High school days worth remembering as I found myself Essay

Life is all but a matter of constancy, with the changing seasons and tides cutting the remaining days of the lives of men. The progression of the life of being a student retains a significant room in my thoughts as my high school days will always be remembered, if not by everybody else, at least by myself. Or so I think at least by myself, lest I forget that I had the company of good friends along the way. They never abandoned me in times when I need them most. I was there for them when they, too, need someone to be with. It is only a fraction of what sum of good deeds I must or feel to give them in return. And this is what I liked most in my high school days, apart from everything else that contributed to my identity of who I am today. High school has given me the highest chances of expanding my view not only of myself but also to the people around me. This is whether they liked me or not, or whether they ever know me at all. I must say, friendship has given a deeper sense of camaraderie and that my friends have occupied my thoughts everyday. The bond of friendship I had is what I liked most, although at times tests on friendship seem to erode the rigid relationship I had with my folks. My friends and I usually hung-out on one of our â€Å"camps†, the term we call the official hang-out place of the group. And more often than not, these â€Å"camps† were usually the houses of those who were just nearby the school. My friends always bring with them loads of food, and stuff that we can use to spend our time away especially during weekends. As much as we love listening to music, my friends also play several instruments, bringing with them guitars and percussion instruments as we fill the room with melody—albeit gruesome in lazy days. I remember the days and nights that our circle of friends spent together, lazy afternoons that encircled us until dawn with frivolous stories and flights of our fantasies as the clouds hover above us like sluggish cottons against a background of sunburst orange, cold and rainy days that made us huddle together and make remarks on our facial expressions. I remember, too, the high school gatherings we attended and left without hesitation and without anticipation of what may stand ahead of us. All we know is that we have each other and the world did not matter much anymore. I remember these and them very well. These friends of mine in high school are the some of the classmates I had during those years, expanding as time moved ahead of us effortlessly while we toil in our daily tasks in the academe. We were classmates, and we were friends, treating each other more like brothers and sisters whose family names never really mattered, or from which place each of us came from, or from what little we know or from what much we oftentimes misunderstand. We were an eager bunch of students, whose friendship gathered itself across the days and months, sweeping us together amidst the diversity we were into. I hated moments that were spent on the nothingness of empty thinking; of sitting alone with no one to talk to as people pass me by as if I was not there, not even my shadow. I also hated those times when I could hardly pass my exams and quizzes just because I was not able to remember the details in the subjects after memorizing in agonizing hours during the most unholy hours of the night. But above all these, the one thing I hated the most during my high school years was my inability to completely beat deadlines for I was always short in passing requirements although I make certain that I pour my best efforts in completing what has to be done. Perhaps I took a lot of time finishing-off my requirements never being full aware that my time is greatly affected. Adjustments had to be made, and during those years I kept on adjusting, never knowing exactly where I am heading to but still braving the path that few dared to wander through. And so, in the end, I remembered them all even though I seem to have lost myself. I thought I was never really able to arrive at a point wherein I can know more about myself, of who I really am. Yet my friends were my eyes, and in them I saw myself clearly reflected in those precious organs of vision that gripped my being far tighter than any embrace could offer. I remember my high school days very well, and I remember myself even more as much as I remember my friends.