Get Involved

Little Ben is joining a field trip organised by his form teacher. Guess what? They are short of volunteers to keep an eye on the children during the trip as the participation is rather high. Iris assured me that it will be a wonderful experience when I asked her for opinion. She once volunteered for her cousin’s school expedition. It was an unexpectedly enjoyable one, according to her. I checked the marked calendar, it said I’ll be on holiday anyway. Plus it has been more than a decade since I last visited the zoo. So I thought, why not? With regard to this, Ben’s mother has invited me over for dinner. She called earlier today, saying it’s the least she could do to repay me. I’m all ready to bring my empty stomach next door. I step on its doorstep, ringing the bell. The door opens before long and a cheery face looks up to me. “Good to see you, fussy old man!”, he playfully hollers.

The Warmth

Preciously, I lay it on top of the stack of letters in the desk drawer. Impressive how a handmade card can mean so much to me. We have gotten really close over the past eight months, although we have never actually met each other. We share a unique bond filled with trust and honesty. She may be the closest friend I ever had, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. She’s turning every shade of grey into colours, as her name connotes. I appreciate every consolation, encouragement and motivation received. Inspired by her, I’m pretty much an optimist at present. I start to view things from a different perspective. However lightly, it helps to control my obsessive-compulsive disorder. What’s more, I now spare some time doing stuff I have never done before. My life is gradually gaining substance. Someday, when the time is right, I would love to meet her in person.

Disclosure

Why am I so hyped up over a name? I find it hard to suppress this infantile behaviour from surfacing. But still, I hold my breath and read on, until I finally come across the name. It sounds so pure and delicate. Naturally I tend to relate it to the flower which shares the same name, rather than referring it to the circular, pigmented curtain of the eye. Besides, it reminds me of a painting by Vincent van Gogh, which he painted in the asylum before his death. Having fulfilled my inquisitive mind, I prepare myself to leave. On second thought, I have a borrowed book to return. Therefore I move towards the rack where visitors put their belongings. I get ahold of the book from my backpack and head for the counter. “Are things going well, sonny?”, the librarian shows her concern. “Fairly well, ma’am. I think I should take the initiative to drop the formality in my eventual correspondence with her.”, I tell her in response.

The Cancerian

It’s a quarter past twelve. Perched on the chair at the carrel, I unfold the long awaited piece of letter. The thought of discovering her name sends me aflutter. In the silence, I read through every word on the blue-lined, white surface. The letter begins with a formal greeting; subsequently stating her curiosity that Mrs. Regina addressed her as Ms. Tuesday. She asked her what’s the story behind it? It’s funny that she was given a smirk instead of an answer. As I have thought, she is indeed a cancerian; I got the gist through the sensitivity of her reply. It was pretty bright of her to have guessed it right that I’m the only child in the family. Apart from that, she apologises for not introducing herself previously. Here comes the moment of truth, I hear myself saying. My heart pounds like a locomotive, knowing her name lies in the following line.

A Weekend

“How many tickets, sir?”, she asks from the other side of the counter. “Just one please.”, I throw a quick reply. I manage to steal a glance at her name tag when she is processing the ticket. I make the payment shortly after receiving the ticket from her. She appears to be very enthusiastic about her job, making me happy for her somehow. Checking the time on my phone, I find out that I have approximately half an hour to spare. There are two reasonable options available for me; I can either go grab a drink of my choice at a café, or spend the remaining time reading a browsing copy of an interesting title at a bookstore. The latter is certainly a better choice if I’m taking frugality into account, but I insist on going for the first option just for a change. Thus, I direct my feet to the intended place and settle on a table for two. Quite a crowd here I notice.

Good Read

Yesterday’s visit was a letdown, unfortunately. Since I was already there, I brought a book home with me nonetheless, presuming it could be a pleasing distraction for me. I’m like over halfway through the book now. Right until this point, I can confidently say it serves its purpose. A very liberal and somewhat erotic fiction, explicitly exposing the ugly face of modern youth in the land of the rising sun. Engrossed and losing sense of time, I am. My stomach is growling from within, dragging me out of the fictional world. How about a delivery meal? I suppose it’s alright to indulge in such convenience once in a while. Picking up the house phone which I hardly use, I dial the numbers accordingly and make my order. The dial tone sounds nostalgic, or should I say obsolete? With that taken care of, I’m off to the other world. I think it’s probable to finish two chapters before the bell rings.

The Gift

There went Thursday for being under the weather. It sure feels good to be in the pink again after the reasonably long rest. I come to remember that the generous gift from my neighbour is still in its box. I decide to take them out to see the sun today, so I try to put them on. They fit my feet nicely, which then raises my suspicion. She must have ascertained my shoe size on the sly beforehand. Moving a couple of steps ahead from the building in the new pair of sneakers, I tramp the pavement under the delicate morning sun. The traffic is rather light at this hour, resulting in fresher air to breathe and lesser noise pollution. I catch a glimpse of a passenger reading in a moving bus, and the library comes to mind. Maybe I should make a visit to check if Ms. Tuesday has left me a reply letter. In actual fact, it is more likely an excuse for my impatience that is kicking in.