I know this is a sudden flux of entries, but I guess I’m
having too much time on my hands for now, especially at night. So why not
write?
Rushing in the middle of tuition sessions today, I
ended up at the neighbourhood bus terminal. It was the usual time for
schoolchildren to be dismissed from lessons, and there were many of them
milling about the interchange in their uniforms. And straight away, I don’t
know if you’ve noticed how easily that word “schoolchildren” was slipped into
the previous sentence. Yes, that’s what they are now: schoolchildren. And even though I don’t feel
that far away from my school days, this wistful feeling that those days won’t be
back again set in relentlessly.
Those were carefree days. Probably “carefree” is an
understatement. Responsibilities then didn’t come with the capital R. What
those schoolchildren probably had in their minds today would have been how to
cope with their mid-year exams. And mine? How to help my
tutees cope with their respective mid-year exams. My
life? Modelled around their respective schedules, and when they need me
to go teach them stuff.
This wasn’t supposed to end up as a usual rant against
what I’m doing now, so I’ll stop digressing. I remember myself in that white
and navy-blue uniform. More often than not, in that polo t-shirt with dark blue
collar and that huge school badge on the pocket, because we would stay in
school to play football (and wearing the school uniform with metal buttons to
play football was a capital offence). More often that not, too, totally
stinking to high heavens with that t-shirt drenched in perspiration. If not, it
would be that pristine, immaculate white shirt, clean because I walked my crush
home instead of playing footy with the boys.
Waiting for my bus to come circa 1996, I would have
been thinking about what to do to impress that girl. What the new strategies
that the football clubs are coming up with. What we can use in our inter-class
football team. What new ways to motivate the school band with. How to do the least homework, yet get the best results.
Then again, has it all really changed? Today ten years
later, I am still thinking about the new strategies in football, the ways to
motivate the band and my tutees. Only with that added responsibility. With age,
I get saddled, with the need to make sure my sister does well in her studies
because my parents can’t control her, with the need to make sure my parents get
the proper medical attention they need, with the need to make sure things
remain cordial between my mum and my grandma, with the need to make sure my
grandma stays happy through her retirement years, with the need to ensure that
my bank account’s sitting pretty, with the need to make sure I do well enough
in university to graduate with pride – pride for my grandma, my parents, my
friends over that of myself.
Again I digress. Those halcyon days aren’t probably
coming back again. And immediately I realise what a mistake I’ve made. It
should be: those halcyon days are definitely not coming back again, and that’s
both a natural and forced result. Natural in that changes come along as we
grow, as we age. Circumstances change, our environments change, the friends
making up our inner circle change. Forced in that we’ve
enforced those changes ourselves. I endeavour not to regress to previous
depressive states again, to put down what should have been put down long ago,
but I recognise that it’s natural for such wistful nostalgic moments to return
occasionally. Still, as one msn nickname I see puts it: “i wish i'm a
child so i can jus run into someone's arms and cry
like nobody's business and noone would stare at me
like i'm crazy”. I’m sorry to pour the cold water on
those hopes, but those days aren’t coming back. Ever.
So what then?
If the sky’s a dark shade of grey, then it doesn’t look rosy at all. We’ve all
lost an important part of our lives, and there’s no way we are getting it back.
Not good at all. If the sky’s a bright blue instead, then it looks like the
sunshine’s going to come through. Undeniably, there’s going to be new changes
ringing through relentlessly, and perhaps I can choose to see that lighter
shade if I were to embrace all these changes, all this growth, and the
responsibilities and stresses that come along, packed together free-of-charge.
But is choosing
to see that bright blue all that simple? A choice?
Perhaps the self must make that choice, but whether that choice stays bright
and unsullied is another matter altogether. I’m barely one-third through my
life, and I’m facing these dilemmas. Do I know too much? Do I think too much?
Or does everyone go through this one time or another? If so, is this entry just
another one out of those millions of blog entries a
day?
Perhaps it’s
nice to just imagine. Imagine I were in that simple school uniform again,
enjoying a simple life in which a huge disaster meant getting into trouble with
the discipline master for fighting. Imagine I were a child again “so I can just
run into someone’s arms and cry like nobody’s business”. It’s harmless anyway,
isn’t it?
dejectium out
0352 hrs gmt
+7
10 may 2005