Sunshine From The Past 7: I Could Stay Awake, Just To...

One by one, everyone fell asleep. The television blared on, characters on screen quietly going through their pre-set actions and dialogue. Soon, I was the only one left awake, the single consciouness in a hall of 6 other sleeping friends.

She was lying next to me on the sofa, eyes closed, at peace. Fatigue from the day's events had already robbed me of most of my will to stay awake, but somehow I knew this chance would never come again. Somehow.

And so I watched her sleep. I held her hand, registering every little movement she made in her sleep. I was lulled by her rhythmic breathing pattern, placated by the calm expression she bore, comforted by her reassuring presence.

Sitting there in that cramped sofa, toes a light shade of blue from lack of circulation, I found for myself time to recall all the beautiful moments we shared, appreciate all the little things providence bestowed. At that moment, there was only her, and there was only me.

I wanted that moment to last, I really did. To feel so inextricably intertwined, to feel that everything was worth it, to know that it was real for me.

But time waits for none, and four hours later, daybreak broke the spell.

It is a pity that I should be the only one to bear witness to one of the most meaningful memories we shared.

Sunshine From The Past 6: Notebook

I remember gripping my brown notebook tight, and I remember the soft yellow glow of the staff room.

I remember the soft whirr of the air-con, and I remember no one else around. Quiet, silence all about - a dying Friday afternoon.

And as I flipped through the pages, the memories of the past months leapt out at me. From the first few 'test' entries, detailing superficial likes and dislikes, to the middle months, when I discovered she and I had a meeting of minds of sorts, to the last few days, when it seemed I was rushing, every day, to write before it was too late.

I never wrote so much before, revealed so much before. A soul laid bare, ensconced within that notebook of mine.

It was the same routine always. A thought would flit across my consciousness, and I would snare it and pin it in my notebook, like a collector does butterflies. I would pass it to her, and amazingly, she would somehow see the same butterfly as I, complete in its image, and she would reply.

Reply in that beautiful script of hers, her own little thoughts and feelings, her own reflections and dreams. Electric words that would make me ponder, or laugh, or wonder.

A few times each week I would come here alone, and place my notebook in her pigeonhole. It would disappear, then reappear, sometimes a few days later, sometimes the day itself. Everytime it came back to me, I would sense for a moment that it was somehow alive, with our thoughts, our writings.

That day was my last trip. She would be leaving the next week, moving on to greener pastures. I reached the last page, a blank page, and there I wrote:

"I know we both thought your previous reply would be the last in this journal. But I thought about it, and I would like you to have this book. It probably wouldn't mean much to you, this collection of ramblings between us, but all the same I would like you to have it. "

"All the best, till we meet again."

And as bravely as I could, I placed it in her pigeonhole, and left.

I never saw her again.

Sunshine From The Past 5: VTW

It began with just my colleague and I. We passed each other on the stairs leading to the trainees' bunks, and we impulsively sat on the steps to discuss a particularly thorny conflict among two recruits. The thing was, another colleague who was on his way down, saw us and joined us.

One officer and two sergeants, sitting on the stairs just a stone's throw from the recruits.

Like a silly local sitcom, another colleague passed us and also joined us. Then another. Then, another. Just as we spaced ourselves out on three different steps to form a little circle, the remaining permanent staff walked up the stairs, returning from their coffee break.

Now, three officers and 5 sergeants, sitting on the stairs, passing around curry puffs and packet kopis.

A fitting end to the hastily-convened EGM played out thus: our current batch of recruits started coming down the stairs, and when they saw all of their superiors sitting around on the stairs, laughing and joking like they were at a Starbucks instead of a flight of stairs cleaned by recruit power, they were simply so stunned they stopped and stared!

That was the moment. The moment where I looked around that circle and was so seized by the camaraderie my wing had formed amongst itself. People from such diverse walks of life, brought together by circumstance and army tyranny, bonded by shared experiences and a common love for torture (just kidding). Friends in peace, team-mates in training, brothers in war.

How can anyone leave the army without such poignant memories as these?

Death 1 / Sunshine From The Past 4: Origami

The first time was in Primary Two. Too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

We were gathered at a corner of the canteen, around the phone booth. I recall it being a particularly warm afternoon, with dust from the barren playground swirling in with every gust of wind. There were four of us, Boy 1, Boy 2 (me), Girl 1 and Her. The years may have matured me, but they have taken the intricacies and details of my youth in return.

"What's that? A comic book?" Girl 1, ice-cream in hand, with sweaty strands of hair matting her forehead.

"From the book fair? You actually managed to buy something?" Boy 1 gestured to the mini book fair concentrated on the outer steps of the canteen. The crowds of eager children massed around the cashier reminded me somewhat of voracious ants around sugar, for some reason.

Daintily, She nodded. When She showed the cover to us, we saw but one solitary pink Origami crane, framed by obscure Katakana. And then She told us she was going to learn Origami over the holidays, and come back next term fully schooled in the art. She beamed when She noted our enthusiastic support.

Curiously enough, at the close of that last day of term, She passed the book to me. She spoke of how she was going to be busy, could I learn to do the crane and teach Her instead when school reopened? I agreed, of course. But for the life of me I cannot recall Her voice as she said it.

A month later, crane and book in bag, I went to class waiting to instruct Her. But that first day, She didn't come. Neither did she come for the second day, third, fourth, the rest of Primary school.

Maybe I should have plucked up enough courage to ask my Form teacher where She had gone to, that first day in school. But I don't think I could have, not when she was crying the whole day after meeting Her parents in the morning before assembly.

Sunshine From The Past 3: A Friend Lost

It seemed completely unlikely that she and I would ever become proper friends. We differed quite vastly in terms of age, and there was hardly any common vein in our personalities, likes or dislikes, sense of humour, outlook on life. Yet, the friendship happened.

Perhaps the one thing from our friendship I cherish the most is the
human warmth that she possessed. There was a period in time when she reached out to me, at her own expense, when there was nothing in it for her at all. She invested a fair portion of her time and energy to guide me, illuminating the gloomy paths I trod with the luminousity of her experience.

We hardly communicate anymore, however. I leave her little notes on ICQ, but she doesn't reply. Work seems to consume everyone these days, it seems.

Thank goodness memories are inedible.

Sunshine From The Past 2 : A Whole New World

At primary school we sat in clusters.

At night I would dream, dream of being on a stage, and this friend and I would be singing the theme from Aladdin. Singing under a jewelled nightsky, out to the inky darkness, no one else around for miles.

In our clusters we would chatter the whole day, doodling, playing, frustrating the teachers.

And I would wish so much that somehow I would be able to sing with my friend, this song that we both liked so much but never had the chance to croon together. That dreams would manifest, if only for a short short while...

And then one day as I was humming the song, I heard someone else join in, and without looking up I knew it was her. At the end of the period my work was undone, but my little wish thoroughly fulfilled.

Cynics often dismiss miracles as pure twists of fate, mere coincidences. I know they're wrong.

Sunshine From The Past 1 : Marion

I remember her, Marion. My age, petite, pony-tailed, eloquent, charming, exquisite.

I walked with her in the park once, with our parents trailing behind. I reached out and held her hand, and she gripped back, and we must have been the picture of innocence. Two kids, barely 9, unfettered with adult concerns, untouched by time.

"Teng! You must ask her before you hold her hand!"

I let go, turned to her, completely unashamed, took a little bow, "Miss Marion, may I please hold your hand?"

A little bob of the head, a child's rendition of a curtsey, "Yes, you may."

And so we held hands again, and walked on in that seemingly endless park.