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.