This used to be my solitary escape during my last year of secondary school. There was a Gong Cha on the second level of the only mall back then, which I frequented with my diary and at least two cups of pearl milk tea. It turned into Bishan in my new adulthood, but the black ink, jacket and heart remained.
I can only imagine what you were going through at the time of my loneliness. Only you yourself know for sure, but maybe you were laughing with your friends, pooping into yogurt cups and throwing them from the fourth storey or something.
Even before we met, we already had our differences. The places we grew up, our backgrounds and beliefs, the things that made us laugh. The ways we portrayed ourselves and our coping mechanisms; all on either ends of the line.
Taking our O Levels at the same time was the only thing we had in common, and that was as far as it goes. I can imagine you paying attention in your classes while I slept in mine. Studying with your friends, while I gallivanted after school. Even our results were different, your disappointment at only being able to go into ITE and my lack of interest in my course at Ngee Ann.
Somehow our paths crossed, and that was when we got into the rides of our lives. Our souls never really connected, riding in the same car but looking at different sides of the road. You continued making friends wherever you went, loyal ones that took your side every time you left. I continued kicking everyone away and self-pitying and celebrating my solitude.
But fast forward to years later, on the outskirts of this old neighbourhood when a new Arnold's branch popped up. Another thing we actually had in common: our love for fried chicken. But it stopped there, when you were quick to wash your hands after, complete with your little bottle of hand sanitiser.
You asked me to do the same, but I completely refused. Can you stop being a child?, you cried, when I held my hand in a tight fist. You said people were looking, and that it'd be so stupid if they knew why we were fighting. Dia tanak basuh tangan!
I tried to run away but you grabbed hold of my arm, prying open my hand and finally squeezing a load of Dettol into it. Another little thing that lengthened the line between us.
We finally held each other's hands afterwards, yours that only knew how to clean and mine that only knew how to write. Somewhere in Bedok they intertwined but they couldn't be so different, as were the hearts that were connected to their fingers.
I can only imagine what you were going through at the time of my loneliness. Only you yourself know for sure, but maybe you were laughing with your friends, pooping into yogurt cups and throwing them from the fourth storey or something.
Even before we met, we already had our differences. The places we grew up, our backgrounds and beliefs, the things that made us laugh. The ways we portrayed ourselves and our coping mechanisms; all on either ends of the line.
Taking our O Levels at the same time was the only thing we had in common, and that was as far as it goes. I can imagine you paying attention in your classes while I slept in mine. Studying with your friends, while I gallivanted after school. Even our results were different, your disappointment at only being able to go into ITE and my lack of interest in my course at Ngee Ann.
Somehow our paths crossed, and that was when we got into the rides of our lives. Our souls never really connected, riding in the same car but looking at different sides of the road. You continued making friends wherever you went, loyal ones that took your side every time you left. I continued kicking everyone away and self-pitying and celebrating my solitude.
But fast forward to years later, on the outskirts of this old neighbourhood when a new Arnold's branch popped up. Another thing we actually had in common: our love for fried chicken. But it stopped there, when you were quick to wash your hands after, complete with your little bottle of hand sanitiser.
You asked me to do the same, but I completely refused. Can you stop being a child?, you cried, when I held my hand in a tight fist. You said people were looking, and that it'd be so stupid if they knew why we were fighting. Dia tanak basuh tangan!
I tried to run away but you grabbed hold of my arm, prying open my hand and finally squeezing a load of Dettol into it. Another little thing that lengthened the line between us.
We finally held each other's hands afterwards, yours that only knew how to clean and mine that only knew how to write. Somewhere in Bedok they intertwined but they couldn't be so different, as were the hearts that were connected to their fingers.
No comments:
Post a Comment