My best friend in high school was a douche. I know it sounds twisted, but
that’s what I used to call him in my head. Douche. He was one of those towards who you express conflicting emotions of both love and hatred. We shared
a bond, strengthened by the common love towards outdoor sports, Green Day and
dark humor. But, he was the Ranchodas Chanchad of our group, and it so happens
that perfection in another causes envy in self. He won the sprint
challenge by half a second; he scored more goals in the football finals; he
spoke more languages, and he had a Parker pen. Even the math
lords, Newton and Pythagoras, were indirectly working in his favor. While girls
shot affectionate, sisterly looks at me for helping them solve their math
problems, they laughed at Rancho’s theatrics involved in his attempts to find
the mysterious x.
A story to remember
“My Very Eager Mother Just Showed Us Nine
Planets,” I repeated after my mom.
It was the late 90’s.
Pluto was then still a part of the ‘Planethood’. As I had struggled to memorize the names of all the planets of our solar system, my mother had simply smiled and introduced me to the world of mnemonics. A series of unfamiliar, dissociated,
impersonal names had suddenly converted into a simplified, relatable phrase.
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