So here I am, 3 days prior to my ordained ‘reporting for duty’. I am unsure how to break the news to my other friends; tell them that, no, I won’t be doing it; I refuse! —especially considering a majority of them are in the same predicament. All those ‘reporting for duty’ within this state are supposed to congregate at a specified venue this Monday for a briefing (at an ungodly hour, I might add) — and, if they (The Authorities) were the least bit human, they would hand out joints to lessen the hysterics and anxiousness of my comrades.
So how exactly do I tell my friends that, hey! I made it out, guys. Tough luck for you…but I’m FREE! Free as a bird!
Even in my wildest imagination that doesn’t seem to go down so well. In the past, my seniors have been quick to condemn those who slip away from service. It doesn’t matter if you paid it back, ho, they say, the point is I’m still in this sinkhole of a situation! I can understand their sentiments—I’ve passed on the same judgement to other friends who were braver and luckier than myself and freed themselves much, much earlier.
I can’t even bring myself to just whisper the fact that I won’t be joining their ranks and participate in the camaraderie of being in the frontlines of our education system—not even to my closest friends in college. Although I am ashamed to admit it, I fear their rebuke and judgement. These are my companions—people I have transitioned from adolescence to young adulthood with—the people who know my hopes, my dreams, my fears. They are the ones who’ve had a peek past my frosty exterior, seen me break down, seen me cry. There is more at stake here than a salaried income. I could lose my friends.
But perhaps I’m too quick to abuse them with my trepidation. Maybe they will stand by my decision and, if not actively supporting me, at least taking a step back and allowing me to go in peace. Maybe they will bite back the diatribes at the tip of their tongues and hold back their sentiments, pegging my personal decision to another one of my quirks.
In return, I will be there when they want to feel superior and tell me, Let’s just say I don’t see you shovelling no five hundred unmarked books from your corridor, bitch! And I will applaud them for their bravery, for their unparalleled effort to teach yet another generation of kids resistant to the idea of growing brain cells, and more interested in gunning a host of creatures down via their game consoles.
Good luck, my friends! My ears are all yours (unless they fall off from so much wear, in which case I will allow emails. Only ONE a day!)
To borrow a well-chosen (and wildly popular) closing phrase from our eminent director: I love you all.
So how exactly do I tell my friends that, hey! I made it out, guys. Tough luck for you…but I’m FREE! Free as a bird!
Even in my wildest imagination that doesn’t seem to go down so well. In the past, my seniors have been quick to condemn those who slip away from service. It doesn’t matter if you paid it back, ho, they say, the point is I’m still in this sinkhole of a situation! I can understand their sentiments—I’ve passed on the same judgement to other friends who were braver and luckier than myself and freed themselves much, much earlier.
I can’t even bring myself to just whisper the fact that I won’t be joining their ranks and participate in the camaraderie of being in the frontlines of our education system—not even to my closest friends in college. Although I am ashamed to admit it, I fear their rebuke and judgement. These are my companions—people I have transitioned from adolescence to young adulthood with—the people who know my hopes, my dreams, my fears. They are the ones who’ve had a peek past my frosty exterior, seen me break down, seen me cry. There is more at stake here than a salaried income. I could lose my friends.
But perhaps I’m too quick to abuse them with my trepidation. Maybe they will stand by my decision and, if not actively supporting me, at least taking a step back and allowing me to go in peace. Maybe they will bite back the diatribes at the tip of their tongues and hold back their sentiments, pegging my personal decision to another one of my quirks.
In return, I will be there when they want to feel superior and tell me, Let’s just say I don’t see you shovelling no five hundred unmarked books from your corridor, bitch! And I will applaud them for their bravery, for their unparalleled effort to teach yet another generation of kids resistant to the idea of growing brain cells, and more interested in gunning a host of creatures down via their game consoles.
Good luck, my friends! My ears are all yours (unless they fall off from so much wear, in which case I will allow emails. Only ONE a day!)
To borrow a well-chosen (and wildly popular) closing phrase from our eminent director: I love you all.
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