I usually don't like clearing drawers and bookcases because I find the task exceedingly mundane and boring, and often a waste of time. However, today was an exception.
I went through one drawer in my room, and found a whole wealth of items, stories (and money! I also found six whole dollars. This discovery made me very happy as I had resigned myself to being completely flat broke for what is left of the month, which is not an entirely pleasing prospect at all.)

After working steadily (and stolidly) through the small mountain of movie ticket stubs (though why I keep them, I'll never know), odd scraps of paper (usually with a few poetic lines scribbled on them), a few extremely creased and folded lined sheets of paper that I had smuggled out of exam halls some years back (again, because of some poem or another written on the blank side of the page), and, curiously, a paper origami sampan, I chanced upon a stack of envelopes and postcards hidden at the very back of the drawer.

And, before you say anything, no, these were not letters from lovelorn lovers of the past (besides, I've never had any to begin with).

First: postcards from aboard an aeroplane (with the classic glossy photo of an aeroplane engine gracing the front), Monaco, Luzern and Milan. Some had little warnings such as 'these stamps can only be found in Monaco! So very, very precious! Cannot find in France!' or complaints like 'things in the Alps very expensive, I don't know how I'm supposed to budget!' with several sad looking faces next to it. All obviously had too much to say, too many stories to tell, as there was usually writing crammed into every conceivable corner of the postcard, with the writing getting progressively smaller the nearer it reached the end of the last corner. Reading them again was interesting..especially as my brother was rather expressive in his short letters back: 'going sunbathing later, later come home, all black!'

Second: many, many envelopes. Mostly from Singapore to China and/or England.
Some were very amusing, and almost every single one began with some question or another about his plants, which left me rather tickled.

One said 'tell Mama the coriander looks like going to 'kong' off (wither) but I think it's how it is suppose to look like.'

Here, we looked at each other. 'Did we have coriander?' He asked. I shrugged. 'Can't remember.'

Another asked, rather worriedly, 'My plants 'gua' (died) already?'

Which is quite funny, because now, a question that we ask each other daily is: 'Have you watered the plants yet?'

Which is, in turn, quite ironic, because most of the plants look on the verge of collapse.

There were three envelopes left. Two were from my brother's first girlfriend. They were filled with simple words and wishes, reminders to 'study hard', and apologies for not getting me a bigger present for my birthday. The sort of thing one wrote to one's boyfriend's ten year old sister.

And I remembered, that before the arguments, the accusations, the quarrels and the pain, there had been friendship, and something called love. There had been outings (where I had been Ling, and she had been Han, to avoid confusion) and postcards from England.

Funny, how things can change so much.

Funny, how humans are so fickle, perfect partners for the ever changing love.

I don't know where she is now, but I wish her happiness.

The third was from Alex, a friend in England. I sat next to him in school. He was Grecian, played the clarinet beautifully, and was a fantastic artist. I took a liking to him immediately. Sometimes, the form teacher would hand out little treats (chocolates and such) and I would pass them to him, pushing them over the little split in our tables that denoted where my table ended and his began.

I don't know where he is now, either. But I hope he is doing well.

Third: A bracelet, woven out of green, red and yellow threads. With the word JAMAICA spelt out across the band of yellow in black thread. Given to me by James, another friend from England. When I first tried it on, eight years ago, it was far too big. Even after tying the two ends together as tightly as they would go, the bracelet still slipped off my wrist (paler, whiter back then, because I disliked exercise and preferred books) like it wasn't there. Now, it fits snugly. I raised my arm above my head, admiring the way the colours contrasted and matched my skin tone (darker now, because I hit the books and the track as often as I can). I still remember what he told me, on the wide stairway leading up to the library: 'I used to have a girlfriend once, but I don't like her now. I like you.'

Puppy love? Perhaps. I suppose he would be pleased that I had kept his bracelet all this while, and we would have a good laugh over his words, said eight years ago...

Perhaps I should tidy my room more often; these pockets of memory are fascinating...and should be discovered before they fade, as all memories eventually will.

last - next