graduate students won’t get bored reading this post, I’m like an engineer who’s been forced to write for a living.

Well, I guess it’s not exactly like that. Reality is a bit more, and a bit less. It’s not the new environment or the new people that scares me. It really is the old environment and the old friends that do. They’ve become a part of me now, and as I spend my last weeks with them here in my hometown, I’m reminded time and time again that in just several weeks (or some in just a few days), they will no longer be physically close to my life. In just a short while, they’ll be gone, gone with the wind like the dandelion seeds. To me, it feels a bit like ripping my spleen out with my bare hands and a pocketknife.

I guess all I’m saying is, “you never know what you have until you lose it.” Very cliche, but very true. And while I’m here struggling with the fact that I may not feel that my spleen is where it used to be anymore (metaphorically), I leave you with just one thought to think about.

Do you love?

If you do, you better be good at showing it, because once you’re thrown a curveball (as my math teacher used to say), you may not get a chance to show it again.

Food for thought.


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