See you in June

Rolling back the years, it never quite dawned on me how each time I visit this place brings me back to times that have come to past- dawning reflections at every turn, reminiscing  the timeless, haunting wonder of yesteryears.

Here is a tribute to one bright morning with scattered vapour trails across the open sky, there were no lines unscathed in their journey to eternity.  At eighteen and hopelessly thrilled on a Saturday, clutching two tickets to the rock show featuring Naked Breed and Love Me Butch at an indoor hideout  somewhere, someplace in Sutera Harbour.  Lazing on couches under dim lights and orange-green tiles accompanied by a horde of familiar faces while listening to independent-label bands tuning up the notch, rocking out the  lounge room. The most memorable perhaps was when Naked Breed hit the stage and were halfway through performing a song when they tried to rally everyone to the frontlines but noone dared step forward until they goaded us with a free-t-shirt. There was no t-shirt but just the perfect excuse to get out there into the moshpit and kick the lights out. All I can remember was that whizzing adrenaline racing  through my veins and we’d swing and dance away with friends and complete strangers amid dizzying forms of orange, green and screaming synth guitars meandering through the light dappled walls. Perhaps, this would be one of the more unforgettable moments with people who shared an inseparable part of my life growing up together through high school.

There was always too much time in our hands than we’d ever dreamed of having nowadays – it was an age of adventure, enduring the hours slogging through homework, pseudo-intellectual discussions, daydreams, shoeshine and rock and roll. So it’s all true when seniors kept warning us about the impending, inevitable rat-race before they melt away into the world unknown with each passing year. Of course we’d take their place and within a year, everyone went their separate ways.But somehow, someway, there are certain paths you take that might  lead to distant but familiar passages. Before you know  it, you’d be staring at a familiar face you remember from not quite long ago. 

Ten years soon after and halfway into June, I’m finding my way through this puzzle in my stint as a journalist chasing stories for a local paper in KK- your typical, everyday salary-worker. running around and zapping articles like there's no tommorow. Yes, you heard it from me, salary workers are the new underclass.