Memory

After my midnight jog, I got myself a cup of noodles from a 7-Eleven store n settled down at the foot of an overhead bridge to eat. Apart from the last lingering couples sitting ard speaking in hushed voices, the pavements were void. In the homes around me, the remaining lights were going out one by one as the nite advanced. Once again, Sengkang was mine alone. It was mine to roam n to sing freely in. The nite seemed timeless, n the duties of the day, far away. A wind was rising n it moaned down the eternal streets, beckoning to me to make a trip. Yet my path tonite was one less travelled, i took a walk down Memory Lane.

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She was not a dazzling beauty; v few men passing her in the streets would linger their gaze on her; v few women would regard her wif tt attentive, flaw-finding scrutiny which a beauty often receives. To her acquaintances, her blitheness n unrestrained, rowdy laughter often cause them to decide tt she lacked a certain feminine charm, n render her incapable of sweetness or emotional weakness. Indeed, her strong sense of self-possession n her reservation towards casual revealing of her innermost thoughts and feelings added to tis impression. However, to those of us who r dearest to her, those of us who r blessed wif deeper understanding of her: she is the gentlest of girls—not in manner or appearance, but rather, in thoughts n acts of kindness for others. When u really knew her, when she spoke freely to u—then, her thoughtfulness, her caring heart n her sensitivity impressed u indescribably. Such were the qualities which inspired many of her guy friends to confide in her when they would confide in no one else.

Those days, when she was by my side, were beautiful days. But on a few days, there were the occasional dark clouds which passed by the sunshone plains upon which we laid in unreflecting happiness. She, in her sensitivity, was often hurt in her dealings wif the world. I was unable to be a source of a comfort at those miserable moments; giving her practical solutions which she can invent herself, rather than the empathy n consolation she sought. The result was tt i ended up feeling helpless while she, deprived of my understanding, felt more miserable than before.

There were still other times when i infected the pure heart tt loved me wif anguish. At tis moment, i deliberately steer my remembrances from those regretful times, being more willing to dwell on those better n purer memories of her. The first little presents—innocent girlish letters—which she passed to me at school; the sweet days of our dating whenever the Army restored to me my freedom; the endless messages of longing which passed between us whenever tt freedom was withheld, were tugging fast n fondly at my thoughts tonight…

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The wind had not decrease in strength as I tottered back home. How drearily it was moaning! It seemed, at tt moment, to be wailing over me; to be wailing over the couples; to be wailing over all mortal things! As i, absorbed in my thoughts, passed by a group of loitering teenagers, one of them turned around n taunted me. I did not look back but walked on.

Not tonight, not while my world is filled wif tender thoughts of her. In fact, not ever, as surely as God lives.