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I've got a headache. I know, I know, me and everyone else in the world. But I am quite literally sitting at a school desk, head bowed in concentration, throbbing as I write.
The sky is grey and ashen, quite ironic really, seeing as it was filled with ash what seems like mere minutes ago. We were all so focused on not burning to a crisp Asia completely slipped our mind. How anything can slip the worlds mind, or even a nations mind is beyond me.
And yet, it did.
All of a sudden men in crisp suits were appearing on our televisions, statistics in hand, frowns plastered to their faces.
But despite how dire things seemed, leather laden feet still carried us to the bus stop every morning. Bus passes gripped in sanitised hands. Soon however the bus was the very vessel that took us away from school.
Books strapped precariously to our backs, breath strained with the effort of holding the equivalent to a pile of bricks, we left.
Those very books were placed haphazardly on desk chairs, school bags stored away and uniforms folded. Early morning home room turned into a computer screen with weary faces speckled across it, as if in an old family sit-com.
Political summits were held. Bleach seemingly the new Botox to a certain American representative.
Death tolls rose and life went on.
We found new ways of life, new patterns, new hope. Or, as my school teachers so eloquently put it, we found the new normal. Soon we edged our way back to school, books as heavy as ever, hearts a little more hesitant.
So that leads me back to here. My school desk as cold and unforgiving as ever, head still hosting a rock concert and hand still scribbling away.
The sky is grey and ashen, quite ironic really, seeing as it was filled with ash what seems like mere minutes ago. We were all so focused on not burning to a crisp Asia completely slipped our mind. How anything can slip the worlds mind, or even a nations mind is beyond me.
And yet, it did.
All of a sudden men in crisp suits were appearing on our televisions, statistics in hand, frowns plastered to their faces.
But despite how dire things seemed, leather laden feet still carried us to the bus stop every morning. Bus passes gripped in sanitised hands. Soon however the bus was the very vessel that took us away from school.
Books strapped precariously to our backs, breath strained with the effort of holding the equivalent to a pile of bricks, we left.
Those very books were placed haphazardly on desk chairs, school bags stored away and uniforms folded. Early morning home room turned into a computer screen with weary faces speckled across it, as if in an old family sit-com.
Political summits were held. Bleach seemingly the new Botox to a certain American representative.
Death tolls rose and life went on.
We found new ways of life, new patterns, new hope. Or, as my school teachers so eloquently put it, we found the new normal. Soon we edged our way back to school, books as heavy as ever, hearts a little more hesitant.
So that leads me back to here. My school desk as cold and unforgiving as ever, head still hosting a rock concert and hand still scribbling away.