O young jaffle, Dost thou not know the wayeth I feels in my feels?
That once glowing park which occupied our lunchtimes doesn't live here anymore.
And the pub formerly flanked to our side is known only to those departing. As quick as we came, we too are leaving.
Unsure of life ahead. Clerkships and grad offers. Life and death.
But the sureties only distracted from the realities.
Simplifying our lives made sense, but not at the cost of knowing what those realities were.
Is this fitting for prose-like spitting in week twelve?
To the depths of despair, as we head into hell.
The metaphor more apt as the days pass by,
Laptops on desks, brains set to fry.
I long for the days when the square gave us solace,
The mornings when dogs ran from masters and collars.
Afternoons we bathed in all the sun’s glory,
Evenings where its glowing bulbs were seen for storeys.
Warmth exuding; felt high above to those studying,
Reassuring us, through late submissions it calmed the worrying.
Life had come again to MLS this new year, with the injection of young jaffles. But their toasty warmth can only stay contained in those nostalgic pockets for so long. Soon they will deflate into the squashed toastie that is second semester, the cold sandwich that is second year, and the two slices of bread devoid of filling that is the culmination of (for most) a second degree.
Still though, I remain hopeful. Grass has returned to the surface. Colour to its cheeks. Maybe like you, old friend, I too need a facelift? Some time away from the ethereal realm to revitalise myself and reemerge anew. Perhaps I must first wait until these next four weeks pass. But then, together, we can return, ready for a new journey.
I eagerly await your return.
Corque Mann (who is definitely not Karan Desai, 2019 Layout Editor of De Minimis) is a Third Year JD Student on the brink(-ibon Ltd v Stahag Stahl und Stahlwahrenhandelgesellschaft mbH) of an existential crisis.