Monday, May 22, 2006 ♥10:56 PM
Was looking through all the files in my personal words folder. Found 2 really interesting articles written by suaku a long long time ago. A time so long ago that I forgot all about the articles.
The first is about the memory we shared in sec 2 during 160th anniversary. She wrote all about it. From the start to the end, bringing back certain memories of mine which I have clearly forgotten about. I will never forgive myself for forgetting them. How could i. The love we once shared deeply, over the smiles, the guests, the tea lights, the singing and of cos, the “thanking for coming.” It is titled “do you remember.” I am ashamed to say I actually forgot the part of plaits. I remembered everything else though. All my life. I will never forget that day. There can be miracles, when we believe. When we really believe. Do you believe? The gloves still remain in the drawer in my room, harden by wax and memories. And the approval from mrs lee will stay etched in our minds, for she has left us to be by God’s side. Here comes the story:
Strange how vastly amusing our past seems on hindsight. How our little petty wants and wishes seem to have faded into yesteryear without a trace. Yet stranger yet is how it all comes back to mind with no more than a hint of nostalgia.
I sat obediently on one of the grey tables in the middle of the classroom, perspiration dripping down the sides of my neck. I swiped at the drops carelessly with the back of one hand.
“ Stay still! We’re running out of time already.” Beverly tugged at the braid she was plaiting down my back. I shrugged my shoulders impatiently.
“ You’re hurting my head! Besides, I’m all hot and sweaty from rushing into my uniform.” She gave my plait a final twist, and swung it over my shoulder next to where the other plait lay. I fingered my plaits gingerly, then clambered down from the table to kneel before the bottom of the window. Examining my reflected image carefully, I sighed deeply then adjusted my scarf wearily. The knot was already drooping from over-adjustment, but I had to try to perfect it.
“ Look at her! Admiring herself again!” Serene bounded over cheerily and smoothed her own short hair next to me. “ Chio already larh! Aioyh so vain.” I laughed and whacked the side of her head. Instantly she retaliated with a fierce tug of my plait. I scowled at her, stroking my plait defensively. She laughed again and yanked me to my feet.
“ Hurry, we’re going to be late. Don’t want to kena scolding again larh. Move it!” we grabbed our berets and gloves from the tables and ran out helter-skelter along with the other girls. Ailyne joined our side, panting slightly. She had been in the toilet adjusting her hair and scarves like the other thirty-something sec2 guides. Arm in arm, we raced down the stairs and into the chapel. Grinning apologetically at our seniors, we slipped behind them and sat down to catch our breath. The teachers stalked quickly, glaring at us. We ducked our heads, checking our scarves yet again.
Stationed outside in the burning sun, Serene and I stood opposite each other, in senang-diri position. The sec3 non-uniformed group girls slouched on our sides. With our heads up and shoulders back, we were determined to show that uniformed group girls had discipline. But oh, how our feet and backs ached after the first hour or so. To pass the time, we practiced smiling. There was the ‘small smile’, which was a slight curving of lips without showing the teeth, meant for our own friends who ran past. It was usually accompanied with a quick wink. We were not supposed to talk, but three or four hours of silence was torturous, so we yelled across to each other every now and then. We next came up with the ‘medium smile’, meant for teachers and the like who hurried past, barking into their walkie-talkies. The ‘big smile’ was reserved for the VIPs who would drive past us later. Serene loved her ‘big smile’ so much she flashed it at me every five minutes until I glared at her. With beads of sweat rolling down my face and back, I was more preoccupied trying to keep the blood circulating around my body. Every time I began to see stars I would pinch my fingers inside my gloves and wriggle my toes vigorously. To faint would be a great disgrace.
Hours later (literally), after the guests had all arrived and we had ushered them politely into the school, we ran back to the chapel to rest. Whipping off our berets and gloves, we slumped over the chairs, exhausted. With quite a lot of time to spare until our next assignment, we rested quietly in the room, talking in low voices. The hall was not so far away that we could raise our voices and play. We were brought to the classroom block to eat the packet dinner provided. Well it was not really dinner, just a small cream cake, a piece of kuay and a cup of mineral water. We were not very impressed, but being trained to do as we were told and make no comments, we ate it up silently.
