In Continuum.

Red

Holly Golightly,"You know those days when you get the mean reds?"
Paul Varjak,"The mean reds, you mean like the blues?"
Holly Golightly,"No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"
Paul Varjak,"Sure."
Holly Golightly,"Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!"

--- Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)

*

Have you seen the colour red?
It is quite a colour i must say.
I know that colour red
Are you feeling it today?

*

You snapped your phone shut,and without noticing me,i grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away.Our fingers quietly and naturally tangled,filling up each others' finger gaps,as we stopped at the exit of the station,admiring the rain.You were having a good-hair day,and i was in my nice shirt.My hair was carefully tended to,and i had two books in my bag.But there was a sudden impulse,an urge to forget everything at all.A thought,a rather crazy one sprang to my head.

'Should we make a dash for it?'
'Why must we run?'
'Do you mind?'
'Not really.'
'Good.'
'Ready?'
'Yes.'
'One.Two.Three...'

And we ran into the rain,screaming.

*

Believe me,because I know.

Being dejected,rejected and then misunderstood.I remember those days when i foolishly stood at the balcony of my own home,thinking just how left out i felt from the rest of the family.It mustnt have been more than four years ago,but i remember that hint of sour in my nose,the way tears welled at the brink of your eyes,but not quite giving in to gravity just yet.I remember it was a hazy day,and the air was thick with a layer of white mist.And the afternoon sun was setting then,giving in to the youthful evening.The sunlight piercing the hazy wall,making the scenary almost yellow,like an old photograph,the forgotten memories of yester years.

My parents were setting up the dinner table,while i stood at the balcony,with my arms leaning on the railing,thinking just how distant i felt from everybody.Not just my family but,from everybody else.I remember deep inside,a bomb ticking off and then blowing up,just when my mother called me in for dinner.I wonder if i had appetite back then,and i wasnt sure if the food was going to remain in my stomach,and not come hurling out in the middle of the night.Because really,the thought of myself outside the world people created for themselves,small pockets of people laughing and smiling at each other,the thought of me being not in any such group was,in fact,appalling.

The worst kind of sad is the kind of sad that pretends not to be sad.And when you pretend not to be sad,when you try to avoid such flow of emotions,the problem with that is not just the stagnant state of the situation,but also the reminder of other problems in your life.You know,when you are alone in your bed late at night and feel that nobody in this world is ever going to understand just what the hell you are trying to convey,to say.You tell yourself to be strong,not to cry,not to show any hints of vulnerability,to do as told.But when that happens,when you take an overdued bill out of the mailbox,it is not just going to remain empty,but rather it will be filled with more delayed bills.It is not going to stop,and it is going to,ultimately,accumulate.

Why do things like that always happens when i am not around for you?I dont know,i guess i just dont have the capability to remind somebody of sadder times,the upsetting aspect of one's life.I am not even trying to boast about this,but there are times when you just want to...help out?I dont know.I really dont know.

But what i do know,is the feeling of accumulated sadness,the colour red.You feel afraid of so many things,but yet you dont know just what the hell it is.You are afraid,because you are not too sure what you are afraid of.And it scares you,like a robber hiding in the deep dark of an alley,and you are walking through it in the middle of the night,sensing his presence but never too sure who he is,or what he is,and what the hell he wants.It feels just the same,this lurking mass of shadow,like a menacing cloud called Fear.We get it a lot,but what can we do when we feel red- not blue?

*

We were so cold,we shivered.We came into the McDonalds,the cashier stared as us,stunned.We were drenched,despite the short distance from where we ran out from.I smiled at the old lady and everybody else in the McDonald's,waved at them while i led her upstairs with my spectacles still dotted with the remnants of the rain which splattered on those glasses.

It mustve been the air conditioning,because i remember my hand shaking nonstop.Her hand was too,and i held it tight as we tried to keep each other warm.There wasnt a word uttered,not a single one.There was just us,with the space in between,and as we talked the clouds outside slowly cleared,leaving behind a gray veil shrouded world.

You were supposed to study,remember?The papers are around the corner.It mightve been the coldness,or the lazy weather.You took out your notes and your papers,flipped through them a couple of times and left them eventually on the sofa.You then gave yourself excuses to not study,saying that you've read them all before.'My hair is messy because of the rain',you groaned.And i ran my fingers through it,and told you that you looked beautiful.

