SUNSHINE

Finally, I would like to thank my fellow classmates.  I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you.

Valedictorian speech written.   Come on, Amelia, no sleeping.   Time to write the memoriam.   Everybody would have completely forgotten about Sunshine, aka Jennifer, if those idiots stopped talking about weird stuff.

On this day as the Class of 2008 celebrates our graduation, our Sunshine isn’t here.   Jennifer Halloway sadly took her life seven months ago.  

Couldn’t someone else give this speech? Heaven knows, we weren’t friends. Sunshine didn’t have any friends. I didn’t even know her!  Well, maybe a little bit.

Sunshine always lit up a room with her distinctive style.  She brought laughter wherever she went.

My first encounter with Sunshine occurred the first day of fifth grade.  Jennifer stumbled through the homeroom door dressed in a jumper that was falling apart at the seams with a sun patch centered slightly below her large breasts.  The tall, overweight girl, with a haircut that even a discount barber wouldn’t admit to, clutched her books closely to her chest.  As a chorus of “You are My Sunshine” sprang from the mouths of a group of students near the back, a storm of spitballs flew through the air.  Sunshine didn’t even look up amid the commotion but headed to a corner desk at the far side of the classroom. A wave of sympathy overcame me, and I began to get up to greet her, only to be met by Susie, my best friend’s hand. I looked at my friends.  Some were laughing while others had wrinkled up their faces as if Sunshine had a communicable disease that could be passed through the air by her mere presence.  There is not much I can say now.  Then I was a ten-year-old girl who wanted to be liked so I wrote off Sunshine’s life, joining in my friends’ laughter and jeers that would last for nearly seven more years.

Her intelligence and compassion did not go unnoticed by teachers and fellow students.

Sunshine remained on the periphery of my universe.   We were both smart, extremely smart.  Advanced placement classes cluttered our schedules; at least for a while, but she lacked the social graces to stay amongst the “gifted.”  Group projects were the new fad in education.   My peers pretended to let Sunshine be part of the group during class, but everyone knew the real discussions, work, and fun happened afterschool. Nobody ever told her where the meetups were happening.  When it came to the division of work, the group inevitably responded: Jennifer refused to help.    Some of the teachers would try to elicit a defense from Sunshine, but she remained silent.   I guess she never got over the fear instilled in her in elementary school.  Supposedly, she told on some bullies for calling her “Cabbage Patch Kid” and they slammed her in the mud and kicked her bad.  Of course, there were some teachers who were just as ruthless as the students.  I heard Ms. Reardon, the sixth-grade science teacher, tell her that despite her intelligence, social problems meant that she would never succeed in life and Mr. Pearson, the seventh-grade English teacher, said someone as poor as her shouldn’t have hope. I wish I could say that I acted differently, that I tried to include her, but I didn’t. By the time we reached high school, the group project grades had dropped her out of my academic circle.   However, the continued bullying kept Sunshine burning bright in my orbit.

Jennifer’s grace was an example to us all.

The whole cheerleading squad threw me a welcome party the day before my freshman year began.  They even brought me the cutest outfit and a junior offered me a ride. At 7: 15 a.m., she pulled into the driveway in her clunker.   Fifteen minutes later we screeched into the parking lot, just as the buses were pulling in.  The unmistakable sound filled my ears.  “You Are My Sunshine.”   Mud balls flew knocking Jennifer from the stairs of the bus onto the concrete.   She pulled herself up dredging her splattered sunshine jumpsuit with her.  As she stepped through the entrance doors, Sunshine disappeared from my mind again.

Though she wasn’t one of the more outgoing students, she was beloved by everyone.

That first year our paths didn’t cross much as our classes were clearly different now and extra-curricular activities weren’t her thing.  At times, I would hear calls of “fatso”, “creepy”, and “not so little Orphan Annie” coming from the halls, and witness Sunshine being thrown into lockers.  At lunch she sat alone, while some kids threw food at her and most...okay, all…of us just sneered.   Gossip went around that her grandmother, her sole living relative, got cancer and the water in her house was turned off.      Her hygiene suffered, ostracizing her even more.  One morning I really had to pee, so reluctantly ran to the gross bathroom on the first floor. That giant jumpsuit was in a sink with Sunshine scrubbing it with a bar of soap. Laughter exploded from me.  She just stood there scrubbing…I am sorry I did that now.

