wishful thinking-
It's times like these when I feel like it's just not worth getting your hopes up.
But that's a long story.
- - - -
Today I went back to St Nicks.
I waited for the damned bus for the longest time, possibly two of every other bus at the busstop had passed me before The One pulled up. And then, after barely ten minutes on the vehicle, I alighted to walk from Bishan Park all the way back to my one and only secondary school.
And I didnt quite mind. John Petrucci was blasting through my earphones, it was windy... but just why, why does the school have to built on a damned hill and WHY IS the gate at the base of the hill.. not open?!
It was then that I felt really.. well, Mentally Nauseous (my new favourite personally coined phrase) again, because everything just came back to me with a kind of bittersweet, automatic familiarity.
I walked into the gate and immediately I was surrounded by the Pink Railings Of Horror, that are present everywhere in the compound. And then it felt so natural to wave at the security guards, even though it was 7pm and they were chasing people out of school, not letting people in, then make my way very naturally down those steps to the canteen.
And I think it was because I was alone and because it was twilight again- when the sky is not bright, but not dark, and it's too early to turn on the streetlights, yet youre not really sure- that put me in this awfully reminiscent mood.
So the sign on the security desk changed. The piano in the lower concourse is still out of tune. There's an printed, palebluearrow next to the staircase leading to the canteen. The security guards' changed. The canteen lights are still emanating dull, fluorescent light. And the place is still has huge and old and great as I can remember.
And I can proudly say, going back to st nicks in the evening, alone but plugged in to Petrucci, was worth every inch of that damned hill I walked up and every single minute I spent waiting for the bus.
It just felt so.. normal, to be sitting cross-legged on a canteen bench, drinking iced milo from Uncle Mobeen (who lives in school, literally) yet I know I'd never-
Well.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, DAN?
Anyway my main purpose for being back at st nicks is to meet Yeo Siqin for the last time for a long time and to pass her the masterpiece that is Cupid's Leaving Present To Siqin.
I wish I had my camera with me.
Siqin: Hey (: I know all my notes/smses/comments on your blog to you are always full of crap and all that BUT that's my way of uhm, expressing my care and concern. Insert laughter here. Anyway it might possibly be that i'm finally getting serious about Being Sad that youre leaving, since I am going to type you a poem that we so aptly read for literature today. And may I say, when I read it, I thought of you.
:(
It's about leaving and all that.
A Valediction Forbidden Mourning - by John Donne.
As virtuous men passe mildly away,
And whisper to their soules, to goe,
Whilst some of their sad friends doe say,
The breath goes now, and some say, no.
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
T'were prophanation of our joyes
To tell the layetie our love.
Moving of th'earth brings harmes and feares,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater farre, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers love
(Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love, so much refin'd
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care lesse, eyes, lips, hands to misse.
Our two soules therefore, which are one,
Though I must goe, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to ayery thinesse beate.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt food, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the' other doe.
And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And growes erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
Like th'other foot, obliquely runne
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begunne.
I know this is a 18th century lover.. relationship... leaving poem thing and it's of out of character for me to be SERIOUS, but I hate it when people leave. I suppose I just have to get used to it, with urbanisation and migration and all that shit.
I dont even know why I feel so down. There's a binomial expansions assignment due tomorrow, and tonight's a really bad time to do it.
I think I shall go sit on the roof and/or try to drown myself in the shower.
06022007; 09:35pm
