NS8

Wait, what school are you from?

I'm from Fuchun Sec.

Where on earth is that?

So began the time of my life.

I already decided Woodlands is the heart of the red line for me, with its madness and fragility. But this station now is more than that, and less, all at once. It's like the very blood that keeps running through your veins, so neglected despite its importance.

Most of my story revolves around this station and its surroundings too, both forgiven and ones that I can't let go of. From one last argument last March to when we sat on the brick ledge by the canal, just weeks after he turned sixteen. From listening to me cry about a break-up to being my pillar and the last good thing left.

This one is always hard to write about. I think we are the only ones who changed, while the bench we sat on and rock we lied on will always be there. As if waiting to bear witness again, like a third party witnessing a couple's every moment.

I never liked change, but there is this magic in parallels that only I can see. Like how in early 2014, I was the one who stumbled around crying for the wind, and then in mid-2017 it was him, claiming himself drunk and calling my phone thirteen times. And who was the witness to both? None other than this third party.

After five years it's finally getting old. They're both long gone, while I'm still here like a horse tied to the leg of a chair. It's ironic because they're the ones who grew up here, who cycled down and jumped over canals with each other. They went from two innocent kids to two guys drinking beer at the void deck, talking about this girl who ruined their friendship and everything in between.

I find myself holding back, the way this side of the town keeps me in place. I can tell every story from here but some pieces will always be missing. Also missed, if you would. Now on the very few times I pass I try to dismiss it all, ignoring the silhouettes and open spaces that I once thought I loved.

If I had to choose only one day from here to keep, it'll be the time in 2014 when I made rounds around here with neither of these boys. I watched the sunset from the town garden and waited until two trains crossed each other. I don't need any of the other memories, both sinful and innocent.

It's at Marsiling.

Oh. Which line is it on?

From yet another distant place with a blank slate, to memories that will always be at the back of my mind.