At first glance, it did not seem like much. It wasn't exactly the first time I had seen the damn photo. The photograph regardless of it being shot in 1995, 1998, 2005, 2006 or now, 2009 looked exactly the same. The ridiculous grin, the imposing backdrop and immaculately starched shirts... serve nothing but to remind me of what could have been... what should have been. Time, contrary to popular belief, doesn't heal wounds, it merely prolongs the pain and scars of what should not have been.
I picked up the photograph and glanced at the joyous yet altogether depressing shot before me. I stare intently into the picture hoping to convince myself that I have managed to put it all behind. I couldn't. The words uttered that night by the pool, the fleeting memory of the instant where I realized that it was not to be, the very first time I walked into the compound where I never thought I would be in... it all comes rushing back in a myriad of emotions. Rage, fear, sadness, a warped sense of injustice and most notably, an unparalleled sense of failure... The picture, or what it had been a mere seconds ago, now lay crushed, torn and shredded on the bathroom floor in the exact same manner my dreams did that fateful day.
I don't think I am over it. I don't think I ever will get over it. A source of strength or perpetual heartache? What it will or might be in the future, no one will know, not even I. Its impacts however are already being felt in the most subtlest of ways. The fear of taking responsibility, the disdain for authoritative figures, the immense hatred for those who wield their privileges without regard for others... all it took was an ill placed comment and a picture. A god-damn picture. Its not over yet; not now, not ever.