I, for one, enjoyed Jennifer’s contributions in the classroom.

A language class was required for all students and, unfortunately, I lacked any skills in this area, so this meant mixing with all the other sophomores. As I walked into class, I noticed the name cards carefully placed on the desks. Señora Amelia Brantley.  Cute.  Assigned Seating.  I scanned the desks.  Señora Jennifer Halloway right next to Señor Harry Hankel, the quarterback, who later became captain of the football team, a notorious bully. Everyone thought Harry would make it to the NFL someday bringing fame, and money, to our school. Thus, his pranks were largely ignored, especially by the popular teachers, like Ms. Garcia. Throughout the semester, every time Ms. Garcia turned her back, he would take hold of Sunshine’s desk and throw it into the wall leaving her reeling. Ms. Garcia refused to discipline Harry, instead admonishing Sunshine for moving her seat.  The worst day came on Cinco De Mayo.   There was a buffet of Mexican delights contributed by the students and Ms. Garcia.  A decorated piñata hung from the ceiling.  At the end of class, Ms. Garcia had us start a Conga line.   When Sunshine tried to join in, no one would touch her back.  They called her a dirty pig and made oinking sounds. Rather than discipline the class, Ms. Garcia simply broke up the line and we went back to the Cinco De Mayo feast. Sunshine went to the back corner of the room, sat down on the floor, and for the first time ever, I saw her cry.   That was the beginning of the end, even though I neither knew nor took any steps to stop it.

She was the picture-perfect student.

To be honest, SAT’s, college applications, and maintaining my 4.0 kept me too busy after that to think much about Sunshine.  I jumped on the chance to assist with developing the year-book pictures, not only since it would add another line to my Ivy League applications, but also because I loved watching the blobs slowly transform into images of happy people.  Cheerleaders forming pyramids.  Football players making touchdowns.  Even Susie’s mug, now a beautiful young lady, smiling at the Junior Fall Dance.    After school one day, I stirred the solution as the last picture appeared.  My arm grew limp as the picture came in focus. Sunshine was sitting in the corner of the gym at a pep-rally, all alone, grasping her knees.  She looked so miserable, like a puppy that had been hit too many times.   Gently, I moved the image towards the trash when the Senior Editor came in and stopped me, laughing and pronouncing that this would be a highlight. I didn’t say anything.   The centerfold of the yearbook was Sunshine’s picture with the caption, “You are the light of our school.”

As we are here to celebrate our own accomplishments, I know the Senior Class wishes they could throw Jennifer a ceremony that could honor her alone.

Unlike my freshman year, I walked through the school doors on the first day of my senior year with confidence and pride; head of the cheerleading squad, member of the student council, editor of the yearbook and a shoo-in for valedictorian.   Frankly, this was just a distraction from the wait on the responses of the Ivy League schools. December was the traditional month that early applicants received an acceptance…or rejection. August. September, November, were all a blur.

December 12th, I arrived home and opened my inbox:

NEW MAIL

HARVARD:   APPLICATION STATUS

SUSIE:    SPECIAL CEREMONY FOR SUNSHINE, DAWN

Clicking the attachment of the first message, my hands shook uncomfortably. The Harvard Crest sat cleanly at the top of the letterhead.  My eyes scanned the document.

“Congratulations.  You have been accepted into the incoming Class of the Fall Semester of 2008.”

The next few hours were a haze.  Screams and tears.  My mother hugging me.   Calling Susie.  It all seems like a huge mess of emotions now.   Later that night, Susie called to remind me that she was picking me up at 6:00 a.m. for the ceremony.  The excitement of the day had overwhelmed me.  I assumed it was another award for one of the teachers.  The second e-mail remained on my computer unopened as I dreamed of Harvard crimson sweatshirts.

The alarm rang all too soon, I threw on a hoodie and my Northface winter jacket and lumbered down to Susie’s car.  The window made a perfectly good pillow and blocked out most of her jabbering. Later, I learned that Susie was explaining that Sunshine’s grandmother had been missing for a few days.  One of the idiots from the football team called Sunshine impersonating the police luring her to the flagpole in front of the school, our destination, with a promise of information regarding her grandmother.  If I had only listened to Susie.  Or opened the e-mail.  Or done…anything.  

