When Winter rears its head, and the cold sweeps in, the stillness in the air leaves space for thought. I am more than willing to take time to reflect during these days. Nostalgia remains a concept that dominates my thoughts. To this day, I feel a strong pull towards my eighth grade year, during which my brother was a junior here at Loomis. Something about this time seemed perfectly ideal. Even though I remember some hiccups here and there, there was nothing major that upset its standing as one of my favorite school years. I was among familiar friends whom I had accompanied throughout the beginning of my public school career. I enjoyed myself immensely and seemed to possess some sort of vigor that would be battered in the upcoming year. I was close with Loomis, though I only knew it from the outside, vicariously through my brother. Still today this Loomis is the Loomis I envision – everything good I heard from my brother or experienced when I came here to visit with him. It was a splendid year, especially the winter. It was the crucial point – the juncture of the end of my elementary self and the beginning of what I consider myself now. Many of my views and aspects of my personality began to morph and become more complicated. During my ninth grade year, however, this process was ceased prematurely. Maybe I remember eighth grade so fondly because it was the light before the dark.
When I emerged on the other side at Loomis, I found not everything went according to my expectations. My brother had left; I had not been able to share Loomis with him and, coming from the dark, I had expected the light to be perfect and pure. But everywhere has its shadows and I needed to adjust to the new Loomis – my Loomis. Still, though, that earlier time is so alluring that I try to recreate every aspect with the help of every superstition. Anything I did or any habit I had, I now try to recreate. I try to listen to the same music, play the same games, see old friends, anything that is similar to what I had done. I figure that my brother was a junior at the time as I am now, so that must mean something. I am afraid of squandering my time at Loomis as just myself. I seem to be waiting for a spark or catalyst. Though, through reflection, I realise it is all about perspective. If I had a brother in eighth grade now, he might feel the same as I felt. I can remember what made me happy then, but I cannot let that keep me from achieving happiness now. I must not let myself get too distracted from my present and simply use nostalgia to help me appreciate my nonce. Through this way I will create a period of time to look back on with the a new nostalgia in the future. I will remember all those around me, those who enhanced my experience here, with fondness. It might be easier to never have been thoughtful or nostalgic in the first place, but then I would have never found my own uplifting solution. And now I still am able to enjoy my thoughts as well as my time here.