Ms Tng came rushing to us, requesting that a few of us help light tea-lights and place them along the staircase from the hall. Always eager for a bit of fun, Serene and I volunteered. We skipped down the corridors to the back of the hall, giggling. Mrs Wong smiled at us. She was our science teacher, and appeared very pleased that it was the girls from her favourite class who had agreed to help. The wind blew around us fiercely, whipping the flames from the candles as soon as we lit them. With only half an hour to go, we were desperate. Shielding the tea-lights with our hands, we ran up and down the stairs, lighting and relighting the candles. The task seemed impossible. Already the sun was setting, and still the wind blew unrelentingly. Serene burst into song as usual. This time the song of her choice was ‘when you believe’. Most fortunately Mrs Wong was attending to something else, and did not get the unspoken privilege of listening to two tone-deaf guides singing merrily as they hurried up and down the stairs. Pausing for breath, we almost collided on one of the steps. She gripped my hand to steady herself.
“‘ Do you remember what we always say? That it’s truly a miracle that the two of us are friends? Well here’s another miracle. The candles are staying lit.” I turned to look at the floor incredulously. The tiny row of flickering lights twinkled merrily at me. I threw my arms around her in relief, laughing hysterically.
Giggling, we lined the staircase, one opposite another. Our seniors lined the top flight, and us juniors the bottom. I was across Serene. Again. Grinning madly, we practiced our bows and greetings. We decided that she would say ‘Hope you had a nice day’ and I would say ‘Thank you for coming’. The streams of people poured past us. We bowed and jumbled up our lines, but the guests never seemed to mind. I guess our smiles said it all. When the torrents had slowed to a mere trickle, and then nothing at all, our seniors gave the signal to pick the tea-lights up. Just as we were gathering them up in our hands, someone hissed,
“ ‘VIP!” We never moved so fast. A single step, and we were back in our positions, chins up and shoulders back. The molten wax dripped unto our gloves, but we bit our lips and kept our faces straight. The cameramen came down the stairs backwards, focusing on Mrs Lee and the VIP. Pair after pair bowed and smiled and greeted, berets bobbing. Serene and I focused our megawatt beam on them, as if our hands were not burning away. Mrs Lee smiled at us, and leaning over, said in a low tone,
“ Good job, girls.” Up til then, we had spent more or less the past one year and seven months of our secondary school life hoping for her approval. As the VIP smiled at us and swept past, we turned to each other, grinning with relief. As they disappeared around the corner, we relaxed from our stiff positions and tried in vain to peel the more-or-less solidified wax off our gloves. They remain stained with patches of white wax on the palms to this day, a reminder of the excitement of that day.
As I sat the bus back home that night, past the school with its coloured lights and grand décor, I realized for the first time that I was truly proud of the school, of the coy, of us all. I suppose it takes an experience like this to jolt you into a steadfast loyalty that has never faded with time. It’s been almost two years since, and sometimes when I’m walking down the steps from the back of the hall, it all comes rushing back to me, and I remember the night that was the highlight of my sec2 life.
Pretty aint it? For those who were involved in the 160th anniversary will all share a common memory, even though it differs from one to the other. I really miss sec 2. the best year of my polka dots life. My best year. But we can’t go back can we? We can’t. memories last forever.
The next article is a story she wrote for an essay writing competition if I remember correctly. I never fail to cry whenever I read it. But I had to curb my tears today as I am presently in school typing this. It is so touching. So loving. So true, even though the main cast were only kids in the story. It’s a story of a forsaken love. Forsaken friendship.
“ Look, ah-ma! See how high I can jump!” the thin piercing shriek of my youngest grandchild broke through my reverie. Muttering under my breath, I grasped the seven-year-old firmly by her sides and yanked her off the sofa. Scowling at the spirited young girl prancing about on the polished floor, I wondered to myself impatiently why the restless child could not sit quietly in a corner reading like her older siblings. Then a brief memory flashed across my mind, and I smiled to myself. Of course the girl would be as full of unrestrained energy as a ball of fire. She was my grand daughter, after all. I turned to her, a gentle reminiscing smile playing on my lips.
