She used to be someone cool, 'edgy' or so they called it, with her band wristbands and piercings and photos with her guitars. But more and more girls like her started popping out, and all the things about her that used to stand out just became stereotypes.
Heroine was just a song from one of her favourite bands. For some reason, people were creating these WhatsApp groups, where a mutual would add in your numbers and you'd make friends with her friends. This group was my second, but they became more important to me when we all met for the first time.
Conversations that revolved around the dumbest things made me giggle to myself in the school library. Imagine the chaos when we interacted in real life, on a rooftop beside this MRT station. I was only beginning to like trains then, and someone picked here out because there was an overhead view of them.
As usual, I remember what I was wearing. A bright yellow tee tucked into high-waisted pants that I took forever to find, with a black and white striped cardigan over. I just returned from a trip to Bugis with one of the girls from secondary school, where I bought The Walking Dead books.
One of them from Heroine said I was different, with my love for books and trains, with my fascination of Pokemon. He was 22 then, an age that I am now on the way of passing. Time flew with these newfound friends, helping me heal from a bad break-up. The pictures we took, the drinks we downed, the things we laughed about.
This was the time when the flame, the wind and the rose didn't exist. The 22-year-old was the only one who understood the concept of Types. It was somewhere along the way that those Types turned into the metaphors I have today. Even though we have both, finally, grown out of the world of pocket monsters.
2014, the year of unexpected friendships that existed and stopped just as suddenly. 2014, the year you left and came whenever you felt like, without a care for whatever I wanted. Just a gust against my collar when I alighted the train, just the wind that made a mess of my hair as I looked over the railings of the rooftop, staring down at the trains leaving Kallang.
As usual, I remember what I was wearing. A bright yellow tee tucked into high-waisted pants that I took forever to find, with a black and white striped cardigan over. I just returned from a trip to Bugis with one of the girls from secondary school, where I bought The Walking Dead books.
One of them from Heroine said I was different, with my love for books and trains, with my fascination of Pokemon. He was 22 then, an age that I am now on the way of passing. Time flew with these newfound friends, helping me heal from a bad break-up. The pictures we took, the drinks we downed, the things we laughed about.
This was the time when the flame, the wind and the rose didn't exist. The 22-year-old was the only one who understood the concept of Types. It was somewhere along the way that those Types turned into the metaphors I have today. Even though we have both, finally, grown out of the world of pocket monsters.
2014, the year of unexpected friendships that existed and stopped just as suddenly. 2014, the year you left and came whenever you felt like, without a care for whatever I wanted. Just a gust against my collar when I alighted the train, just the wind that made a mess of my hair as I looked over the railings of the rooftop, staring down at the trains leaving Kallang.
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