I think it was in 1997, and had something to do with The X-Files. At that time so imbued was I with the show that I practically ate, lived, breathed and drank it; I knew the iconoclastic quips that characterize both Mulder and Scully by heart. My God, I even remember claiming that I wish I were like Mulder because he exuded a sincerity that I wish I could even dream of. However, times change, and three years later, I think I have changed accordingly. Reality bites, and I have come to realize that The X-Files is no longer the staple of my life's diet as it used to be. As a Senior second, I realize that I thankfully have other preoccupations. It is not for a want of trying to remember the life's lessons that I obtained from watching the hit show, but realistically speaking, I, like many other seniors, have no choice but to face the inexorable road to graduation. Although that prospect admittedly fills me with some trepidation, I must undoubtedly face the inevitable and - dare I say use an X-File term - fight the future.

Unfortunately, this preparation for the so-called real world is making me forget the writing that I so used to enjoy doing for this publication. Although I never was a member of staff per se, I remember the regularity with which I used to contribute articles - and yes - it did feel good. I felt a certain glow seeing my name in print. The Vernacular in my eyes was a way of expressing some of my maverick ideas without fear of persecution. It was perfect, because readership was limited, and - the best thing - no one really took it that seriously. Perhaps that was the problem.

There is no denying the quality that the now-graduated (and much misjudged) David, and Dominique as editors strove to infuse to the publication. Their predecessors equally did a good job, even when faced with the problem of trying to reanimate VeCo public opinion by firing it up with provocative themes such as the identity of the scatological-minded Lone Ranger, and more seriously, issues with administration. However, I personally never got the impression that people really took the themes that seriously enough - I included. I remember former VSG Prez Bas Martijnse for example writing about apathy and yours truly, following suit. At the time, I was free to criticize this same apathy, whilst remaining apathetic towards many other things. For starters, I neither seriously joined clubs nor really participated in the late night events. Yet, I enjoyed seeing my names in print, and committed intellectual suicide by claiming that we are all evil by nature.

Now that I think I am more mature, I realize how very easy it is to put pen to paper and either ramble or pontificate over issues. Orwell was perhaps right - that there is something fundamentally vain about those who write: they like to save the world, but know deep down that the impact of what they are writing is so small that they might as well try to do their level best today to get people's attention. Moreover, they are selfish too; they want to see their name in print so they try to find a clever way of going about their writing so that people will think what wonderfully stylistic writers they are. Perhaps they are accordingly lazy, because writing, they find, is less risky than going out to do something positive about whatever they are writing. It is so much easier to play armchair strategist than, say, stand in the streets of Seattle and demonstrate, or even stand outside Nato and show support to the protesters by also shouting no to war in Kosovo.

This ultimately begs the question of why anyone should write articles if most of us epitomize Orwell's candid description. I feel it would be foolhardy not to. After all, the committed individual, so they say, is a source of action, and if writing can help engender an interest in someone somewhere, then what is the harm in that? The paradox of this short article is that, yes, I have demonstrated that I love to see my name in print, and yes, I have admitted that I may be vain, selfish and lazy - but Orwell -- let's lay it out straight -- just this once.