i was their little accident...

it's all these tiny little random memories that find themselves flying back to me at the oddest if times.

Lingering thoughts of yesteryear that i assumed were long gone, occasions and moments which i had long forgotten about, channeled to the very back of my head.

But these days they all come flowing back like a rush of blood to the head, and i remember him ever more so. . . much more now that he is gone.

like that time i was in primary 5 or 6 . .. and i had fallen off my bicycle, hairline bloody fractured my skull, and was admitted to changi hospital. and i faintly remember him coming in and out of the room in the middle of the night with a cabby friend of his, and United were playing Nottingham forest on TV that night (i was in a private ward so i had my own personal telly!). united won 8-1 with solksjaer scoring 4 goals coming on as a substitute

the times we shared moments together over football...
i loved that. . . i mean ... for some reason i don't even know if he really enjoyed the sport.
because he was never really passionate or verbosely vulgar or intensely animated over the game as i was. .. and i still am...

he never screamed at a barthez fumble or oooohhhed over a giggsy dribble or ahhhheed during a beckham cross.

but looking back. .. i guess the countless countless cooooooountttless times spent together with me over football, be it at the stadium watching Singapore play at home, or on cable with UNITED .. .

he WAS there watching the games... just to be with me. . . just to spend a little more time with me. and just enjoying the company, being a real dad. . . which means just spending some quality time with his son. even if it meant spending hours on end over something he didn't really like.

you know . . . now that i come to think of it. . . he never really loved the game like i did.

he loved me.
.
.
.
and i miss that.
i miss him.
oh so much.

he used to drive me to JB.
we used to have the most random "overseas" trips at very spontaneous timings.
it's like. . .
3pm in a normal weekday afternoon. . .
*ring ring ring ring*
"oi you wanna go JB?"
"okaayy!"
and in an hour or two we'd be at the woodlands checkpoint.

unrivalled copies of PC games. DVDs and CDs would be bargained for mercilessly.
the car would get "snow washed" at some roadside carshop.
we'd have dinner at a seafood restaurant located on a steep slope.
and then before heading home we'd buy back bamboopaperbakedchicken. two lovely saltishly sweet birds. one for my mum and one for my stepmum.
sometimes if we were lucky there'd be a durian seller coming by while we we waiting for the poultry to be packed up. . . and my dad would hassle and sassle the guy till we got a competitive price (read: super dirt cheap) for a couple of torny pungent fruits.
going back home was always a worry for my old man. . .
cos we had to tactically place the contraband items in various everyday areas in the car where no one would get suspicious over.

then it was home before long and i'd just head straight for my pc, installing the new software and watching the new movies so dearly paid for by my dad.
i never really appreciated his commitment and sacrifices.
i never really said thanks.
and i never really did the best i could as a son.
but i love him.
and i hope he still loves me.
high up and above where the clouds float dreamily and the sunshine glows.

one of my favourite pastimes during "after hours" these days is to just take a stroll from bunk to bunk and have a peak at the many colourful photographs pasted on random lockers in and around the block (with granted permission from the boys of course).

and it's mind boggling in many ways just finding out how many of these photographs are actually of ... hold on ... ex-girlfriends.

YES. you heard me right.

not current girlfriends. not the confirm-going-to-get-engaged-soulmate girlfriend. and not even the future-potential-in-the-oven-making girlfriend.

EX-bloody-GIRLFRIENDS are all over the damn place.

and they all look bloody convincing.

it's hard to tell the difference and i believe that no one can.

because photographs of happy memories will reflect exactly just that. . . happy thoughts.

and happiness simply does not equal to ex-girlfriends.

we tend to stereotypically think of ugly-cowardly-breakups when confronted with that taboo term of sorts. the ex's.

so perhaps the block houses a bunch of losers. i will never know. because we all seem pretty cool in my eyes. CHEY!

but it just begs the question to be asked...

why do so many of us out there still desperately hang on to someone else whom has long since moved on?

why do we still indulge ourselves in such self-desecrating actions?

why do we refuse to let go despite knowing that whatever was precedent before will never ever happen again? ... no matter how much we pray or hope or wish for...

that there are just no such things as second chances...

like a rock thrown into the ocean will never return to you once more...

the girl who was once in your grasp will never ever be back.

so why do we still cling on ever so drearily?

no . . . it isn't to remind us to be wary. . . or to remind us of the bad. . . or the ugly . . .

which person in this world will ever want to remember the quarrels and misunderstandings and petulant little fights we all shared with our once significant others?

but rather it is more to remind us of the good. . . in all honesty. . .

of all the wonderful times spent with that beautiful individual (whoever she may respectively be)

. . .

we hang on because it feels absolutely amazing.

knowing that there once was a period of time where an individual actually cared and shared similar sentiments with yourself. . . he/she looked passed all your flaws and mistakes and shortcomings. . . and kind of loved you back, no matter how little or for whatever reason she possessed. . . there was still LOVE!

and despite the many other people who have come and gone in your very own life there hasn't really been anyone around good enough to take up her place or live up to her indefinably high standards... set by yourself of course.

and it's really unlikely that anyone will ever come close to achieving that feat.

at the end of the day we just settle down with the person who came closest, but never really matching that once familiar feeling of total carefree unencumberedness. . . where nothing could possibly seem to go wrong. . . and everything really felt RIGHT...

the photographs. . .

some old, some black and white, some with borders, some with immensely rich colour, some small, some big, some with hairline wrinkles, some folded, some stained, some crumpled, and some even framed and laminated. . .

though differing they may be . .. every single one of those photographs in the various lockers of boys from a wide variety of backgrounds and dating histories all share the very SAME purpose... and story even~ though the characters may somehow be very dissimilar.

from the most hardcore tattoed ah beng to the kuaiest goodytwoshoes nerdy jc boy to the clubgoingdrinking mat ... the many different boys here and around all have photographs of their ONCE loved one up on their lockers. they all portray happy smiling contented people.

and i just totally enjoy looking at photographs of happy couples.

because happiness is really the essence of it all isn't it?

it may come in variously divergent forms of course...

happiness for some people can be money, guccis, ferraris, manchester united, vera wangs, newborns, jimmy choos, josh grobans, and on the rare occasion, love and the person for he/she truly is...

but of course i have never quite understood the true meaning of the term "i'm happy if she's happy" ...

how can you be happy if she's happy and you're feeling all messed up?

until it just hit me. . . in very very recent times obviously .. .

that there really is not much point being unhappy~ because she's never ever coming back anyway.

regardless of all the sulking and moaning and self-loathing she's still going to be in the sweaty arms of another man.

whilst i'm not exactly thrilled by the idea of her gyrating and rubbing herself against that other guy it's just one of those terrible things in life where we have absolutely ZERO control of.

you can buy cars, influence children, build empires, create inventions and plant seeds in whatever fashion you wish to. . . but you can never ever ever ever FORCE someone to well and truly love you back genuinely ... it's got to come naturally. . .

which is why so many of us out there do the next best thing really...

by pasting the tiny little reminders of our once lovely lives on rusty metallic lockers... blu-tacks and all..

so yes. . . we might not really be happy. but we still try to do so by looking back and reliving happy thoughts, secretly yearning for it all to exist once again, and privately imagining that it's really taking place at this very moment in time.

time that has passed on by will never ever return.

opportunities that have gone will never come back.

the girl who stood there will not stay forever.