At present I find myself in a melancholy, poetic mood, and a quick glance inside tells me that perhaps a visit to some place of my childhood would do me good. So I wait to board the #26 bus--I may stop at the grounds of my old middle school, or perhaps the university.

I wonder what other inner forces drove me to seek a different environment this night. Some inner restlessness, a terrible fatigue. Anyway, my hope is that this short trip will bring me answers.

The cry of youth, romance, camraderie, sport, old memories good and bad, old best friends--these draw me.

I alight at the bus stop I had stopped at so many times before--that of my old middle school.

It has been 17 years since these 30-year old eyes have gazed on this building and its walkways. And through one of its inner windows at the top of the staircase I see a younger version of myself, in school uniform, staring back at me. Walking further I see, fronted by pavement stripes, the old gymnasium doors from which I emerged on graduation day, never until now to look back. I still remember my parting words (an ill attempt at humour) to my friends Jason Kwon and David Mortimer.

But the flag poles bear no flags now; the schoolhouse has been converted to an Earth and Ocean Sciences institute.