02 November 2005

I shopped with my Mom today and we spent close to $500 on Dad's credit card. She bought a gown for my brother's wedding, and my younger brother and I a shirt each, also for the occasion.

She tells me she hasn't seen Orchard for 10 years. Teaching in SCGS, she shuffles from home to school to the market and temple. She hardly sees town. She wanted to explore it that day, but she was afraid of getting lost, and she took a straight bus home.

I haven't shopped with my Mom for a long while.

I realised I'm no longer embarrassed with her holding of my hand.

I offer my hand to her as she descends the steps in graduated sighs - of tiredness and being old, and she complains about her knees, and how she worries it'd not carry her further than it had already. I offer my hand to her as we strolled through the speeding crowd, leading her on the right path, fearing she'd get lost, with a handphone that's almost always turned off. I offer my hand as she takes the steps; she's slow but only the others notice her speed.

I didn't know how to say I'm so immensely grateful to her and my dad.

I read some hand-written journal entries I keep stashed in my cupboards and I found this set that was written circa 1999. Primary school. And I kept laughing. I was really a complainer. Not that I am not now, I guess I am less.

I saw how friendships always mattered to me, how I got excessively worked up over what happened between Yoke Wei, Ian and Alexis, people of whom had since separated from my path in life, but weighed a great deal back then. I used to be such great friends with these kids in school and now, I do not even know their addresses.

On the coach, Loo says we have to exercise on Saturdays if we don't end up in the same school. I agreed. Perhaps I sounded less enthusiastic than I really was. I didn't want to lose such a fabulous friend to time again. And I thought I would fight to keep it at all cost.

I read some old chinese essay I wrote in JC, when I was still a Language Elective Student. The beautiful handwriting (that I've sinced lost), the topics, and the narrative voice brought back alot of what I thought was long gone. It was the quiet, almost dead-pan kind of voice you hear as voice-overs on Taiwanese films. And the topics, ah, I never thought creativity could die over age. I felt like an old mule, going through those scripts, awed by my own ingenuity.

I haven't written so intensely in a long while. My hand-written journal dates back to a month, and even that, was an obligatory incident report. I've lost so much of what used to be me now that I am wondering what has become of Dong. This thought sparked no more misery than losing a strand of hair. Really, I don't know what is wrong.

I am surrendering to lethargy.


D woke up at 11/02/2005 01:07:00 AM [comment]

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