Commencement The hall is much too cold. My joints hurt. I feel too old, for eighteen. I fell here, scraping my knees on rough carpet, on the first day. The skin scabbed over, was shed in time.
Six years of scabbing over; I am surprised I do not have a carapace by now. Things I do not have: Sunrise on Tioman, where the beach gave way to froth, a perfect Kodak moment for best friends forever and star jumps. Rollercoasters, ice cream at the movies, conversations lubricated by frappucinos, fraught with banality and dancing to a tired K-pop beat. Things I have: Scrambling through wet sand in borrowed slippers as the noon burned salty bodies and melted away violence for the nonce. Bus rides, fried sweet potato, over-warm water on short jaunts into the rainforest, the threads of philosophical arguments holding bodies together. Things I do not have, did not ever have: That elusive creature Normal. Things I have, nunc et semper: You.
When we leave this hall, it will be a departure for the rest of our lives. Ten pages of paper in a fake leather folio will set us in motion through that excruciating game: a dog-and-pony show, a rat race, metaphors that remind us we are beasts of burden. I am not a number. You are not a number. For now we have this thought to comfort us, and then – a camera flash pops, my cue nudges me. Forward unto the waiting dignitary’s handshake. Exit stage right. Annabeth Leow NUS High School