Past Meets Present Meets Past

Yesterday, I woke up to a letter in the post. For me, for once. And it wasn’t even a flyer. So you can imagine my delight.

Yeah, try to imagine how fast the delight descends into pure horror when you see that the letter is, in fact, one from your former school. It’s a letter that comes every year. Not so much a letter, actually. It’s an invite. To their open day. And every single year, it arrives, like clockwork, around this time.

Even though I left there four fucking years ago.

It’s kind of amusing. I mean, I know they probably send them to every former student. But still.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to accept the invitation and go. And I realized, not for the first time, that I’ve gone through an incredible change since I left. I’m so not the same person as I was when I last walked out of there.

For one thing, I’ve lost 45 kilos. I wear my hair short, I dress differently and I have more confidence.

But it’s not the new look that matters. It’s that I have absolutely nothing in common with any of these people anymore, apart from our past. What do I tell them about what I do now?

On the other hand, that very very wicked part of me is keen on indulging. Just telling people that I strut my stuff in two countries now. That I’ve been published. That I have a solid blog going for me.

Or embarrassing the shit out of them when I, for instance, casually work butt plugs into a conversation with the school counselor. Or tell the social assistant that I write dirty stories for a living now.

It would be great.

Except I’m in London then. Doing stuff that, quite frankly, is a lot more interesting than listening to the yearly open day open mic.

In all seriousness, I don’t know how to explain my present to my past. And I’m starting to feel like I shouldn’t. Why should I needlessly defend myself? I know that I’m doing well now. Whatever they think of it doesn’t matter.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Part of me wants to prove all those claims they made years ago wrong. But an overwhelming part of me isn’t bothered anymore. They’re not in my life and I’m not in theirs.

I made a new start.

And I’m quite happy with that.


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  1. Heh – an old schoolfriend of mine once asked me if I’d ever consider attending one of these reunions, and my response was “Only if I’m allowed to carry firearms”… still a few scores I’d like to settle, even 30 years on 😉


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