Susie screeched to a stop a few blocks from the school where several other cars loaded with seniors had assembled.  I struggled from the car, joining a group of twenty-five in a steady creep.  As we came over the hill, I could see Sunshine standing beside the flagpole in her old, scantly patched coat, shivering in the cold.  She kicked the snow around her, weakly mouthing, “where are you Grandma.”  The group pounced on her. Harry Hankel seized her by the arms forcing her to face the flagpole.  From under the snow, two other blindsiders began to pull ropes causing a pair of bloomers and a bra to ascend. The sunshine patches left no doubt of the owner, though I had no idea where the mob had obtained her private items.  The group broke out into a chorus of “You are My Sunshine” as they blasted her with ice balls, several striking her square in her mouth causing teeth to be knocked fully out.   Seconds seemed liked hours until someone opened the front doors of the school.   Everyone scattered.   I stood there for a second watching Sunshine lie there on the ground.  Blood dripped from her mouth staining the snow. Susie pulled me by the arm, and I turned away.  This would be my last view of Sunshine.

I wish I had a chance to know her more personally.

The incident occurred one week before the holiday break.  Sunshine didn’t make an appearance in school that week.     Holiday cheer soon made me forget the horrible event as my family overwhelmed me with gifts of Harvard paraphernalia: sweatshirts, mugs, anything you could imagine.   When I finally stepped back on the grounds of the school, I shivered. My eyes turned up to the flagpole resting on a shadowy image of one of Sunshine’s patches waving.    Susie dismissed it as an illusion due to stress.  Only a few hours into class, the principal called us all for an assembly in the auditorium.   Despite my heavy sweater, I hugged myself tightly trying to keep warm.  Mr. Lumbre, our principal, stepped on the stage, but I could barely see him despite all the theater lights.  A shadow seemed to be engulfing him.  

“Jennifer Halloway took her own life on New Year’s Day.  She is survived by her grandmother.  Funeral arrangements will be announced.  Grief counselors will be made available in the main office.  School is dismissed for the day to allow time for mourning and processing.”

The senior class sat still. I don’t know what they were feeling, all I know is no one said a word.

We really didn’t have the opportunity to say a proper good-bye.  However, even after she was gone, Jennifer still seemed to be with us somehow.

No sunshine came through the clouds the day they put her in the ground.  Only her grandmother and the church pastor watched as the casket descended into the earth.  I sat in Susie’s car staring.  I read in the newspaper that Sunshine had shot herself with her grandfather’s old gun. Her grandmother, finally recovering from a bout of dementia, returned to find her in the garage a few days later. Some of the other seniors said they were going to come to the funeral.  Susie backed out but let me take the car.   Only the hearse and the pastor’s beat up Chevy kept me company in the cemetery parking lot.  I couldn’t bring myself to get out and drove away in perceived silence, though I thought I heard the faint sound of Nat King Cole’s “When Shadow’s Fall.”

The grief counselors only stayed a few days as no one sought their services. Sunshine never left.   No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, every morning the sunshine shadow enveloped me as I crossed under the flagpole.  As the temperatures rose outside the school, they fell within.  The furnace was replaced, but the temperature didn’t rise a degree. They tore apart the ductwork, vents, and changed all the thermostats.   Nothing worked.   Soon things…well…they started getting scary. Senior girls were randomly being thrown into lockers.  Books flew from students’ arms.  The darkness and “When Shadow’s Fall” were everywhere. Most of the students, and staff, for that matter, were unfamiliar with the song.  My grandmother adored Nat King Cole.   Though I used to love hearing that smooth baritone, I shivered as it creeped from every Ipod, car stereo, and even the PA system.  No other music has been heard in the school since Sunshine’s death.  

I walked into a biology class one day on a mission to deliver notices of the upcoming teacher and student council cooperative meeting.  There sat Harry Hankel snoring away as a film on protozoa projected over him. I stared at him and sighed, sick of the whole damn school. To my shock, an invisible force picked up his desk and relentlessly banged him back and forth into the wall.   I saw nothing touch him but some in the class maintain that a sunshine shaped shadow passed over the film screen before the accident.  Harry’s dreams, and the school’s dreams, were over.  The doctors were unable to repair the damage in his right leg.  He will never play football again.

