Prologue

This is a short piece, written during one of my lectures today (19/9). It’s unedited, and potentially something that I will take further. I’ve always loved creative writing.

Shadows swirl within the depths of my memory. Flashes of laughter, delicious meals I’ve eaten and the smiles of my friends intermingle around the shadows of time and forgetfulness that plague my memories. A time of happiness and plenty. My pen falters as a sudden surge of longing and loneliness sweeps over me. Oh, what I would give to be able to live once again within that time. I recognise this morose mood, one that I have only become more familiar with as time moves on, further and further away from that peaceful, happy time.

I sigh and try to refocus my thoughts, trying to ignore the memory of soft smiles and gentle lips that lingers in my minds eye. I slowly become aware of the lecture on ‘Business-Labour Relations’ that continued around me, unmindful of my momentary lapse down memory lane. But as the monotone drone,discoursing about industrial relations washes over me, a sense of frustration, tinged with anger, builds up within me. Why am I caged here? Living within boundaries and limitations that have been placed upon me. I care not that Italy was decentralised in the 1980s, nor that it was recentralised with tripartite agreements in the 1990′s. But even as I dismiss everything that I care not about, the question arises: What do I care about? And that single thought, such a simple question, plunges me not unkindly back into my memories of a time where everything I cared about was real and with me.