Malone At The CrossRoads

It was about six years ago that this madness began. It was some time in 2008, that the early warnings signs were there.By this “it”, we are referring to the breakdown and the fallout which lead to a rapid detachment from the mainstream society, during the time we were in college. It was a time of great upheaval and massive turmoil; it was a time of finding solitude and arriving here. At that time, in college, with loads of free printing credits, and an overwhelming sense of discontent, we were disgusted by the predicament; by the situation; we were discontent. We resented being ordered around and doing all this work which simply did not matter. It was as if the best part of our lives were escaping, and at the same time, being at that age, we were also trying to make sense of conspiratorialism, even if we later concluded it was a flawed world-view. Either way, during the then, we were us, and that meant that everything was so real, until of course, we grew up and grew apart.

Although surviving the ordeal of “graduating” from a pupil referral unit, having missed the most part of a year, things suddenly got serious, and we were not prepared. In a way, the decision to go to that college was as random as it was spontaneous as there seemed to have been no aforethought of research. It was as if we simply arrived, and did whatever courses seemed suitable, based on our exam score averages. At the same time, we were us, and so, we looked to the money, to the finance, to the capital. It meant that we found ourselves doing maths, computer science, sociology, critical thinking and business studies. In our ears, they were whispering, telling us that these were the money subjects, and yet, months later, having dropped out of one, been kicked out another, and not even entered into the exam of a third, it was a testing time.

After dropping out of one college, we realised we had to get serious, and so, it was with much fortune that we managed to arrive in a decent college, close to home. (At the previous place, one hour away, failure to wake from the morning death meant we would stroll in with the most nonchalant aplomb as if to suggest we were some established celebrity indifferent to the restraints and expectations of routine, regular, rote, time.) Even if this new place was decided upon at the last minute, due to a sudden phone call, having read a couple prospectuses, we sensed it was a better place to be in. Yes, we were not granted permission to do all the courses we desires, however, the four we chose (although this also became three) served us well, as we graduated in due time, and yet, having gone through, in a very different pattern to that assumed earlier, we realised that we had sacrificed a lot.

About omalone1

I live I die I write
This entry was posted in Sick of being black. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s