So we ended up talking,like we usually do.I remember we talked about your friend mistaking sanitary pads for a incubator for eggs.I remember talking about the mid-exams feeling of the futuring brightening.I remember talking about savaging West Grove Primary school children,devoured the leftover french fries,and how they swarmed the outlet like locusts.I remember talking about the group of middle aged ladies,and how we might be in their shoes,with the youngsters laughing at just how much we've aged in relative to them.I remember you asking me if i'd ever go out with a twelve year old,and i remember telling you about a person i know,who is twenty-three,going out with a fifteen year old.I remember you talking about my hair gel,and i remember you asking me if you are crazy.I remember you calling me a pervert,and i remember saying the same about you.I remembering the photographs we took,and i remember myself trying desperately to act innocent.I remember your hands in mine,and i remember us talking without speaking.I remember you falling asleep,and i remember the safe feeling.I remember not wanting you to disappear,and i remember you promising me to eat more to prevent that.I remember us talking about death,and i remember not wanting any of us to go.I remember the rain falling again,and i remember us talking without speaking somemore.

But most of all,i remember the taste of strawberries,i remember it all.

*

Celine,"I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt..."

--- Before Sunrise (1995)

*

The room was dark,the silence was almost unbearable.But i smiled,trying to get you back on.I rejected a call from a concert,and as guilty as i was i really wanted to help.People say that crying is a sign of vulnerability,or is it really?I told you to let go,i told you to let it flow.I told you to remember,and i told you to recall.And by the end of the night,the silence of you wasnt so unbearable anymore.Because i could hear your muffled breathing in the sheets,then the chuckles at my stupid and lame attempts at jokes.

A couple of hours ago on the bus.From the interchange at Bishan to my place,it takes a grand total of ten minutes.I know,that we both wished it would be like the last time,when five minutes would be come ten,and then twenty.But the driver did his job,and did his job well.In fact,because of the time we were taking the bus,the road was clear and he drove faster than usual.I countdown down in your ear,and you squeezed my hand harder,asking me to stop doing so.Sorry that i forgot,it mustve slipped my mind,that you hate countdowns.We hate countdowns.

So we stopped,and silently without speaking,we said our goodbyes.Three more stops,two more and then one.A sudden fear crept up my back.What was it,what was it that threatened to stop my heart beat?It was a colour,a colour red.The colour red,dying the insides of me into a deadly shade of red.I thought right then,at the back of the bus with you,thinking that if i get off the bus i'd lose you for ever.It was strange,that though i knew i get the feeling all the time,but at the very moment it felt so real.As real as your hands in mine,and the weight of your body leaning against my side.It was very real,and for the last time that night,i tasted the strawberry,twisted with a tad bit of sour and longing.It mustve been the tears,or perhaps the ones that never fell.

I got off the bus,the humid night air stinging my skin.I came to the back of the bus where you were,and our eyes met.I placed my palm on the cold window of the bus,feeling the temperature difference from the outside.You placed your palm at the window too,and almost simultaneously we said our goodbyes.It's going to be fine,i thought.It is going to be fine.

Remember the piece of glass?Remember that small space that separated us?Whatever that happens in the future,when you feel red.When you feel it accumulating,when you feel tears falling.Think of everything as the glass,think of them materializing.I guess,as long as we can still see each other,no matter how thick the glass is,it is going to be okay,it is going to be fine.

*

'Hey,hey?Everything is going to be okay.Everything is going to be fine.Okay?'
'Okay.'
'Okay...'

*

The man pulled his children along,the bus driver waiting for him and the rest of his family.In his haste,he ran into a rope that dangled between two metal poles,demarcating a construction site of sorts.His son whined about the rope,and how he nearly tripped over it,while his wife screamed behind him,asking him if he was blind and that he shouldve watched where he was going.The husband was silent,and he pulled his children around the poles and finally onto the bus,with the wife still screaming her head off.The both of us watched,and chuckled under our breathes.But then you start to wonder,if the both of us are going to end up like that,screaming at each other for such a small mistake...

I know you've lost your trust,and i know you might have lost your faith.I know that,because of your personal issues you might have had the false impression that love dies eventually,that nothing you can do is ever going to make it last.But right here,i am telling you again what i told you over the phone.That if we end up like that couple in ten,twenty years' time,let's not treat each other like that.Let's not fight,let's not hate each other just because of accumulated frustration?

Will you promise,to get out of my garden when it rains,and get back to the place where we started,so you can want me back all over again?To get back to where we were from,the foundation of everything that we have,back to the very start of things.I'd like you to remember then,this very post,about this very night,and those very words.I want you to remember,and i'd like you to think in ten twenty years' time if it al comes apart,if you are going to betray all those memories and feelings and start to hate me.Because i am not going to do so,for i will find my way back to the very beginning,and i shall wait for you there until you come back,and tell me what you remember of this very night.

I promise.