DID YOU PICK THE WRONG BOOK IN SCHOOL?

 Snapshot. After snapshot. After snapshot.

Be honest. How many times have you almost gotten a muscle cramp trying to force a smile on those long photoshoots during big ceremonies?

I tell you, I really needed a physiotherapist urgently, at this moment. The clenching was strong enough to be another research paper waiting to happen for a med student somewhere in the world.

The camera man gestured like a fiddling branch rustling in the wind trying to get the perfect pose, just as my lecturer who couldn't seem to hide his smile as people walked by and watched us take photos.

You know, that lecturer who just wants the world to know his bright students and also champions education better than the Ministry itself? Yes, that sort of fella. 

Meanwhile, my classmates and I couldn't wait to use our camera on our phones with all added features, because we'd trust our Photoshop skills than the framing our lecturer might know from before wireless connections were invented.

So it was graduation day. Today was the day we were to be glistened away like shooting stars into the sky.

First class honours, could smell corporate right under their noses. Salary, house and free from anyone telling you what to do? Within a drop of a CVs reach.

Only thing is, that was a year ago. Right now, I reminisce, from the bus stop, with a hand of envelopes with credentials, fitted with a neatly borrowed suit and bubbling hope for the 40th time. First class yeah? I just kept listening to the radio at the kiosk nearby to seem like I was part of the surrounding.

Why did the teachers tell me that the books were the only thing? I still remember trying to struggle for those index numbers. Eeeeeeveryone wanted to be soo academic. Those who read and camped at libraries were seen to "serious with their futures". Trying to get to those universities you only here on international news channels. My chest couldn't be more outward than walking across the corridors, as teachers slipped in more quizzes than the others did. 

Now, my chest curves inward, listening to reggae play from bus stop to bus stop. After each visit to an office building.

Sigh. Those parties that were missed. I literally tried saving my credit and bundles to get extra time to surf the internet to boost my knowledge for exams. As I fiddle my feet on the pavement, I flip open the event poster of the noisemakers of class. Why didn't the teacher tell this one to make us music in class so we could relax? Sigh.

We all knew each other in the confines of school. All the mischievous deeds and pranks pulled on teachers, scrambling to finish homework and rushing for last minute tests, random crushes we used to send letters to. Ha! The joy of camaraderie. Teen life 2.0

Maybe the teachers were always right about one thing though. My cellphone seems to have either lost its ringtone functions or leaving the school gates, we left alone, for real? As the teachers said. I wonder if anyone's cellphone is as silent as mine? Or did network service providers want to hide any embarrassment that I'm currently facing? If so, maybe they'll be welcome to my wedding. If it happens.

It's been a millennia, since that young lady who had a crush on me, from the university just across the road from mine, has sent me a text saying she misses me. She mentioned my future was so bright, and looked up to me. Maybe it's also getting herself together? But she celebrated a job just three months after graduation? I guess it's another lesson in the life of an academic. Just as I scroll through my empty social media, she went with the C student, who has a  business now. Engaged. The filter said.

Even some of my "academic friends" are swimming in their research and kicking off their photo galleries of leafy suburbs. We last sat for a drink, and I scuffled the coins to look like I had enough to fill a bill that was my rent for 3 months. The cat and mouse games began from there about attending events and having sundowners. Lest I be a waiter or posing to be one, my frequency only last twice in a year.

Ehem. The noisemakers, the creatives, as they are called, sport and fitness people, who always made Sports Day and Swimming Gala seem  like the Olympics. Each time, I listen to the news on the radio with the reggae lovers at the kiosk, the public transport vehicle decorations, or even trying to watch a simple show to drown the sorrows of ignored job applications. They are there. All over, like blowing wind.

And then I was with my books, locked like a wild animal being taken to a zoo. Flipping pages, absorbing all the information and glittering future in the horizon as the noisemakers did their best job outside and inside of class. 

Yet again, I still look at the setting sun, while boarding the final bus going towards home. I hope the papers I carry will change to other papers to fit in my wallet.