Love the word: Misfit


Me, at an age I forget

Started occupying my current afternoon with sorting out my pictures, pre photography-obsession phase. Seems like I don’t have a lot to sort, really, but I do lament the loss of most of my class pictures, with only three surviving, and they just had to be high school photos. I’d prefer my elementary school years, forgetable in most parts, but I was smart, and a notch above-the-rest, collecting a couple of honorable mentions on recognition days. High school was just dreadful.

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See, I was a misfit in high school. I was the rocker dude who-didn’t-show-it, who was months ahead of everyone re trends. My cousins literally took and ran away with my Eraserheads tape from the karaoke machine we had in class for a party, to play in their respective classrooms. Rocker-wannabe’s were offering money for my rock-themed notebook binder, since mine had a collage of clippings from rock magazines, vis-a-vis the sucky poster-types everyone else had (and during the period when everyone had a rock-themed poster, I switched to a racy Bennetton mag ad, with pastel-colored condoms). I mingled with the hip-hop crowd because I thought the metal vs. hip-hop war was ridiculous and juevenile. Despite that, I felt I was miscast here.

Enter college. I passed and Engineering course in UP, that was ok, except for my failing grades. When I shifted to Masscomm, things got better. Hung out with the Fine Arts kids who shared varied music, artsy interests, started going to concerts and film screenings whenever I had the chance, and I got myself into a university dorm. That feeling of belonging rocks so much.

[Listening to: Greenlander – Pavement – (3:11)]
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