Our Memories

Hey, superwoman. You’re everywhere. Today is the eighteenth of June. The time is now seven in the evening, and you had just scolded me two hours ago, and I have decided to do this, so that I would not forget our memories.

Do you remember the first time that we met?

When I first saw you, you were sitting three desks away from me, your eyes always on the teacher. We were both seven years old that year, and that was when I believed in love at first sight: For a few minutes later, we kept on staring at each other.

“Hey,” I walked towards you and started the conversation, do you remember?

“What?” You said, your voice still a girlish tone. When you turned to face me, you did not smile.

“Can I borrow a pencil?” I whispered.

“You don’t have a pencil?”

I shook my head, wondering if our classmates had heard us.

“Okay.” You reached into your Hello Kitty pencil box and scooped out a mechanical pencil. I almost jumped back, for that kind of pencil cost more than two dollars.

“So expensive.” I said.

“Do you want it, or not?”

“Okay!” I took it. The class suddenly went still and quiet. I glanced up and saw a big-sized woman strolling into the classroom.

“Why are you moving around?” The big woman pointed at me. All our classmates looked at you and me.

“She…” I pointed at you with the pencil. “She wanted to borrow a pencil from me. She told me to come here to pass her the pencil.” I said and put the pencil on your table before running back to my seat.

Did you remember that you turned and stared at me eighteen times during Miss. Teo’s lesson? Eighteen times; I had counted every single stare.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I don’t like you.” You said during recess time, when I queued just behind you to buy fishball noodles. Do you know that I hated fishball; that I had gone to that stall so that I could stand behind you?

“Why?” I shot back.

“If you want to borrow a pencil, be a man! Don’t borrow and then when you’re scolded, say I borrow from you. That’s so childish.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I don’t like to eat fishball noodles.” I said when you told me how delicious the noodles would taste if we add chilli. “Fishball is so slippery, I’m scared that I will choke on the fishball.”

“Then why you always buy fishball noodles?”

I kept quiet.

“Really, you don’t queue up when you don’t want to buy, okay? Don’t waste our time, can?”

I then pondered for a few seconds on whether or not I should tell you the truth.

“Can? You want or not? You always queue here, it’s sort of annoying, you know? You know what is annoying?”

“I don’t like to eat fishball, but I like to look at fishball.” I said. It was a lie; a white lie, like what Michael always said.

“Then go away and look at plates of fishballs.”

“Because, Fang Ling, you look like a fishball.” I said, and that is so true, because I like to look at you. I took a step back and my feet hit something. Someone yelled and I turned back.

“I’m not a fishball.” You said and diverted your attention back to the queue.

“Sorry.” I whispered, but as usual, you did not hear what I wanted you to hear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My parents had once said that I am a little different from other kids: I would learn things slower than other mainstream students, and in order for my mind’s defense mechanism to counter that, I would say out things that would not make sense so as to cover my flaws. My mother said that was not an illness, but a weakness; as long as I have the will to overcome it, I will be just like a normal child.

Basically, when I was young, I had social problems. I only consulted a psychiatrist after my father’s death.

That day, when Mrs. Wong asked us what a fishball is made of, I gasped aloud, as I had just told you during recess time that you looked like a fishball. A few of my classmates raised their hands. You were one of them.

“Zhi Jie!”

I shivered, and felt my blood running throughout my whole body. I did not raise my hand!

“What’s the answer?”

I did not even know what lesson it was. I tried to make out an explanation: Was it made of fish, or was it made of soccer ball? I was supposed to give an answer, not two, and something triggered into my mind. I smiled and looked at your direction. You were staring at me, your hand still raised, still grabbing on to the opportunity to impress the class.

“Fishball is made of Fang Ling. Mrs. Wong, do you know who Fang Ling is?” I said. A few classmates laughed. Mrs. Wong lowered her eyes and twisted her head a little, an expression of confusion. “There.” I pointed at you. “That’s Fang Ling. Doesn’t she look like a fishball?”