We wish she could have partaken in the many happy activities of Senior year that are captured forever in our memories.

The final grade announcements confirmed my valedictorian status.  I wanted to drop it all and drive off to Massachusetts, never to look back.  However, the yearbook distribution had to be done.  On the penultimate day of school for the seniors, I walked into the student council office and watched my junior editor sliding receipts into each book. She abruptly stopped, something seeming to catch her eye.  Flipping open the book, she let out a shriek and bolted from the office.  Drifting over to her workplace, the pages of the yearbook flipped back in the constant cool breeze that pervaded the office. I covered my mouth in horror, looking down at the faces, or lack of faces, of the senior class.  Susie should have been smiling back at me.  Instead, there was a black spot in the shape of a sunshine. Book after book, page after page, the same.  Black blotches smeared out any faces of seniors.  Slumping down in a chair, I began to cry.  I wasn’t sure then, or even now, who or what I was crying about. Was it for our lost happy year? Was it for the loss of my hard work? Or was it finally for Sunshine?

We are all sorry for the tragedy that befell Jennifer.  I can only hope that Sunshine can find the peace she was seeking.  Goodbye Jennifer.  

There will be no yearbooks to sign this year.  Mr. Lumbre cancelled the prom.  No one objected.  Soon there will be parents wishing many of us well as we head off to our respective colleges and universities.   The question is will Sunshine be with us?  Will she stay at the school?  I don’t know the answer to that.   I do know that she is here now as I type these words, shivering, in the dark, a sunshine shaped shadow looming over me.

I…am…. sorry….

i never check my mentions apparently @alpacalmond and @uiyutrentasei tagged me in a GTKM thing so im gonna do it oh uhhhh 2 weeks later LOL because i cant sleep and i hate myself

i tag @hal-strider if they didnt do it? and @noctiilucent, @kiyumiarashi, @whimsicmimic and @ataliaf uwu and anyone else who wants to do it!!

how tall are you: this is a cryptid question. i get a different result every time i try to measure myself and ive never asked anyone else to do it for me. some people tell me im very short, others have told me im average height for someone who is afab. im gonna hazard a guess at 5′5 tho.

what colour are your eyes: very dark brown

do you wear contacts and/or glasses: glasses. i literally CANNOT see without them. i mean like 2 inches from my glasses-less face is so blurry its unbelievable. i get super triggered by eye stuff tho so contacts are a no go ALSO i look weird w/o glasses anyway.

do you wear braces: no my teeth r p good actually. one is a bit wonky but thats life

what is your fashion style: i mean 90% panties and a sweaty 4 day tshirt because i just spend all day in my room like a goblin. BUT when i actually go out im ur basic ass post-emo trans dude with skinny jeans, converse and a too-big graphic tee. sometimes i spice it up with a plaid shirt because im fuckin GAY.

when were you born: october 12th 1999, babey

how old are you: 18 motherfucker flashes my titties and gulps a bottle of vodka im an ADULT

do you have any siblings: yes. a younger brother and hes a cunt

what school/college do you go to: im at sixth form rn (last yr of highschool technically if ur american but im not and hs finishes at 16 yrs old here deal with it). im going uni next yr tho and this years almost over for me academically since we go on study leave soon for our final exams. uwu overshares

what kind of student are you: the asshole who never studies for tests and does homework at 5am the morning before and still manages to pull straight As to everyones anger. im also the adhd class clown who makes random noises and cant concentrate half the time. ik i hate myself too im so annoying irl even more so than online.

what are your favorite subjects: in terms of actual content of the subject, english lit fs. in terms of classmates/teachers/general atmosphere DEFFO drama we spend half of our time eating cake, singing random shit and just losing our minds while filming it on snapchat which shouldnt at all be allowed.

what are your favorite movies: god idek. um. fuck. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i cant think of a single movie. ok ok ok i got it: white chicks, premium rush, scott pilgrim vs the world, the cornetto triology too i just love edgar hes such a great director. i like a lot of the marvel movies esp the spiderman hc and thor ragnorok and both gotg were p good. i love a lot of movies my brains just a void that sucks memories up into its fat gob and steals them from me forever.

what are your pastimes: sleeping, crying, used to be rping but i gave up on that, playing overwatch way too much and getting tilted because im shit, reading fanfictions did i say sleeping

do you have many regrets: dude. my guy. come in close. let me whisper in ur ear. are you close? no, closer. ok. 