“ Rachel, would you like to hear a story? A real life story – truer than those fairytales you insist on reading and believing.” She beamed at me, all child-like eagerness, and settled on the floor by my feet.
“ Of course, ah-ma! But whose story is it? I want to know.” I stroked her hair gently, her soft black hair that reminded me so much of mine.
“ Why, my story of course, dear. I’ll tell you about ah-ma’s life when she was a little girl, way back in the ‘90s.”
“ That was a long time ago! You’re very old, ah-ma.” She started counting the years on her fingers in awe, but soon gave up. I laughed. True, it was now 2063, but my cherished childhood memories were still crystal clear in my mind. Thoughtfully gazing back into those huge brown eyes that peered so earnestly into mine, I began, more to myself than to my sole listener.
“ I was only five when my family moved into a new flat. The first evening we settled in, our busy unpacking was interrupted by a polite knock on the wooden door. Scrambling to her feet, Mother unlocked the door. A tall Malay couple stood outside the iron-grilled gate, the woman holding a little girl about my age firmly by the hand. Mother held her hand out uncertainly, and as she shook their hands, the little girl grinned at me and waved vigorously with her free hand. I grinned right back, and waved as energetically. Our parents burst into easy laughter, and before long all of us were crowded about their table, enjoying home-cooked food and warm conversation. After dinner, Nora (for that was the little girl’s name, you know) showed me her Barbie doll collection. My mother had to drag me away physically because I refused to leave their house to return to our own home a door away. Even at five, I knew good company when I saw it, especially when it came wrapped up in a friendly, neat little package in the form of Nora.
“ Every evening at five, she would cross the corridor and bang on our door. Without fail, I would open it to see her grinning her pixie grin at me, holding her bicycle in both hands expectantly. Leaping unto my own bike, I would race her down the slopes and walkways of our HDB estate, swerving dangerously around pillars. When we tired, we would lean our bikes against the lamppost in the playground, and draw pictures in the sandpit. I never got round to telling her, but I always thought her pictures were far nicer and more sophisticated than mine. At six, our mothers would yell to us from our block, and we would hurry back home for dinner, knowing that an hour later we’d be back in either of our houses to play with our Barbie dolls.
“ Nothing changed for two years, until we entered primary school, fresh-eyed and innocent. To our delight, we were in the same class, and were even allowed to sit next to each other. Her skin colour had never bothered me, until the other girls started whispering about her, the only Malay girl in class. Whenever the teacher stepped out of class, Fiona, the ringleader of the ‘in’ group would taunt Nora, calling her ‘stupid’ and ‘black sheep’. Recesses were even worse, with the two of us sitting quietly in a corner of the playground, watching the others play hide and seek. We didn’t dare to talk, even as we shared our peanut butter sandwiches, for fear of Fiona overhearing and turning our words against us. Nora never breathed a word of this mistreatment to anyone, and forbade me to do so, as she didn’t believe in ‘tattle-ling tales’. I didn’t realize it then, but even seven-year-olds can be cruel enough to ostracize those who seem different from them.
“ During art classes, the teacher would pin Nora’s art pieces on the board, and praise her in front of the entire class. Sometimes I would turn around uneasily, only to see Fiona glaring at Nora jealously. As soon as the teacher left, Fiona would run to the board, rip the drawing into tiny shreds, and then toss them in Nora’s face. Nora never cried.” Here I stopped to catch my breath. Rachel plucked at my sleeve impatiently.
“ Oh, come on, ah-ma, don’t stop like this in the middle of the story. You know I hate it! Please continue.” She clambered into my lap, dragging her stuffed dog with her. I felt rather stifled, but it was nothing compared to the waves of remorse that flooded my being, at the mere thought of what I had to say next.
“ After few months of this, Fiona approached me and offered me a place in her ‘gang’ if I would stay away from Nora. Tired of being on the unpopular side of the fence, I readily agreed. Seeing Nora’s confused and hurt face staring up into mine the first time I tossed insults in her face only made me laugh harder. I was becoming a ruthless monster. In weeks, I had convinced myself that the Chinese were the superior race, and that I no longer needed Nora’s friendship.
