Nocturne

Met up with a friend; who used to be part of a three-man clique I called, the secondary school buddies, I guess the third man drifted further away to compete for first class honors, which he thought mattered more over maintaining this friendship, not that we did not ever meet up again, probably just once every few months.

So we walked around Holland Village a bit, surprised to find that the shops I used to patronize years ago while schooling in the vicinity there, survived till today. Not that I am questioning their ability to stay afloat in a shopping center where not much people visit, but seeing them stick around, recreated the imagery of the past and I somehow yearned to return to those days.

The grandma who sat by the pavement, ringing her slightly rusted bell while looking upon the crowd who walked past her, hoping that someone would stop to buy her caramel candy. I did, years ago, as a schoolboy, out of curiosity and probably sympathy, it tasted sweet as it should have been, but the aftertaste was bitter as it should not have been; peddling to sell caramel candy at her age to this very day. I know not her reason, but I could feel the hardship she had to endure over the years, and this aftertaste came back to me when I saw her again yesterday.

Strolled down the ever changing facades of shop houses only to find a full house Starbucks, headed to The Coffee Bean behind and settled down at the only free table, when I went over to the counter to order our drinks, my cinnamon ice blended unconsciously turned into caramel ice blended which I thought, had a direct relationship to my previous encounter with the caramel candy grandma, maybe it was a subconscious reminder for me to better spend my money on a simple caramel candy over an expensive cup of coffee.

My friend's agenda came to light when he flashed out his seemingly (coffee) stained script for his short film. He had previously asked me to read his script but did not want to take chances with my eyesight reading it in the car at night, so I finally got to read it yesterday.

While I shall not reveal the story of his rather high potential entry into international film festivals, as promised by him; after spending eight years writing and preparing for it despite strong objections from his family, I could sense his excitement as he scribbled down my input on his script. I am sincerely happy for you my friend, having found solace in your ambition after overcoming many tribulations.

As he scurried off to watch a movie in town; as he always does, I made my way home by bus, only to find emotions run high, as I passed by my primary school and old home. In recent memory, I met up with my primary school friends, a gathering which had me struggling to decide whether I should attend the next one. As the bus zipped by the once familiar junction, I caught a glimpse of the corner of the estate where my room was, then my mind was flooded with a torrent of memories, which left me on the brink of tears.

Pardon the long post if you have been reading rather short ones previously, I guess future posts will be equally, if not longer, since my inability to design anything has caused me much exasperation, to switch over to musing mode. Besides, after providing much helpful and insightful comments to my friend, then musing so much here over the last two days, I figured words will be the best way to express myself effectively, for the moment.

Let me end this post with a new find, even though the song was composed thirteen years ago, it still has its charm through its simple yet meaningful lyrics:

Nocturne by Secret Garden

Now let the day
Just slip away
So the dark night
May watch over you
Nocturne

Though darkness lay
It will give way
When the dark night
Delivers the day

(norweigian lyrics if you care)

La dagen få
sin hvile nå
og natten vil våke for den,
Nocturne.
Se mørket må
engang forgå
så natten kan føde en dag.