This is the month in which a whole new life begins.
Am i excited? - perhaps.
Aren't you nervous? - Should I be?
Do you think you will miss your friends, classmates of old? - most definitely. But all good things come to an end, so i guess it's time to move on.
What are you expecting of the people you will meet there? - I'm not the optimistic type, neither am i pessimistic. They will definitely be a long way off from the familiar personalities at St. Andrew's.
Indeed, topics of conversation will indeed be very different, perhaps even alien, rules of engagement will be rewritten totally, holds of stances must be altered to cope with foreign grounds.
Classrooms are no longer going to be the fort of you and your friends. Home room system.
Put it simply, this is going to be one hell of a month. I can feel it coming for me. With bloodshot eyes and bloodied arms and cracked fingernails, ISB comes towards me from miles away, but encloses the distance at a breakneck speed.
Am I honestly, truly ready for this task ahead of me?
My personal relations skills is simply not cut enough to provide me enough shelter and time to settle down.
A whole new school, a whole new course, a whole new system, a whole new troop of schoolmates, a whole new platoon of teachers.
Man. I'm not ready for this.
Ah, but even in the deepest darkest of the dark, hope still lies in that little glimpse of light shining like an angelic beacon, far off to the horizon where the endless skies meet the demanding seas.
I can only hope that whomever i may meet will give me my much desired shelters.
The road to the great Civilization of ISB is long and perilous, but the true moment of accomplishment can only be earned deep within its walls.
Now, lets spread those wings, shall we?
End of current Journal
The Padfutonian
Tyler Schoarnnoth Padfoot
The 18th of February, 1992 A.D.
'Once upon a wintery midnight...'
Fort ISB, Elite Guard of the International Baccalureate