Everyone laughed, and that was when I first saw you shedding tears. Do you know that as you cried, I was hoping so much to run to you and wipe off your tears, but I had no tissue paper so I just ignored you? And after that, I promised to myself that if you were to shed another drop of tear, I would wipe your tears off personally, whether or not I have a tissue paper with me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Sorry.” I said. I had risked my life by walking from my table to yours after English lesson and was crossing my fingers, hoping that Miss. Teo will fall down on her way up the stairs so that we will have more time to talk. “Are you still crying?”

“Go away.” You said.

“I’m sorry.” I repeated.

“I’m not. Go away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go away!” You yelled. I backed off, frowned and stared at you one last time before I ambled towards my table.

“Tan Zhi Jie! Where are you going?”

I turned and saw Miss. Teo at the threshold of the classroom. My legs froze. I was still three steps away from my table.

“Why are you always walking about?” She shouted. I turned to face her. You were staring at me with a smirk, like a look of victory.

“Fang Ling treated me to eat fishballs at her table.” I replied. “But I prefer to eat my own balls.” I then walked towards my table like nothing had happened. I did not understand then why Miss. Teo sent me to talk to Mrs. Raja, a school counsellor, after that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hey, superwoman, do you remember the first “cold war” that we had?

“P.E stands for Physical Education.” I remembered the first sentence that I said to you, after two months of cold war that you had inflicted on me, was that.

“Go away.” You said. I wanted to play “catching”, but the teacher was teaching us some silly game. Every one of us was looking away from the teacher, looking at the cloud that seemed to be changing shapes every few minutes.

“I can’t go away, not during P.E lesson.”

You turned away from me and moved your butt further away from me as the teacher mouthed on about the rules of the game.

“Are you still angry? Are we still…” I wanted to use the word ‘friends’, but I halted, thought of other words and instantly proclaimed, “…husband and wife?”

“What the?” You turned, looked at me deep in the eyes and then the P.E. teacher – a skinny and old guy – screamed your name. You jumped a little, and then he machine-gunned a total of ninety-seven words to you before continuing with the lesson. You did not cry, but I could see your eyes turning red and tears struggling to drop out.

Do you remember what I did? I took out my t-shirt and wiped your eyes with it. Then you screamed, I screamed and we were taken to the principal’s room. It was my ninth visit, and your first visit.

Do you know I was just trying to wipe off your tears, and that I was not trying to dirty your face with my t-shirt?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When we were eight years old, I finally told someone about my love for you.

It was during Lunar New Year. My cousin Jacky, who was twenty years old then, had brought a new girlfriend to show off to our relatives. His new girlfriend had big almond eyes and red bloody lips, with boobs the size of watermelons.

I had always liked Jacky. In the afternoon when all the adults crowded to talk, I went towards to him. He was counting his earnings from his card games at the corner of the living room.

“Jacky kor kor,” I started, looking around to see if his girlfriend was around. “What is love?”

I remember that when I said that, an image of you in your P.E. t-shirt flashed inside my head repeatedly, like a hallucination that refused to budge off.

“Ah jie! God oh god, you’re P3 now?”

“I am not god, nor am I your dog. I am in primary two and I am eight years old this year.”

“Right. What love, dude? Fatherly love?” He turned and seemed to be trying to scan for my father. “Or motherly love? Love for money? Love for angbao? What love, dude?”

“Love as in loving each other.” I said, and realized I had dropped my voice into a whisper.

“Right on. Why not you tell me what happened? Jia Wen and I can give you some godly advice, you know. How cool is that, little man?”

“I’m fine, you look cooler.” I rubbed my hands and wondered if I should tell him about you. In my mind, you no longer wore your P.E. t-shirt: You were wearing a red dress and was asking your relatives for hong baos.

“You’re still having that social skill problem eh. Okay, come on, tell me, or not?”

“I know a girl.” I said. I was wondering if you had changed into a fly and was flying towards the living room from your house. “She is my classmate.” I said, regretted, and said, “Not really. Friend.” Regretted again. “Very close.” A lie, so I scratched my nose. “Not classmate, not friend, very close.”

