I spent most of today in a limbo. Just staring ahead with dazed eyes and trying to place one foot in front of the other without having anyone notice how tired I was.

My mind is still wedged in between the noise and music of the campfire two nights ago. I wonder if I'll ever get over it. I have this feeling that most of the guides are still glued there, they haven't quite retrieved their brains from two nights ago yet. In fact, I'm quite surprised myself that it has already been two nights. I feel as if the campfire happened only yesterday.

I'm going to miss the Seconday Four people, very badly. Everytime I look at them- guides or not, it doesn't matter, I feel this wrench in my heart and my eyes start smarting, because I know that as each day goes by, it means one less day to spend with them, one less day to see them, one less day to laugh with them or tease them. Of course, in a part of my mind not affected by this sadness; probably the more pragmatic part of me, I know they'll still be here on Earth, in Singapore. But it just won't be the same anymore.

I feel like extracting the essence of each Sec 4, and keeping it in a little bottle; a little collection of memories, a little dash of the wise words and comfort that they always seem ready to give, so that I'll always have a bit of them with me, wherever I go.

I know life goes on, and I know I'll always remember them, but, being the selfish human being that I am, I don't want just memories. Memories will fade, photographs will turn brown with age and curl up like the wilting leaves in Autumn. I don't even want their messages. Those little sheets of flimsy paper, covered in spidery handwriting of all sorts may, one day, fly out the window, be lost in a flurry of hands and feet, or be torn up and scattered all over the cold earth in a single fit of anger.

No, I don't want all that. What I want is them. The real people themselves, with their magic cupboards of comfort and secret attics of shining treasures, with their pantries of undiscovered wisdom and seemingly endless hugs. That is what I want.

But, all good things must come to an end, and when they leave I'll be left staring at the golden grains they have left behind and at the path that I must follow.

I promise I'll cherish and look after every grain you have gifted us with, and tend to them so that they'll grow one day into a beautiful garden...

But, I'll still miss you, all of you...

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