You know, I never ever learned how to spell the word "DIARRHEA". Why can't they just call it "shitloads", or "humanniagra" or "letitflow"? Anyway, that's what I've been getting for the last couple days, and I nearly humanniagra in my pants cos I've shitloads in the morning 3 times already. I wonder when this letitflow will stop... The doctor's magic kinda not working at the moment.
I used to have a playmate back in Primary school, where we used to sneak out during recess to the tiny monsoon drains just outside to catch tadpoles and guppies. The school fences were tall and overgrown with morning glory creepers, so its hard to spot anyone just outside the fence sometimes. But kids being kids, yelps and screams usually give us away.
Which reminded me that there was this rumor about a grave that existed in the far corner of the school field which was replaced by a sand ditch for long jumps. Everyone used to avoid that little corner, until we decided to explore that part a little.
Tucked right at the edge of the school field, the furthest point from the classroom blocks, the sand ditch sat there, ditched. The school hasn't used it once the 6 years I was there, and nobody ever plays in that corner cos it was just too far. When we finally got there that one afternoon - a whole bunch of boys filled with gusto and false courage - we kinda scared ourselves silly when somebody stepped on a concrete slap. Believing it to be the tomb, some screamed and ran, while the others closed in for a detailed inspection.
Well, it was a concrete slab. For the long jumpers.
Anyway, coming back, while the party dwindled to a mere few of us, we went right to the corner to what seemed like a little hole in the fence. As we got closer, we heard a voice talking from the other side, which, again, freaked a few others out. After keeping silent for a few moments, we finally realised... its the neighbor staying just beyond the fence.
To speed the story up a little, we kinda searched for the opening, but instead, found a path leading somewhere. The vegetation got a little thick so the path was kinda hidden away. But by the time we boys brushed and stamped our way through, we finally found the fourth gate for the school. Which was nice, considering it convenient students entering from that side of the school. But the locked gate was just that. Another locked gate.
We headed back and asked the teachers about the gate, and it was apparently closed because the staff in the school had gradually been reduced, and the gate could not be guarded anymore. Hence, they decided to just open 2 out of the 4 for security reasons.
Did I mention we used to get free rides from teachers on the way to school? Since it was a pretty long walk from the main road, teachers passing by usually pick up as many students as they can on the way in. Of course, there were instances we would hitch a hike with passing motorists we knew.
Life was simple then. Couple weeks back, I offered somebody around the estate a ride to the inside of the estate. The auntie looked at me like I was some robber or baddie up to no good. Times, have certainly changed.
Coming back, this playmate of mine was a terror in class. He picks fights, is loud, foul in his language, and totally angry as a kid. But, no matter how agitated he is, he always, SOMEHOW, tops the class. Oh, I remembered, when a classmate decided to take up the dare of putting a green bean in his ear and then letting it roll back out, but got it stuck inside again, he was the one who laughed the loudest... for days. And the bean... well, the school dentist couldn't take it out, and they promptly packed him to the nearby hospital to have it extracted. Funny thing though, he came back with a little sealable bag containing the extracted bean for souvenir.
Guess what the bean was doing in class? For the Science project - growing sprouts from the beans. And he dropped that bean into his water dish nevertheless. Duh.
I guess my point is that, as we grow older, we kinda forget all these little details that make us what we are today. I remember sitting by my mom's bed and listening to her old wives tales, and my grandma's stories of the war; my dad's incredible tales out in the jungles, my sister's horror accounts in the school's haunted toilets. All that slowly faded away while we progress with increasing madness to stay competitive and sustainable.
I've been trying to build a place of my own that screams tales and fantasies, hopes and dreams. Yet, people pass through my doors everyday concerned about their daily bread and butter, or their life and death.
It is beyond wonder why people worry too much. Like Irwin puts it, humans just think too darn much sometimes. And with that, it breeds a continuous decline in our humane behavior where we care less, enjoy the materials more, but never regaining that innocence of being.
I wish you all well, but sometimes, letting go is a really good thing.
A very good thing.
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