In Continuum.

An Urge

A Saturday night in the Hougang neighborhoods, a place with a thousand different memories. There is the one with myself running along the private housing estate, shunning away from ferocious guard dogs and the low hanging trees from houses with lazy occupants that never bothered to trim their plants. I remember dodging those trees while on those long morning runs, with the voice of the P.E. teacher ringing in the back of my head like an army sergeant of sorts, pushing us on without a pair of hands on our backs and the authority without a hard cold stare. That was the route that we took in the past during the first few months of my Junior College days. Every Wednesday was the day that the students would be forced to run a whooping 4.8 kilometers in the neighborhood around the school, and I remember this estate very well indeed. But it all looked different at night, at midnight to be exact. The streets were darker with more sinister looking shadows, with my footsteps bouncing off the walls of empty porches and driveways. Dogs would come running up to the gates, threatening to tear our faces off if we step within the biting distance of its fangs. But we always stayed at a safe distance, with the dogs baring their teeth mercilessly, always through the bars of the front door. Even the dogs haven't changed over the years, still hating every stranger that passes their domain without a piece of steak. Everything was still the same.

There is this other memory, a rather vague one, of the band walking up the streets and to the driveway. A day before the performance three years ago, a random Monday afternoon in July. Woodstock is what they called it then, a very distant cousin from the actual Woodstock concerts. Organized by the school, bands would come together for an one-night-only performance at the atrium of the school, and our band was one of them. Dragging our guitars and equipments, we arrived at Rachel's who had all the other missing pieces of the puzzle. The electronic drum set, the electric guitar with the amplifiers, everything. She was a cool girl, and still is - only if I can truly testify to that. It's been a while since I really saw her, aside from the brief encounter with her through the windows of the cab I was in two weeks ago. It was in the same estate then, while I was heading to Deuel's house with my spanking new Mac. She was in a hurry to go somewhere, messaging on her cellphone while heading in the opposite direction of the vehicle. I tried to wave then, but she didn't notice the excited shadow in the car that was passing by. But still, she still looked pretty much the same as she did from the last time I saw her in January. She lost the pink in her hair, replacing it was a slight dye of brown. She still looked famished somehow, but at the same time still strong enough to survive anything. Like the dogs of the streets, like the shadows in the night, everything still looked the same - even the occupants.

It was a night after our Saturday studying gathering, something which I've been looking forward to every week. It's not so much about the studying - which is never fun - but the company that I get every Saturday that makes the gathering extra special. There is Deuel, who is the owner of the house, the dogs, the great entertainment system and the target of amusement most of the time. There is Hooey, the wild child with an innocent heart, the blur queen of the group, the absent-minded girl. There is Jonathan, the brain of the group, the main dude, the homicidal maniac. There is Kania, the Indonesian, the girl who likes to hump light poles, and the one with the good taste in movies - like me. Five of us would gather every Saturday for studying sessions such as the ones we've been having for the past three or four weeks or so. Amidst all the studying, there is also that sense of belonging, the way you would feel as you become associated with a group automatically. It's like Nick Carter being associated with the Backstreet Boys wherever he goes for now, however much he'd like to leave that name behind. We don't have a name for ourselves, unless you consider "The Studying Group" as one. We work as a whole, but as individuals as well. We come together for a common purpose, and at times in different directions too. We were there, because the distance between each other feels warm and cozy, at least for me.

There was a group of similar friends sitting in the porch last night, the main smoking on his cigarettes while the ladies talked around the table. Kania, Jonno and I were going home at 1.30am, after watching Fight Club and getting a kick out of it. I wondered if we would be doing the same thing ten years down the road, still hanging in the same neighborhood like the way the barking of the dogs never seem to have changed over the years. We will be drinking, smoking, and talking at the same time about our own lives as they flash by before our eyes. I didn't want to expect anything to happen in ten years, because expectations lead to disappointments. And being a pessimist makes you a winner all the time. You are either proven right all the time, or pleasantly surprising all the time. It sounds like a good deal, a chance that I jumped upon without much questioning.

Like all similar nights for the past few weeks, it usually ends with a short cab ride home that costs in the vicinity of three or four dollars. The problem with that estate is that it is probably the most inaccessible area in the whole Singapore, despite all the urbanization around the corners. Getting off the cab, the new security guards stared at me with curiosity, not recognizing me as a long-time resident of the estate. They've been changed in the past week, to a new and a batch of younger security guards from Cisco. The man at the guard house set up in his chair, not expecting a person to walk in through the entrance at that hour of the night. Still, I gave him a glance and was on my own in no time, walking pass the barber shop that is soon to be up and running in a few weeks, and the empty restaurant downstairs with a tricycle parked in the corner. I pictured the noisy scene in front of the cafe, he it would've been like if the residents were still hanging around at that hour, with their cold beers and the high glasses with condensations dripping down the sits, making wet circles on the tables. The bustling on Saturday nights were not there anymore, moving ahead without me while I was in a place that hardly changed at all. Strange to think that something so close to me changed so much, as oppose to the same old estate I've been visiting over the past few years without noticing it.

As I crossed the road that night, I suddenly had the urge to tell somebody whatever I wanted to say then. I tried calling a few numbers on my cellphone, but it was a bad hour for somebody to pick up their phones and hear you talk about some trivial changes in your own neighborhood. Let's face it, nobody cares about your little bickering about these things, at least not at that hour. The phone rang a dozen times and stopped, directed me to the droning voice of a voice mail. I turned my cellphone off then, standing alone in the void deck as the urge grew and grew.

I thought to myself, that I had somebody to talk to at that hour about anything I wanted to. I was possible then, to pick up the phone and dial a number, and somebody would pick up on the other side to make you feel better about yourself by the end of the call. At least that comfort never changed then, amidst all the changing around me. It was a constant of my life, a refuge for my random thoughts. That person is gone now, and the only other place that I can do the same without much guilt is the same place that I've left behind to gather dust for the past two weeks. Guilt struck me last night, and the urge seeped into the empty room of guilt through a tiny hole in the door. It was time for me to blog again, the end of the break was neigh. I probably lost a lot of directions in the past, thinking that it was an obligation of sorts to blog for others rather than myself. In truth, the love for blogging was never meant for anybody else, but myself. It started with an urge to talk about my feelings, and the reason why I did it on the internet was because I was too lazy to write my thoughts down instead. And I am still so damn lazy as I was, four years ago when I first began.

So here I am, blogging for the first time in a long time. So much has happened within this period of time, and I can't wait to peel this onion off layer by layer to reveal the core that lies within. I'm not too sure what happened in the post two entries ago, nor can I promise that such a rash decision is not going happen anytime soon. However, we all try to make the best in times of change, especially when change is the only constant in this world. We try to adapt, we try to change with the change. Life doesn't stop even for your childish bickering. Let's move on, and here's my life all over again.

Rejoice.