Let me
Be a song that you can feel longer than just right now;
Let me
Be the girl that you can count on to rock your world.
When you have to look away, when you dont have much to say, thats when i love you – yea just simply that way. To hear you stumble when you speak or see you walk with two left feet, and yet i cant keep my eyes off you; i looked on endlessly.
You get mad when you lose a game, and forget that i’m there waiting, in the rain, waiting to say ‘i’m so proud of you’, no matter what. I couldnt look away, i couldnt get enough. And here’s this promise i’m making tonight – you can count on me tonight, because i know i loved you, when nothing you do could change my mind.
- adapted from Aslyn.
Sappy pop written for the hopeless romantic. There are some things time cannot heal, and these exceptions, these diamonds in the rough, these precious few experiences in life we should cherish, no matter how hurting. In these momentuous occasions, you truly live, you summon up the blissful memories of yesteryear, augmenting the emptiness and pointlessness of the todays.
I am not even nineteen, and am finding these years of memories more than enough to last another lifetime. It is so true, when people lament about the difficulty of forging friendships late on in life, not to mention relationships. How do you understand what someone else has been through when you showed up only yesterday?
If, in the five acts of life’s drama, you showed up too late, in the final act, how can you expect to empathize, sympathize, judge? But though i protest, go on, empathize, sympathize, judge, share the next five acts with me, i want you to be the star of it.
Anyway.
The photos below conjured up this little gnawing surge of, well for lack of a better word, nostalgia. Schools across Singapore today held the celebrations for Teachers’ Day; pigeon holes were filled with cookies and sweets; teachers were swathed with unpolished craftwork, hand-drawn cards, amateurish poem.
This time around, Chris and I were not in our uniforms – no more green and whites for me, sadly. No more hemmed-up skirts, drawstringed blouses conspicuously missing the rafflesian badge more often than not. And looking at the chirpy ex-nanyang girls eagerly filling their teachers in on what JC had to offer them, Chris and I felt oddly…distanced from them.
Though not distanced from the institution, no too harsh a word, the grounds, that saw us grow from the sulky, self-righteous thirteen-year-olds who entered dreaming of being different.
To the indignant, rebellious, curious fourteen-year-olds ah, who fell in love.
To the ambitious, driven fifteen-year-olds who found five other best friends, and fell in love with tennis.
To the sullen, cranky sixteen-year-olds whose worlds now shrank to consist of examinations only. Who dreamt of each others’ futures.
And finallly, to these humbled, grateful nineteen-year-olds, who now sit in the rusty swing with no one to hurry them off. With no school bell to announce commencement of lessons.