“ The day of the National Art Competition I stayed home with a stomach ache. Flipping through the photo album, I came across a picture of my fifth birthday party. Nora was standing next to me, beaming winsomely into the camera behind the cake. Confused by the mixed emotions rushing through my heart, I flipped the page. Another picture, yet almost the same. Nora and I, behind the birthday cake. The same grin, the same carefree exuberance. Then through my mind flashed another picture, a more recent one. Nora gazing at me with the haunted eyes of a hunted animal, pleading with me, questioning me. I began to cry.
“ The next day I suggested to Fiona over recess that I invite Nora to my seventh birthday party. The incredulous look she gave me made me regret my stupidity. Of course Nora could not attend my party. I hadn’t even spoken to her in weeks. So it was to my surprise that the day before the party, Fiona came running to me. ‘Oh, Dawn, if you want to invite Nora you may. She’s finally earned the right to be one of us.’ Puzzled, I nevertheless invited Nora. At the party, Fiona whispered to me that Nora had won the art competition, and was therefore in a position to be used if needed. Nora glanced quickly at us as Fiona moved away, and for a split second I wondered if she had heard us. But things moved so quickly, I didn’t have the chance to talk to her. The cake was cut and pictures taken (yet another Kodak moment of merry smiles) and the guests shown to the door.
“As I walked Nora out of the house, she turned briefly and looked at me straight in the eye. ‘ Thank you for inviting me to your birthday party. I’m afraid it’ll be the last of yours that I’ll attend, because I won’t have a two-faced person for a friend. Goodbye.’ Strangely enough, as she walked across the short corridor without a single glance back, I felt as if part of my heart was leaving with her.
“ Shortly after, Nora moved away from my block and transferred school. I have never seen her since.” My words faded into the silent room. I opened my eyes to see Rachel gaping at me, shock and disappointment written on her face. I smiled wearily at her, ruffling her tousled hair. Already I was regretting telling the last part of the story, but it would be a lie to pretend it had never happened.
“ Well what would you have done? I didn’t know any better. But if I could just see her once more, and say I’m sorry… that would mean a lot to me.” So saying, I reached behind my chair and pulled out a tattered photograph album. Flipping expertly through the pages, I found the photograph with the ease that only comes with practice.
“ There.” Following my pointing finger, Rachel peered down at the picture.
“ Why, ah-ma, she looks exactly like Nurul! The girl who sits next to me in class.” The familiar old pang of loss and regret stung me once again. I plucked the album from her hands, and shoved it back behind the chair.
“ How nice. Ah-ma needs to nap now, run along and play.” Having excused myself, I hobbled off, ignoring Rachel’s pondering stare. The child really thought too much.
“ Ah-ma!” the familiar shriek echoed in the corridor. Embarrassed, I hurried over to Rachel, not daring to look up at the other waiting parents and grandparents. She beamed at me, all innocent radiance and pure joy. I frowned suspiciously at her, but she ignored me and instead hollered to another little girl, with curly black hair and brown skin.
“Nurul!” the little girl turned around. Ah yes, Nurul, the girl who sits beside her, the girl who looks like Nora of old. The resemblance was indeed rather striking… I peered closer. Then I saw exactly whom Nurul was leading by the hand towards us. Step by hesitant step, a shrunken old Malay lady with a familiar face was approaching us. Rachel beamed at me, whispering,
“ I thought you might want to meet Granny Nora. Nurul said she told her your story too.” I stared from Rachel to Nurul to Nora in disbelief. Then with a heart-wrenching cry, I leapt into Nora’s arms, my arthritis forgotten.
“ I… I’m sorry. For everything.” The words choked on the unshed tears caught in my throat. She smiled that unchanged winsome smile at me.
“ Dawn, don’t worry. I forgave you long ago… now forgive yourself too. How about coming over to have a look at how my collection of Barbie dolls has grown?” A laugh, another hug, and it was as if years had not passed since I made that mistake all those years ago. It was all I could hope for, that Rachel and Nurul would not have to wait seventy years to realise that skin colour does not determine the worth of your friendship, and that beneath that sometimes misleading skin, all of us are of only one race – humanity.
I love the last line the most. It’s so true. So true. I love you guys. I really do.
