Rain From The Past 3: It Was For You, Too

The card lay on the table before me, coloured pens on the side. Already, most of it was filled up, all cheery messages wishing him the best in his studies overseas. Overhead, the PA system was already announcing that his Departure Gate was open. Not much time left.

And when I picked up the pen, inspiration struck! It coursed through me, a powerful jolt that effortlessly strung words together in my mind, forming a rhyming poem that was a touch humorous, no less!

Just to make sure it was all fine, I scribbled it out on a paper napkin I had. All through this while, she sat next to me at the cafe table, talking excitedly to the rest of our friends. When I was done, I gripped her hand under the table.

"Dear! Take a look at this little poem which I'm thinking of writing for his farewell card! Hehe, I think it's almost as funny as that one I wrote for you last week!"

But she was distracted. And honest, perhaps.

"What? Another poem? Please la, just write something simple? Not another one of your silly things." Another friend said something then, and she turned back to them, laughing.

I ended up writing "Hey man, all the best over there! Stay happy always!". Funny how long it took me to pen that message, when a moment ago I could have filled three cards without breaking a sweat.

When another friend chided me for taking so long to write so little, I begged for his forgiveness, saying I was never one for writing, and that he couldn't blame me for it. He smiled, said it didn't matter, and passed the card on.

I threw away the crushed napkin on the way home. I couldn't bring myself to look at the words anymore. I stole a quick glance at them at the airport, but they suddenly seemed juvenile, peurile... silly.

I didn't write poetry for a long time after. The words, they didn't flow.

Rain From The Past 2: Suicide

The first time I remember crying in front of another guy, was way back in 2002. In fact, he cried too. And so did our third and final companion.

We were in the park, all three of us, sitting under a little pavilion. And he had just told us he wanted to commit suicide, because the pain from his break up was unbearable.

The tears... just flowed, from some hidden well within. I was both crushed and furious, and the mix of emotions set me off.

Crushed, because I could empathize with the pain he felt. He and I share many a similar perspective on relationships, and I would be lying if I said that over the last few months I would have done anything different from what he did. He had tried his best, but simply couldn't make it last, and the pain had wrecked him.

But furious too, because he was important to me. I had looked up to him for so many things, and I still do today. And I hated the way he forgot that there are other things worth living for in this life, that we cannot base our entire existence over one partner in life, that there are other friends who need him too.

And so we cried, the three of us. We just let it go, and through the heaving and the tissues and the mucus we managed to remind him that there was more to life, no matter how dark and foreboding the future seemed.

He got better. He picked up the pieces and slowly stitched back a meaningful life. I’m proud of him, quite quite proud. I'm glad I didn't scoff at his fears or ridicule them, that day.

Rain From The Past 1: Friend?

She was, at that point in time, perhaps the closest thing to perfection I knew. She was 4 years older than I, and the first older friend I ever made.

We shared the school bus to primary school, and twice a day, once on the trip to school and once on the way back, the whole motley crew would play games, sing songs and drive the bus uncle mad. Friendships were quickly forged, and to my delight carried over to life outside the school bus.

For instance, on the occasions I bumped into her at the canteen, we would chat and talk about the teachers we had, or the little things that had been going on in class. Days few by that way, and you would barely feel the tedium of school.

Once, however, I was in the bookshop when I noticed her coming in with a bunch of her friends. I waved and said hi, but she didn't respond. In fact, she ignored me pointedly. When her friends asked her who I was, and why I was waving at her, she was icily calm.

"Oh, just some brat from my school bus. Don't mind him."

So saying, they left. I don't remember ever talking to her again, after that painful afternoon.

We all know that it's never a good idea to love people too much. Sometimes, we even make little reminders to ourselves to have restraint, and not give so freely. Often, however, we plow ahead recklessly, unable to stem the tide of feelings flowing inside.

With care I must tread - ironically, a 7 year-old is better than handling such disappointments than a 21 year-old can.