“Then, Romeo, who is this girl? The auntie who sells fishball noodles at the canteen?” He laughed, although I did not find it amusing.

“No, Fang Ling don’t sell fishball noodles, but she looks like a fishball.”

Jacky laughed out loud and tapped the floor repeatedly. “Okay, I get you. Fishball girl Fang Ling. Yeah, what about her?”

“I think I like her.” I said.

“Oh, love story.” Jacky said, and his girlfriend – Jia Wen – came walking towards us. I frowned.
“It’s not a story. It’s the truth.”

Jia Wen greeted me and Jacky did an introduction. He told her I had some social skill problems but as he had not asked me a question, I did not say anything. Their conversation slowly drifted into whispers and then ballooned into a loud laughter.

“Interesting! Come closer to me, Zhi Jie.” Jia Wen closed in on me, and my head nearly hit her breasts. “Tell me about Fang Ling.”

“I am close.” I said. “I can’t tell, because she may be coming soon.”

“Oh? You bringing your lover here today?”

“She is a fly.” I replied quickly. I changed my attention back to Jacky. “Jacky kor kor, can tell me what love is?”

“Love.” Jacky looked away, and then looked at Jia Wen. “Is simple. Do you think of this girl everyday? Hoping to see her every single second? Hoping to make her smile every minute? Hoping to see her laugh every hour?”

I slid away from Jia Wen and looked at Jacky in the eyes. I had no answer. “I am in love.” I said.

“Sure? Yours must just be puppy love.”

“What is puppy love?”

“Puppy love is just love… without emotions. Just like a crush, you know. Just a childhood thingy. Let it go, little Romeo.”

“No. Mine is not puppy love.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I think of her everyday, I want to see her every single second, I want to make her smile every minute, I want to make her laugh every hour.” I said, and for the first time in my life, the sentence came through not directly from my head to my mouth: It went through a series of thoughts, and suddenly, I realized I was replying logically to a question, and the answer sent me to ecstasy.

Because it involves you, and anything that involves you is good.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Do you remember the day that I decided to tell you about my feelings? We were ten years old then.
It was a serene morning. It might have looked like I had just decided to tell you all of a sudden, but that was not true. I had spent days doing research on you, and I knew that on every Wednesday, you would come to school earlier. You would walk to the school canteen, buy a slice of watermelon and then eat alone at the sixth bench.

When you were alone in the canteen, chewing on the watermelon with your mouth all red, I ambled towards you. Do you know that all of a sudden, my legs felt so heavy, and my cheeks felt so hot? It was like the journey from the school car park to the school canteen was a few kilometres away.

You had almost finished eating and were rubbing your nose, with your legs crossed and your flowery underwear fully exposed. I stole a peek, then another and drifted my eyes away, afraid that you had caught my glance. After a total of nineteen steps which took five minutes, I was standing just in front of you, beams of sweat dripped out from my sloping hairstyle. Everything around us froze, and all I saw was you looking at me with those dearest eyes once more.

“What?” You had said, your voice in a measured tone. I was trying to fix my eyes on your face instead of your underwear, which was making me felt weird yet excited. Ha.

“What is that?” I pointed at you, then my finger floated down to your underwear, and I lifted my finger up again. “What are you eating?”

“Watermelon.” You said, staring at me like I had owed you a thousand dollars.

“You drink water, you don’t eat water.” I said and realized I was still pointing at you. “Do you know?”

“Know what?”

I tried to flush out the recollections and the rehearsals I had made the day before. I could remember every single word; you were not supposed to say what you had just said. My script was completely wrong. My eyes dropped to your underwear and rolled up as quickly as possible.

“That is Winnie the Pooh.” I whispered.

“What is Winnie The Pooh?” You were saying.

I pointed at your underwear, wore a smile on my lips and said as soft as I could, “Your underwear is Winnie The Pooh.” Within seconds, I thought I could fit my script in. But you stared at me, and your eyeballs turned from white to red and then water seeped out from your eyes, and I was summoned to the principal’s room again, my fourteenth visit in two years.

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