Last weekend, I went to my dad's high school reunion. Some of the people I met hadn't seen my dad since high school, and when they saw each other, you could read both the happiness and the nostalgia from their faces.
The first question they asked each other was "What did you do?" . Some followed their dreams; the girl who sat at the back of the class and drew pictures in middle school became an artist and some chose wealth or job security over happiness; the guy who couldn't decide between the cinematic arts and mathematics became a mathematician. And some, stayed just the same; the guy in high school from which my dad and his friends hid all their notebooks from because he would tear paper out of them to make paper airplanes to throw out of the window of the classroom at the highest floor, has an airplane model collection now.
In thirty years, I am going to see my friends in a reunion of some kind and they will have their children and wives or husbands with them. In thirty years, the couple of people with who I currently spend all my day with, who I see more than my parents somedays and who I share all my life with, may be strangers to me. When I recognized this, tears filled up my eyes and even the thought of not seeing my friend who I've known for 13 years now, became unthinkable.
But, let's be realistic: in thirty years, almost all of my classmates, my friends, the people I love spending time with, sit next to in class, have lockers next to, will be memories and photographs from old yearbook pages.
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