Here I stand again, at the wrought iron gates. Having passed them only ever as a student, I now smile with false arrogance as a teacher.
"Lotus Child"
My first class was nothing to smile about though, their unruliness and lack of respect only deepens the shocking contrast between generations.
When I was a student here, we address our teachers honourably, rather than, say; "Yo Mr. Nakai!", or "I gotta pee Teacher Hisao!"
What has gone wrong with our society and its values? Honestly, has discipline failed to be instilled? Even here at the very end of the East?
Putting blame on influence from the West seems to be the ever popular thinking, as the stubborn old relentlessly judge the foolhardy young.
I'm tempted to start ranting off about my charges as they clamour their way out of the classroom, leaving me with sudden peace on Orientation Day.
The distinct feeling tingles and trickles through the hollow room's emptiness, ending with a splash of memories as I sit again at my old student desk.
I feel its surface intensely for the little marks and tiny cuts of wear and tear, and pleasantly stun myself when I find they're still here and there.
Not just on my desk, but on Misha and Shizune's as well (Misha's more noticeably), on every desk, the walls, the cabinet, the writing board, ...,
I wear a smile of grandeur for each and every beautiful imperfection in the classroom... All except for the imperfection that seemed to never change;
At the lonely desk seemingly farthest from me, where Hanako never seems to be.
The floor tiles echo with memory of the first walk I had with her, where she used to play a game all by herself when no one was around.
The paintings have changed, the hallways have gotten smaller, and the world felt colder. As I still keep holding on to the memory of her.
We drifted apart by the ebb and flow of the years, as leaves in streams often do. But, she was a flower, a Lotus, hidden from blooming in plain view.
Though even Lilly could not be beside her forever, I still think to myself that I could have done more, to be with her, to truly know her, to have let her know that I love her.
Or maybe I didn't tell myself that I loved her, and pushed those thoughts aside to help her.
To give her wings to fly, to help her blossom from her cocoon, to betray her trust and feelings for me.
There must have been the haunting shatter of love somewhere, in her shouted lies of hate here.
In her bleak dorm room that is forever unoccupied by choice. The only one that used to be a broom closet.
Maybe I didn't give her a choice, the chance, for love between us. Where I now realise how much I had patronised her,
I think I was lost in trying to protect her. Letting her be nothing more than a broken toy, a scared child, a scarred doll to me.
Wandering aimlessly to the sound of a memory, I thought I caught a glimpse of long violet hair in an empty tea room.
The same one where she and I were so comfortable in, the one where this timid student now politely bows and greets me, introducing herself as "Hikari".
"Hikari Ikezawa"
