Pickles

It's comforting to think that someone out there remembers you albeit passively. That when they listen to a certain song playing on the radio a beat in their mind would say, "He would like this song." Or in some other instance when they happen to pass by a shop window and saw a blue colored shirt, they instantly picture you wearing it on a nice warm day at the park. It's like a part of you is pickled in a jar placed on the cupboard of their thoughts be it your favorite color, the way you laugh, or how you smell.

Then you look at your own collection of big and small, simple and intricate, odd bits and pieces of people who touched you and think, hey, it isn't so lonely anymore.

Looking Back

It's funny why some people hate going to school so much when it's the best thing in the world. Lessons don't get handed freely in real life, and there aren't many people who would gladly teach you what they know. Some of them even keep from you what they know in order to have a certain leverage over you. Most probably you'll learn by making mistakes, and most of the time they do come with a price. 

Now I wish I had come to my classes on time, even though they were at 7am. I wish I'd really studied not just to pass, but really get something out of the subjects I've taken. I wish I had graduated with the confidence of knowing what general direction my life will be taking. I know it's not yet too late for me to change how things are, but those five years plus one semester in college should have been put to better use.