the threads in her head

6 years can change a person, a lot. 6 years ago I was in secondary school.

I always thought it was a beautiful school. Symmetrical, and ordered, pleasing to the eye, classical and traditional.

I loved the clear blue sky against our pink and red brick, the soft greys that enveloped our school, the pops of light blue in our classroom chairs, the fact that we did so many memorable things - the longest popiah record, etc. Lots of youth fairs, lots and lots of them. I remember how the building needed a facelift, and we were allowed to participated in the choosing of paint colours. I remember the bright pink sample that was so bold.

And I remember how nearly most of us wanted the same soft grey, the quiet serenity and peace that typified our school so well.

I remember, sitting at the garden benches outside the staff room, and then standing up, moving to the windows to see rain fall down, silver-grey.

I remember, being safe, and encouraged.

I remember feeling.

Secondary school days seemed to bring out the quieter side of us, the one that thought deeper. Not about problems, not about how to manage this, handle that, not about how to split an entire event into small manageable tasks that you can then get different people to do. But feelings, life, friendships...

Finding your own voice. Nuances.

I remember being less pragmatic.

I remember loving writing.