On Getting To Know Me

Okay, so it’s been a while now since I’ve been in contact with a few of my old schoolmates. But before I go ahead and talk about it, here’s a little trip down the memory lane.

In fourth grade, I changed my school and got a whole new lot of friends, eventually losing contact with the ones at my prior school.

That’s it. That was the little trip.

Now, it’s been what? Seven years? Eight, maybe? And since our classes happen to be same now, I’ve been seeing those formerly-familiar faces again regularly.

And I do remember a few things from back then, in fact, there are many incidences, people, things about the school, how my classmates used to be – that I still remember.

And those people remember me too.

Only, they know me differently.

Now that we sometimes happen to engage in brief conversations, I realize that those people knew a different version of me, the older version, the ‘third-grade-me’ person.

And I remember myself quite differently.

It is vaguely intriguing how they think of how I was back then. Sometimes I think they conjured up a version of me out of their own imagination, a version of me even I don’t recognise.

Also, it’s weird. Because there’s absolutely no way in peeking into other peoples’ minds. But here we are, drawing conclusions from whatever words don’t fail to explain. Honestly, words aren’t limits to expression, they’re just a pathway.

And, when either them, or I, myself, talk about it, we seem to be learning the way people took us back then, the way they knew us.

A way, and a person, that is alien to us.

Or so I think. That’s the way it is.