From the depths of obscurity
Through the crowded corridors of school,
There walks The One.
Not conspicuous, not greeted, not even seen
Is it a vampire, is it superman,
“Oh look it’s that guy who’s in our class. Is it? Never seen him”
I am the Wallflower.

We aren’t dark, definitely not dirty. But how would you know? We are that rare, outlandish breed that belongs to the genus “cellophane”. People see right through us; we’re evanescence personified. So who am I, and what do I want, you ask. Ha! I get that a lot. I am your wallflower, a cliché yet not one. A quasi-cliché, perhaps. If you are daring enough, you can address me as, “Oh, path-illuminator, my illuminator”. Pardon the failed attempt at misquoting The Dead Poets Society.

The Wallflower Journals is not some gibberish disguised as a daily account; Twilight or even High School Musical is not the underlying pattern here. My call of duty is simply to introduce you to my garden, the secret garden- a world where the talentless and the endowed are huddled in a mono-community- not out of choice though, we’re left-till-the-end people. A population which takes pride in being subtle, rather too subtle, to, how do you out groups put it- enjoy school life like they are the glory days, a Broadway Show. We’re just the shy kind, underdogs if you may, but I have my reservations, the slight enthusiasts prefer the term “late bloomers”, no pun intended.

And I, The Chosen one, unveil the school life of a wildflower. See it through the eyes of the ones who are rarely seen (read: noticed). Experience history being made, just with a slightly tinted perspective of the one who was least involved- or rather, least highlighted in its making. In simpler words; school life sans the element of being cool, popular, or even- in select cases, intrigued or interested.

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