When I look back, I can't help but ask myself, how did I ever get the courage to leave it all behind? Where on earth did I summon the guts to actually be firm after two whole years? Honestly, I don't know why I'm busy ruminating about the distant past. I guess it's the after-effects of having way too much sleep. The questions of "what if" keep running through my mind. What if things had turned out differently.. or what if there was just ONE more A1 in the O Levels Cert? Would I still be who I am now? I won't call this regret, for I'm content the way I am now. If you ask me, I can't give you a straight answer as to why the heck these thoughts just suddenly flood my mind.

For those of you who know what I'm talking about, I guess you must be pretty.. surprised to know that I still think about this issue even though it's been over a year. (For those who don't get it, just read again.) Two years. It isn't a very long time, neither is it short. It's enough for two people to fully understand each other and their next of kin. Perhaps I made a big mistake, I'll never get to find out. LITTLE FLOWER. Cripes. Even as I say that, I don't feel much. It's just a sick numbness that resonates in my heart. But maybe this numbness means much more. I don't even dare to think about it.

It's 2 plus AM in the morning, and I'm getting these crazy jumbled up thoughts. If I'm regretting, I only have myself to blame, for letting a brilliant 2 years get flushed down the drain. I'm pretty sure what I'm feeling now is not regret, but then again, I've been known to get things wrong. Maybe it's nostalgia, when you click on Friendster profiles and accidentally stumble on that of your sister, and from there it leads to your sis-in-law, whose photos feature her husband - your brother - WHO LOOKS SO DAMN LIKE YOU.

It triggers off the awful realisation that I haven't seen you since 18th June 2004. Surprised that I can still remember the date? Eleven. That number used to matter so much. It still does, honestly. On the 11th of each month I subconsciously think "Hey, is there something I need to do on this day?". Then I realise, NO not anymore. Even after so long, the 11th of each month still brings back a sea of memories. Call me crazy, mercurial, obssesive, and I would kinda agree.

Throughout the past year, our correspondence has dwindled to the pathetic "hi" and "good luck for your races". It's a stark contrast to what used to be, and if you ask me, I can honestly say that I miss the inane conversations over MSN. The times every Sunday in 2001 when I'd mooch in front of the comp to wait for you to finish church and come online. THAT time when you told me your mother prefered Christians. I miss the lame jokes, the Thailand trip (crazy two hour room-to-room phone call), the bitching about your sis, the tales you told when you returned from either Australia or, later, Arizona every year. Or maybe that episode about the Lysol and the ants in your garden. You walking up and down the camera when a Mediacorp show was filming outside your house. Or that time when you rang to tell me you nicked a whole can of abalone and ate the whole thing without your parents' knowledge. Your shifting from one end of the island (Changi) to another (Clementi).

Even that zoo trip still brings back fond memories. I have the photos somewhere, stashed in my cupboard. I don't even dare to look at them again. NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS... do you remember? I know that one in which we stand beside that life-sized giant Cornetto. I think it was in August 2002. Signs, Minority Report, Lilo and Stitch (Youth Day 2002), Panic Room.. to name a few. Esplanade rooftop accompanied with apologies and tears, and taking photos with your Siemens phone whose attached camera you bought off ebay. That outstanding phonebook entry where you saved both our names and our numbers in one.

It amazes even myself how much detail I can still remember. It awes me even more that it is in my capacity to type so much about you. Then again, how can 2 years (5, if you count every year that I've known you) be condensed into one miniscule blog entry? Somehow as I type, there's this bitterness welling up my throat (which has nothing to do with the medication I'm taking), and yet there's an overarching sense of guilt which I hurriedly try to push away. Guilt, double entendre. Guilt for letting go, and guilt for thinking about things which I shouldn't even be thinking about.

Then again, maybe it IS the medication, messing with my synapses. Maybe one day, I'll look back and finally decide to delete this entry. I don't know. Maybe someone might actually use this entry against me. It scares me to think about how much I've actually revealed here.