hmm, went to school for more than 4 hours of lit, as well as going to RJ which was quite energy-zapping but an ok experience i guess. didn't have time for hc. then had dinner outside. yay. nydc is a ripoff shithole. oh, and me against the music's mtv is out already, and it's GOOD. hooray for britters and madge! (that sounds damn corny)
------

hmm, the following interjection's just me feeling like basking in past glories, although distorted from their truest form with the retrospect of age, for a little while before I continue the search for what I've lost.

------

The guitarist started strumming the first few chords to the song Top of The World, totally contradictory to my mood. He rifted through, fingers flying up and down the cold, metal strings. Happy campers joined in the chorus joyously. I hated this. I was at rock bottom. I never wanted to come here.

The fire crackled and roared with a vengeance, as though trying to chase me away from tainting the festivities. Had the school authorities not mandated me to join this stupid June camp? Some busybody had complained to them. They said that I was a recluse, a nut, a cuckoo, a loner.

"This camp will be very beneficial to your social well-being."

Probably the only thing beneficial to me at that moment was to keep me from the horrendous, monstrous, dangerous creature called the campers. They were a noisy lot, consisting of whiny, squeaky, teenaged girls who brought to mind the image of American cheerleader bimbos. The other part was teeming with gregarious adolescent louts trying to pass off as young gentlemen. Needless to say, they fit the "American jock" stereotype.

Just then, the counsellors came in and flung planks of wood into the fire. With a woomph, sparks sprayed out with billowing plumes of pungent smoke. My heart fell too, because this wretched event would be lengthened. They poured more kerosene into the fire, and as I watched the tin can being carried away, I felt my heart bleed those ruddy drops, as the can leaked drops of kerosene oil.

The campers burst into song again.

The most ironic thing was that the camp was called Paradise - A Holiday Camp for Social Interaction. Were they out of their mind? I did not need these social gatherings. All I needed was my solitude, my Paradise. I had no need to mingle, I thrived on the loneliness and isolation of life.

Were they trying to "reform" me? My life was great as it was. The worst thing was that the camp's name had attracted that monster, the campers, a noisy bunch of chatterboxes. They threatened to take away my solitude, my very core of life, threatened to rip it away from me.

And so I withdrew. They fire had cast a hazy glow around but I found the darkest corners and crouched there alone, trying to shut out the sound. But the tunes and numbers never failed to find my hiding place, no matter how hard I tried, and they invaded my ears.

Now the fire slowed down a little. The light dimmed down. With it, the pace grew slower. Gone were the sharp staccato claps or furious pluckings. Sad, melancholic songs replaced the jumpy, lively ones. I could sense the mood in everyone beginning to dip. And mine soared.

I've got peace like a river was the next item. I was still not peaceful as yet. I could not get out of that place of chaos or pandemonium. Even the soft, rhythmic tapping threatened to revert back to that senseless madness, my heart started palpitating again. Would this never end?

I saw, in my little cubby hole the eyelids of the hormonally-charged teenagers beginning to droop. Yes! They would sense that it would be time to end this disastrous affair. My eyes gleamed a little. The monster was losing steam, and Paradise would be all left to myself!

But that was not to be. There was still a prize-presentation ceremony for the winning teams which had displayed fabulous skits and performances throughout the course of the evening. My heart sank again.

Perhaps I should just feign a diaorrhea attack, but common sense saved me. The place was a stinking dump, infested with flies and mosquitoes, what say the toilet? If only I could endure more.

And I did. I lived through the scary, thunderous applause, and the booming cheers of "Courage, courage, we're the best!", or whatever it was, if the team was not called Courage.

They filtered away. The monster had done its damage, but I had survived it. The part of the camp with the most social interaction, I had lived through it. And as I stared into the glowing embers of the flame that were dying out, I knew the monster had burnt itself out too. And I felt empowered.

A counselor came by and asked if I was tired and going to retire for the night. I replied with much confidence, that I had finally gotten my true moment in paradise, albeit short-lived. The next day, it would be gone. The monster would be resurrected from the dead.

After this spurt of courage, facing up to a brainless minion of the abomination, I lapsed back into my introverted self, into myself. The minion saw that the monster had been unsuccessful in this skirmish, this once, just this once, scowled and muttered to itself, then scurried away…

Paradise was mine. And no one would have a share in it.

quixoticka eulogized @ 12:01:00 am