Called to my window by high-pitched laughter, I watch them in the dark street. Two best friends, their school uniforms tight and short. They think they’re invincible as they climb the high metal fence, landing safely, only by sheer luck, on the ground. Not much older than fourteen, little do they know the realities life will teach them. I wondered why I was still watching them as they walked away, down the middle of the street, mistaking recklessness for strength and adulthood.
It reminded me all too well of myself at that age, the whole scene. Spending most nights at my best friend’s house at the time, and wandering around at night because her mum couldn’t care less, jumping trains and sharing clothes. You can only go on like that for so long, it can’t last. And if it does, there’s something really wrong. Guilt and regret had me throw all the evidence away, my best friend’s scrapbook and the disposable camera we used up in one day. I didn’t even get the photographs developed, I would love to see them now. It’s funny how cliché life can be sometimes.
Regardless of how young I was and how bad that period of my life was, I really feel that I learnt so much from it, for instance how someone in the worst situation, and with very few opportunities, made the most loyal friend. Mainly I learnt a lot because I was responsible for the lessons I learnt, because despite my upbringing and my conscience I put myself in those situations, and therefore was accountable for myself when reality hit.
Flashback.