YES

what is your dream job: whoo boy. im do indecisive and i think a LOT of jobs seem super cool that id never do i.e. be an actor or be in a band. my dream job since i was like 8 was to be a writer which is unlikely since i cant even finish a pwp oneshot. but thatd be cool. id also like to write plays and direct them but thats also wild and v dream > reality. 

would you like to get married: honestly. marriage as an institution? angers me. i dont like a lot of things about it. BUT. part of the reason i hate it is honestly if ur in a long long term relationship with someone ur better off married than not in terms of the benefits so. id happily get married if the other person wanted and/or we felt like it was the right thing to do, i just dont really care about being married or having a wedding tbh.

do you want kids? how many if so: no. hard pass. i might adopt if im long-term with someone who SUPER wants kids but that likely wont happen because i dont want to get into a long-term relationship with someone so desperate for kids since i dont have that same enthusiasm. sorry. ill be ur uncle gabe but im not having my own children im just not well equipped to literally have a full time job of making sure little idiots (meant affectionately) who dont know fuck from shit dont just straight up die. i can barely do that for myself.

how many countries have you visited: shit dude actually ive only visited like... uh... 4??? a lot of my holidays tend to be to the same countries (portugal/america) so i dont have that much experience like i feel like i do.

what was your scariest dream: hmmmm. when i was a kid i had these recurring dreams where i worked at this like. “zoo” where these MASSIVE, i mean ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE string rays that were also pancakes were like. hooked up to make electricity? anyway i hated the job because we all abused the rays super bad to make them generate the power and it sucked and it was all dystopian. there was stuff where like we had to kill the baby rays and stuff. anyway one day it went all planet of the apes and they broke out somehow and could fly and they killed loads of people and i had to go into hiding because they were super clever and could id who had worked at the zoo plant and wanted revenge. its super weird ik but this is pretty tame for my dreams they go HARD and BIZARRE and this one always made me wake up feeling super sick and scared idk. ur welcome.

do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other: no im lonely but its ok because i need to work on me 

put your playlist on shuffle and without skipping the first 15 songs: ok so i dont really have a “playlist” per se so im just gonna use my top 100 2017 songs on spotify which ignores a lot of my non-spotify non-2017 bangers but whatever.

1) ‘My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark’ by FOB

2) ‘Tuxford Fall’ - Vasudeva

3) ‘Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued’ - FOB

4) ‘Fried Noodles: Getter Remix’ - Pink Guy, Getter (listen ive never watched any filthy frank he weirds me out but this is a banger)

5) ‘Brick By Boring Brick’ - Paramore

6) ‘Thnks Fr Th Mmrs’ - FOB (i really dont listen to this much fob this is crazy)

7) ‘Death Note L’s Theme Goes Metal’ - Charlie Parra del Riego (theres no defence for this)

8) ‘Turnstile’ - Vasudeva

9) ‘Idle Worship’ - Paramore

10) ‘Monster’ - Paramore

11) ‘Miss Missing You’ - FOB

12) ‘The City’ - Madeon

13) ‘Far Too Young To Die’ - P!ATD

14) ‘Don’t Stop’ - Nothing More (really this is the band i listen to much smh these results are so skewed)

15) ‘Smile Like You Mean It��� - The Killers

Month of Appreciation, Day 14

Yes, in part because I’m procrastinating. Sue me.

I think this one is going to brazenly commit to a cliche, but sometimes cliches are born in truth. As this set of text posts are meant to reflect people who’ve had an impact on the person I am and will go on to become, and given that family are a tricky topic as my perspective now is very different to what it once was, having spoken at length mostly about friends, and just once with the impacts of a problematic ex, I figure it’s time to talk about teachers.

I think most people can relate to this, and anyone who cant, my heart goes out to you, but most people can probably look back on their youth, their time in high school, or college, and single out a teacher who actually honestly properly made a difference. I was doubly blessed, as I had three or four teachers I could sing the praises of for different reasons, but I’m gonna focus on two - my AS English tutors. 

