Finally. Graduated.

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It has officially ended now. The past few days have been of an emotional roller-coaster ride. The distressing robbery of our last final day of school, which would of meant so much to me; the Media and it's manipulations of the truth; the rumours, the terror, the darkness, the pain. To me, I think the truth has been lost in the torture committed by the raw wave of emotion that swept across the year level. I won't deny that it was stupid, we ultimately got what we deserved, the events are most unfortunate. But hey, we made the most that we had, and made Valete night absolutely brilliant.

Yes, it was a formality. Though it was still good. It finally concluded what felt like a cliff hanger as we hang by a spaghetti thread of flesh between the school days, and swotvac. Nevertheless, it was brilliant. I can't deny that it wasn't emotional, but everyone was wonderfully united because of the recent events, it seemed as though in the hall of over 700, everyone knew better than what the media reported.

The school was wonderful, they gave us wonderful gifts to bid us farewell. As my own celebreation, I went and congradulated myself with an ice cold Coopers Pale Ale.

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We got an exclusive Ignatius issue reflection book, certificate vertifying our graduation, life long membership to the community of Old Xaverians, standard Old Xaverian issue tie, the 2008 graduation year book, graduation plaque, year level photograph, Class of 2008 wine glass, Certificate for amount of community service hours: numbered 273

Dad-cut

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Personally, I don't like haircuts very much. But at the same time, I don't like having very long hair on the basis that I end up looking like a girl. On the other hand, I'm too lazy to walk down to the hairdressers and pay for a mediocre haircut. So, I resort to the pain, the ambiguous and uncertainty of a Dad-cut.

My father has always taken pride in cutting his own boy's hair. Since I can remember I have been getting haircuts from my father. They usually end up like a bowl, but surprisingly he manages to do it without using a bowl or any bowl like implements at any time during his campaign on my head.

One year, because I love my father so much, I decided to get it cut outside. I came back, and told him the skills and techniques which I had observed, and told him that he could try it out on my brother, or on me in the near future. That was last year.

This is now, the future, and this is my haircut.

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I look like a pageboy.

It's Here

The pressure is on...

...but I'm not feeling it

Is this bad?

In other news. I got owned:

Fuck you seagate.