
This photograph popped up on my feed on one of the other social media sites. The oldest one. You know the one I'm talking about. It still freaks me out how people find one there. Despite maximum security settings. That said, more than 20 years ago, it was the main means for organising a school reunion.
I have, over the years, mentioned written about school memories. By and large, I put a positive slant on them. But this time, this photograph reminded me the extent to which I was "othered" and isolated. At one time, I shared a dormitory with these three - then - girls. One of them also went to the same university as I. She was my neighbour.
Notice that I did not say we were friends. They might claim that. One, in particular. Because when we were both about 14, I helped her deal with some issues that, with hindsight, went above and beyond.
Looking at that picture and reflecting on engagement on that social media platform over the last 25 odd years, I was struck by how little has changed. I remain on the periphery, pulled reluctantly in by well-meaning individuals who believe they're doing the right thing. Including everyone.
Yes, I have been to school reunions. Two. The first, I found enormously cathartic. Almost healing. The second, less so because, for some reason, the old patterns were emerging again.
Leopards don't change their spots, the old saying goes.
Perhaps my lived experience of the last couple of years has deepened my insight jaundiced me, but it is enabling me to agonise less over being an invisible other.
Why this photograph unleashed this reaction, now, I am unsure, but I do know that I shall not go to our 45th reunion in August. I won't feel as though I'm missing out and don't feel as though I shall be missed. Better that than being invisibly present.
Until next time

Post script
I blog here, on
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Original artwork: @artywink
I create graphics using partly my own photographs as well as images available freely available on
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Canva.