I'm an organizer by nature. It's something that's deeply ingrained in me, but at the same time, if I can't give 125%, I won't even start. Apparently, this is a sign of perfectionism. Although, given the state of my house, it looks more like laziness.

I graduated from high school in 1987. The height of the 80's. The Bangles 'Walk Like An Egyptian' will forever bring me back to my graduation year.

High school was a dichotomy of highs and lows. Like many young girls who didn't really know where they fit in, I often felt like I belonged in a completely different world. I was a smart kid, but didn't want to show it. I was horribly embarassed when I got the highest marks of our entire school in English on the government final exam.

I was a geek, not yet comfortable in my own skin. Yet longing to be one of the popular kids. The stuff they make movies about. Except the popular kids were my friends up until Grade 8. We all knew each other and were very close up until the age of 13 when I began to become withdrawn, and they became extroverted. I was not one of them.

When I left high school, I didn't have any close friends to speak of. I had my boyfriend, who went to another school and had been mentioned in the school yearbook as the one most likely to marry soonest after high school. What a laugh, looking back now.

Time went on. I chose work over school with the intent of becoming a stay-at-home mom. My subsequent engagement eventually crashed and burned in a very explosive and life-altering way and I found my 10 year reunion looming. One of the popular girls was organizing the event, and she happened to live a couple houses down from my parents, whom I was back home with after the crash. I thought, what a great opportunity to show them. Show them that I wasn't at all who they thought I was back in high school. Why do we do this to ourselves?

It was a farce. The cliques were in full gear, and I again relived those outsider feelings. I felt an imposter. The crowning moment though, was when the ultimate powder-puff Cheerleader-esque came up to me and said 'My therapist has told me I need to let go of my anger. I've hated you for 25 years and I just want you to know I don't anymore.' Considering we had met at age 10 and she was only 27 at the time, her math skills left something to be desired.

I left that night glad for the experience but relieved it was over. And I vowed it was over for good.

Flash forward 9 years. Last week, I was asked to rejoin the organizational committee for the 20th reunion. This will be next year, sometime in October.

My organizational skills are tingling. Databases to make, people to track down. The mere thought makes me motivated to get started immediately. But will this just be a re-run? Will I be reduced once again to that 17 year old unsure little child? I'm 36, never married, no kids. That little girl who's only dream was domesticity is long dead. It's not something I often worry about - my life is better now than I ever dreamed, but there is still that little part of me that is somewhat vulnerable to the past.

I'm determined to make this a positive event, rather than a rehash of the former.

So I ask you, my dear friends, what do you think of reunions? What did you like at yours, if you had one? Why did you go, if you did? And if you didn't, why not?