1 year ago, I was clad in the most outstanding white uniform in history. Today, I stand here with a dirty green uniform, known for nothing but its striking resemblance to PRSS.

It is time. The time we give thanks to the teachers who modelled us to be Men For Others. They have stood beside us, supported us, cared for us, looked out for us; they are simply an indefinite figure to describe how much they have done for us.

SJI. Home. The only place worthy of calling home.

We walked, marched, to CJC, where we would meet our long lost friends of the past. And we did. Crashing CJC was hell of an exciting way to relive the old times.

It's just too bad we were not, or cannot, be from the same secondary school. But it doesnt matter.

First blink:
I see you. I see the melancholy in your eyes. I see your near-expressionless face again. Unforgettable. And, I always look away immediately, in an attempt to hide my pain. - In my eyes, the world seems most beautiful; I see everyone, friends, relatives, family. They only person I dont see is you. But, in my heart, only you exist. That place in my heart will always be occupied by you. - I dont want you to see my pain. I dont want to give you the chance to symphatise with me. I dont want anymore sudden slips of my heart. I dont wanna miss a thing.

Second Blink:
I see the Cross of Christ. I am in SJI. Surrounded by the most significant architecture, I can literally feel the spirit of SJI in my soul. A world-class Lasallian institution; Unparalleled, Unrivalled, Incomparable. We have friends here; friends of life, friends who will never turn me down in the most ardous times. Friends whom I trust. Friends who prove the ability to liven and understand my life. Friends whom I can unworringly reveal my darkest secrets. SJI - Faith, Service and Community.

Third Blink:
I see myself in the mirror. I want to stare holes into my eyes. My eyes are tired. They have seen too much trouble and despair in this world. I can feel them; they say it hurts them to look at you. I agree. Then I see the eyelids above my eyes. They tell a deeper story. Sadness, more and more sadness. They show precision and experience; like those of an eagle. Then I look at my face. Lines of experience, scarred memories, dried lips. There's simply too much to describe. I licked my lips, moisten them up. They were red again; charged with vitality, just like yours. But the face is only a cover; a cover for hiding everything within the premises of general and assumed knowledge. Its too much for me to bear; my thoughts and feelings are attacking my face, from underneath. Forgive me, let me live. Until then,

I will always be here; if you should need me.