Monday, January 02, 2006
Monday02.01.2006nostalgia.i was packing my drawer just now. i ended up crying to myself.twice.i was looking through this year's first issue of the victoriana.the first thing i saw when i flipped it open was mr chia dressed in the god of fortune attire.i saw george posing for the camera while doing warm ups @ sec three camp. i saw victorians running during sports day. i saw photographs of our victory at national cross country, champions of both b and c boys. i read about shi ronghua throwing up his lunch 500m from the finish line, before overtaking others to finish 2nd.and while all this was happening, memories, scenes of my life in victoria, just shot past me.i cried. i wanted to continue reading, but i quickly put it away for another time.not long after, i found the photographs of VSPB `04, 05i started to tear again.the times we shared, as one big Victorian family. i really really miss those times.Victoria really is something more.copyright danielongnostalgia.she was, due to forceful decree from the mother, tidying her room that day.
no tears fell.
she deliberately ignored the seven dark green yearbooks. each book was varying shades of dark greenish-blue, printed with the same gold font, the same words, a different year.
she did not even look at the hardcover book with JADE AND GOLD blazing on its front.
she moved but did not open, packed but did not consider, the clear plastic files with everything from her p5 syf choir picture to her primary one art inside. she took no notice of the full-to-bursting third drawer in the cupboard.
neither did she bother to wipe the dust from the files as she stacked them on the dining table to be given away. the flimsy coloured folders with the same words and same emblem printed on the front. the same words and emblem that, unlike everything else in the file, had not faded in her memory, nor in her heart.
of course, she could not avoid all of it.
she would close a file a little quicker, skip a particular shelf, ignore a particular stack of documents.
sometimes, her eyes would linger briefly on a scribbled sentence, then her hands shove the sheet into the third drawer.
her hands did not tremble, her pace did not slow. her face was the same peacefully bland expression it had been when she started.
no tears fell.
but in her eyes, the fire had dwindled to a dully flickering spark.
you're not the only one with a hole in your heart.
Posted by nayrakroarual at 1:49 PM
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