What's left to say. Fake sentimentality has been around longer than fake boobs. Greeting cards, presents, concerts, plays, all coming to an end. I could sit here and smirk (it is tempting), but I have no right to smirk away the four years. I was really there, I felt the wind and the water and the mud, the late nights and early mornings, the last-minute studying, the frantic LAN parties, drinks and potato chips.
At the end of the tunnel, the end of the road, or a million other cliches I could draw to describe the end of four years I was there, I was there. As for sentimentality, I only remember what Mrs. Chandra once said to me:
"Keep it. These are memories."
What's left in cynicism but silicon and a smirk?
- adam
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