Take a moment to yourself right now and think of a precious time in high school, one which, until you grow old and grey you vow never to forget. Thought about it? Your matric farewell sprung to mind, didn’t it? I thought as much.
See, you’re just like most people I’ve talked to who have often compared their farewell to their wedding day; the sparkling gowns, the tailored suits, the expensive cars and the gorgeous dates, how could you possibly not compare?
I’d like to think that if my wedding is ever anything like my matric dance I would redo it over and over until I get it right. I’d find a dress that looked less like an unfinished body-shaper, which exposed every bit of my body that I was insecure about. I would tone down on the jewellery so that I looked less like a pimp, I’d save up for that vintage car from the classical movies I’ve seen.
I’d pick a vineyard somewhere in the Cape for the venue, instead of some dodgy looking prison hall. I’d serve warm rice and fully cooked chicken, or maybe I’d go fancy and serve something that sounds peculiar like Lobster Alla Diavola and yes, I’d dream that dream date to life.
I’d pretty much have a resurrection of my farewell and yet only keep the part where I received my something special, which I found on the table right next to my plate of cold chicken and grape juice, wrapped in a black case that made no secret of what was inside, a black and silver Balmain pen with the school’s emblem and the words ‘Class of 2014’ engraved on it. It was surely something beautiful which only a few found worth keeping.
As the matriculants, with their dates by their sides danced the night away, I sat at my table and stared at my pen. It was in that moment where I held this pen with sentimental value as it became a symbol of new beginnings. I realized that what I was feeling was only temporary and that as soon as I had written my final exam I would set of into the adult world and begin writing the new chapters of my life, which ironically for me involved becoming a writer.
I labelled this pen as my something special because I believe that it helped me confirm that I belong with the writers. Honestly, who else gets over excited about receiving a pen as a gift? It’s been with me throughout college and then to my best and worst of job interviews. I’ve written stories that have been rejected with it and stories that have been praised and carry it in my bag, always. I’m not a believer of luck, however I do believe in guardian Angels, and I’m not saying that this piece of metal is my guardian angel, however, I do believe that it motivates the writer in me and that is why I call it my something special.