Now, I went to a sixth form, I had been taught by both of these teachers before my AS year, one as an English tutor in year 9, which was NOT an enjoyable class - her no nonsense attitude somewhat clashed with youthful nonsense. The other was my form tutor in year 11, meaning mostly that she had to remind me daily that my uniform was a mess.  Origins unimportant, mostly, the only other bit of context, I was fucking GOOD at English. Lit or lang, didnt matter, I was an avid reader, I could last minute a full marks essay, and the english department as a whole knew who I was. 

So these two teachers at AS level. There was a big difference, between years 11 and 12. Firstly, class sizes dropped from 30 ish to 10 ish. Secondly, instead of 30 petulant 15 year olds in school uniforms wanting to escape and go to lunch, it was 10 16 year olds who had chosen the module intentionally, that wanted to escape and go to lunch. The teacher/student divide was less pronounced, the workload took a degree of competence for granted, and the source material was 50% closer to interesting.

I’m gonna use first names, dunno, it feels wrong naming them in full, or using “Mrs ___” like I’m still a child.

Kirsty and Charlotte were their names. Both adult ass women who really goddamn knew how to do their jobs.

Kirsty first up, she was the kind of teacher who can really petrify a class. If a teacher gains respect by being loved or feared, holy damn this lady had mastered the latter. She was the kind of teacher you can imagine being sent to deal with a prison riot, in that classroom, she was god, and analysis of poetry was her divine message. The class meanwhile would dutifully listen and take notes, doing near anything to escape her scrutiny over their own work.  She was wasted on that class. I dont say this with any arrogance, it’s to the credit of her skill as a teacher that I can boast this, I was the exception. This was the teacher that taught me WHY I’m good at English lit - English lit is debate in pure form, the truth of the authors’ intentions do not matter, all that matters is your capacity to logically argue the point you’ve decided to make. And oh my, debate is what I did. For a full year, every lesson - where suitable - was a debate. Once the rest of the class had contributed what little she could force from them, my opinion was always welcomed, and I would come ready to defend it, I would put in the work because goddamn I wanted to win. I wont give any specific cases, they’re not the point even if I do still have two or three I remember with pride. The point was, for the first time in my life, little 16 year old me flexed the muscles of that big stupid brain, stepped into the ring as an academic, not just a student, and pulled every goddamn trick I could handle to interpret the text *my* way, to form a distinct point of view, and fight, tooth and nail to defend it. She would actively contradict my points, with text backed arguments of her own, not to tell me that I was wrong, but to force me to push further, to make me dance across whichever text was in question and read deeper than I had before, abandoning my well made plans and thinking on my feet. She made me love English Lit in that one year, simply by treating me as an equal, treating me as an OPPONENT, and challenging me to be better. Not only that, she found out that my GCSE English Language paper only got an A, and without seeing it demanded that the school have it remarked nearly a year later, long after I’d forgotten about it. It then got an A*. That was cool I guess. I still miss English Lit. I might start a book club.

The other, Charlotte, was my goddamn guardian angel throughout 6th form, not just AS. Firstly, as an English teacher, whilst less competitive, she was every inch as good a teacher for bringing out quality in my work. She wouldn’t push me as hard over a classroom debate, but if I handed in work that wasn’t every inch the quality it could be, she would chase it. She had an unrestricted faith in my capacity to succeed, and she wouldn’t accept less. For two years, any time I needed some extra advice, guidance or help, she would be there, without a doubt. She would give guidance on coursework that had nothing to do with her.  Even when teachers in other subjects gave me trouble (AS Physics), she would step in and resolve it. She spoke to me like an adult, reasoned with me about my future, understood the strings she’d need to pull to get me to perform (usually pride, ngl) and talked me into working harder. (My Physics teacher meanwhile lied about my grades to try and scare me into working. This very didnt work, and I dropped physics pretty much on his account. Some grudges last.)  Though Kirsty got me to love English Lit, Charlotte basically carried my stupid ass through my Alevels, by knowing when to push me, and how hard.  Me and another of her students actually caught up with her a few times after uni started. I’ve not done that in years. I should do that again. The point is, those two teachers set me on a course. I honestly don’t believe I’d be the same man I am today without those two women turning me from the child I was in year 11, intelligent almost by accident, lazy and unfocused, into an essay-excellent, sharp and critical minded, debate focused uni applicant, who went on to coast his way through a philosophy degree, for some fuck knows what reason.