Long lost survivors of the working order.
There was a time when, a gesture as simple as saying “Hello” meant something; a gesture of kindness, acknowledgement, and admiration.
The universal language, the handshake; it used to mean something.
Somewhere along the way, we started building up categories.
Language, Race, Origin, Culture, Religion, got in the way of what humanity meant — unity.
Of how people could just come together and have a laugh about something as simple as watching Mr. Bean imitating the Queen’s Guard.
We forgot to leave our differences at the door, and decided we’d start labelling one another.
At college, we left our differences at the door — and they stayed there.
We’d laugh at the same tomfoolery and take pleasure in simple things.
A gesture as simple as a group of strangers from Brazil and Italy, inviting us to join to a party they were having later that night.
Of how they’d share, little of what they had, coming from poverty —they weren’t fearful of sitting next to one another and enjoying each other’s company.
Of inviting strangers they’d met on a campus over to their home, to have a good time; and share Lasagna and Picanha.
We wouldn’t judge each other by what “Religion” do you belong to, or what “Political” party we supported.
We would judge each other on our taste in music, and argue over who’d be in control of the playlist.
It’s insane as I look back at how we were all able to get along, just fine.
Christians, Atheists, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists — all sitting next to one another; making sure we took care of one another.
Of how easily we could talk about our personal problems, of what we’d over come in life to get this far; only to find a sense of belonging and affirmation for one another.
Playing a game of hogging each other’s jumpers, we’d forgotten when the time came to part ways of who exactly the clothes belonged to.
I’ve got a few jumpers in my collection, I’m sure aren’t mine.
Yet, they’re reminders of how something so simple as “Mate, you look cold — here borrow a jumper, you skinny matchstick”, would induce more love when we’d pass comments to one another.
“No, don’t borrow his jumper. He rarely does his laundry”, we’d all laugh.
Roasting one another constantly, nobody ever took offence.
It felt like wonderland of how easily we could harmonise as youthful students on a college campus; only to find that in adulthood — these differences weren’t quite as welcome when we attempted to assimilate.
The elders had decided, who we were supposed to like and who we weren’t.
Yet, it warms my heart to this day — to receive messages from the past of how I’m still loved by my fellow degenerates and free-spirited friends.
If only it were that simple, to translate the kinship shared on a college campus beyond the confines of it.
To let people know, it’s really not that difficult to respect one another.
To give a warm hug, when we failed our exams.
Or how our Med-Student mates came to our rescue when we missed the deadline on a project.
Faking medical certificates to buy ourselves more time to procrastinate, remembering at the last minute “I don’t think I can fake another medical emergency”, and how we’d all come together to help finish each other’s projects.
Continuing to roast one another for grammatical errors, we’d laugh hysterically as we submitted our assignments seconds before the deadline.
Of the all-nighters we’d pull, only to pass out; rarely sleeping in our designated bedrooms.
Waking up after a night of partying, to cook for each other — half asleep but still having enough energy to roast that one friend who acted like a total creep last night.
Or how someone had thrown up in a garbage can.
Or how someone found a couple making out in a bathroom so decided it was best to urinate in a cup instead — only to try and prank the other making them believe “Trust me, it’s not piss! It’s Cider.”.
Of all the foolishness that went on, we never forgot to laugh at one another.
A deeper affection that didn’t require the words “Hey bud, I love you!”, because our actions spoke louder.
Of how we stuck by each other, through thick and thin — we never once though of our differences.
All we were, and still are — are human beings.
Long lost survivors, thrown in a world we do not understand anymore.
Of how we let hatred take over, and build walls between our friendships.
Yet the faith still remains, because no matter how tough it gets to pass through borders and register a visa — we’d still figure out a location where we could all come together.
The realisation that the bond we built, will truly last forever.
Here’s to my fellow survivors, my dear friends, and my brothers and sisters.