Delicate - Damien Rice

At 3am last night.

They say there are some things in life we never forget. The boy you whom side you sat by when you were 10 years old, listening to him play the piano while nurturing the first buds of puppy love. Managing to ride a bicycle in a wobbly manner but always saying you can’t just because you’re afraid of risking another sprained ankle. Butterflies during first kisses. Pulling your grandmother’s sagging skin while sitting beside her wheelchair. Seeing your father tearing for an instant, it was almost an illusion. Exhilarated from being miles and miles away from home, masquerading as a lone explorer; and despite all the unlucky things that happened, still managing to catch the flight home. Bursting in your chest when you see fireworks, cats, birds soaring. The people who were beside you through every angsty, vulgarity filled supper/ void deck sessions. We may choose not to speak about it; trying to hoard all these memories selfishly, selectively sharing, while constantly replaying those scenes in our minds when nobody is watching.

There are some things in life that we do forget. Nobody is watching when you forget. The face of the childhood friend whom you haven’t seen for 6 years; ever since puberty decided unceremoniously to arrive without updating anyone of the ‘after’ pictures, causing an extremely embarrassing situation of your childhood friend walking away after you fail to recognise him. Birthdays and anniversaries. Quarrels and disagreements between friends. Past indiscretions by a boyfriend (not done to you of course). That people do change; sometimes a shadow of whom they used to be still lurks, sometimes though, just a shadow. Cool humidity of night in Singapore and how much you loved to take long walks with the bestie and then realize when you are tired and your legs mechanically moving that there’s no turning back from this long walk. You also forget how much it hurts to put your highest stake on the table, your heart, and to withdraw all bets before showing your hand. Showing your final cards was inconsequential. It was not a factor of having better or worse cards, either way no one won the game. Only truth in that game of cards, your opponent evidently had a better poker face than you did.

And when nobody is watching, you fill your own sorrows with words you have borrowed from your past. Words which you have told every friend that had been hurt in that game - love yourself, because no one will until you do. (Discreetly slips an object into a cream envelope and tucks it into chest pocket. A closer inspection of the cream envelope would have read, To be kept safe, till the next time.)