The 2023 Chronicle

surrender to peer pressure. This stark reminder of the price of validation prompted introspection, examining the cost of conformity versus the worth of individuality and uniqueness. A seed of change was sown – my heart swelling with a newfound purpose – to liberate others from the invisible chains of societal expectations. To encourage them to dance to their unique rhythm, unencumbered by the judgement of others. The transformative power of this experience unveiled a profound truth: embracing individuality is an act of rebellion, defiance against a world intent on manufacturing replicas, on producing a homogenous army of individuals. Life is a vibrant symphony; a symphony in which we must contribute our unique melody, weaving together a harmonious tapestry of unparalleled beauty. In our individuality, we find the source of true strength, unity, and harmony. Seven years on, the scars of that event are still etched into me. The transformation I experienced was not a quiet whisper but a roaring, resounding echo that impacted every aspect of my life. One powerful manifestation of this was during a Snell presentation at my school. As I stood before influential figures like the Rector and Deputy Rectors, I chose not to play it safe but to present my unique exploration of stigmatism and the use of marijuana. It was a topic far from conventional choices, echoing my distinctive drumbeat against conformity. The response was not thunderous applause but appreciative nods and thoughtful gazes, validating that I had reached them not by fitting into a mould but by breaking free from it. Now I walk, not with a clanking foot, but a heart unchained and a spirit no longer fettered by conformity. This echo of freedom has been my testament to the transformative powers of self- actualization. Today, I celebrate my individuality, allowing my unique melody to reverberate. I implore you to do the same. The power of change resides in each of us, unfettered by others’ opinions. Bing. The swing doors let the last cluster out onto the cold concrete. They exchange platforms. The light trail, outside the window, leads him to a path of involuntary detachment. It all starts to fade in his heavy eyes and his weak body yields to a known distant presence, observed only by the vacant carrier. His mind repeatedly replays them, those moments with her. One by one like a kodak model 550. He falls deeper at each click, accepting the momentarily inescapable destruction. The train halts, disconnecting the chord. His body’s sudden shock temporarily dissipates the nostalgia; his flickering eyes rediscover the unscathed reality of the familiar carrier. Letting out a deep breath, his body wanders out onto the channelled tiled floors. He trudges along, unsavable, helm by his side, surrendered to the night. She was a beautiful storm, one that brought life with her electrifying presence. Her flaws and dark clouds made her Listen closely, and you might just hear your echo of freedom. NOTHING Hendri Zietsmann (B Block)

realbeyond perfection. He was interlinked with an elegant force and, with her, he found peace. His unknown chaos faded from him with every drop of her grace on his skin. Yet the storm drew further away and so the waves returned to the ocean. Destroyed, he lay in the calm waters. The keys’ clatter against the hook is muffled by the loud silence lingering in the unit. He grabs his distorted reflection in the rounded metal handle, dragging the chair past and under his figure. Some nights he stays distracted enough to avoid their photographs hanging on the wall, and her dancing ghost between the offset furniture. But as his eyes follow the dark oak grain out towards the room, he kicks the chair out under him. He lets out a frustrated “god damnitt!” as his fists crack the paint on the wall. There is no mask that can hide the halo of despair over his numb body, lying almost lifeless against the wall. Shakily, he turns the creases in his palm over, to observe the damage across his knuckles. His hands fall into his lap, and serenity sits next to his emptiness, together reminiscing the good that was once there. Once or twice a month, he would set out to the ocean, usually finding himself on the edge of the pier observing the waves. Sometimes, on his walk there he would see hints of her disposition in others. Silently, he would give a gentle smile to himself. The breeze would be more settled, but the sand would still shade dark from the past rainfall. Clouds would take over the horizon, and he would watch as the last light reflected off the deep blue currents. From a universal perspective who they were has very little relevance. However, it is all he has known. It was, for a time, everything and, now, impossible to replace. With his light hair lifted in the night-time breeze, he accepts what he has become and conforms to the idea – he can’t find himself without her. In letting go of everything, he becomes nothing. I felt compelled to follow Forest Gump’s wisdom and, for the life of me, I could not understand why. Was it because I was bored or because I longed for a good movie? Neither seemed good reasons as to why these words wrinkled my mind. “Max. Max! Bruh, let’s go!” My reminiscent state was broken. And so, we continued our march into the uncharted yonder, still to uncover the meaning behind a box of bloody chocolates. “You never know what you’re going to get!” Some might call it unfortunate; however, I call it a blessing. I’m talking about the notorious Group 3. Notorious due to its immense mental and physical strain. Despite all of us being placed in the most difficult of groups, victory came with ease. This group was tough, although I couldn’t decipher if it was because we were really ‘little girls’ with the outer casing of a man trying to “out- man” the person next to us or whether we just had a grit strength determined to achieve. Diverse was an understatement but OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY Max Murray (C Block) “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get!” – F Gump

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