Random reminiscence
I know that girls write letters to girls, and boys and girls write letters to each other, but do boys write to other boys? And I don't mean a birthday card with two words on it, I mean a real letter. I'm just wondering, because I found a wad of old letters the other day, and I don't recall any of my guy friends writing to one another.
***
"Hey, I have something for you. Are you in school today?" HM messaged me. We were in one of those revisional periods in JC -- just before our 'A' Levels -- where attendance was unnecessary (and hence sporadic). I wasn't in school, as it turned out.
"Nope. I'll be in school tomorrow though," I replied.
"But I will be skipping class tomorrow!" she protested.
"Uh, uh-oh. Okay, why don't you drop by my class bench and just pass it to G. I'll get it from him tomorrow," I suggested. G was a classmate, and he'd always expressed a slight crush on HM (who was from a different class), but never dared to take any initiative beyond the cursory hi and bye; I thought I'd give him a little surprise.
"Okay, I'll do that!" HM confirmed.
I gave G a call, telling him to expect something from HM for me, and his voice went all high-pitched and stuff. Yeah, yeah, she's cute -- I get it.
***
Later that day, HM called me. "Your friend -- that G -- he's very rude!" she huffed.
"Really? What happened?" I asked. He couldn't have offended her on their first real exchange, right? He just couldn't have.
"Go ask him what he did, just go ask him," she said, her voice dripping with contempt and disappointment. "I have to go. I'll talk to you again?"
***
"What did you do?!" I demanded of G the next morning.
His face forlorn, he explained how she'd handed him a Charlie's Angels postcard. You see, Charlie's angels were clad in skimpy bikinis, and he thought -- to leave her a good impression, that she might think him the decent sort (which he is not, but never mind that) -- he'd face the scantily-clad women down. He flipped the postcard over, only to find the side where all the writing was crammed on staring at him.
"HEY!" HM shouted at him. "That's really rude, you know, reading a letter meant for someone else?!"
"Oh no, no, I wasn't..." he tried to explain himself, but she'd turned and stormed away so quickly; he was left standing there, momentarily stunned. (I can't remember if she took the card back, but she probably did.)
Listening to him relate the story in helplessness, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll explain it to her," I managed to assure him amidst the guffaws.
***
Days like these, I can't help but wonder how much of what I perceive are actually what they appear to be; I wonder -- these stories that I tell -- how different they are in someone else's memories, if they even remember at all.
I guess that's the beauty of human dynamics -- in one single encounter, we can walk away with vastly different experiences (as HM and G did); there are moments that some of us will remember for the rest of our lives, but these same moments, someone else will forget in an instant.
***
***
"Hey, I have something for you. Are you in school today?" HM messaged me. We were in one of those revisional periods in JC -- just before our 'A' Levels -- where attendance was unnecessary (and hence sporadic). I wasn't in school, as it turned out.
"Nope. I'll be in school tomorrow though," I replied.
"But I will be skipping class tomorrow!" she protested.
"Uh, uh-oh. Okay, why don't you drop by my class bench and just pass it to G. I'll get it from him tomorrow," I suggested. G was a classmate, and he'd always expressed a slight crush on HM (who was from a different class), but never dared to take any initiative beyond the cursory hi and bye; I thought I'd give him a little surprise.
"Okay, I'll do that!" HM confirmed.
I gave G a call, telling him to expect something from HM for me, and his voice went all high-pitched and stuff. Yeah, yeah, she's cute -- I get it.
***
Later that day, HM called me. "Your friend -- that G -- he's very rude!" she huffed.
"Really? What happened?" I asked. He couldn't have offended her on their first real exchange, right? He just couldn't have.
"Go ask him what he did, just go ask him," she said, her voice dripping with contempt and disappointment. "I have to go. I'll talk to you again?"
***
"What did you do?!" I demanded of G the next morning.
His face forlorn, he explained how she'd handed him a Charlie's Angels postcard. You see, Charlie's angels were clad in skimpy bikinis, and he thought -- to leave her a good impression, that she might think him the decent sort (which he is not, but never mind that) -- he'd face the scantily-clad women down. He flipped the postcard over, only to find the side where all the writing was crammed on staring at him.
"HEY!" HM shouted at him. "That's really rude, you know, reading a letter meant for someone else?!"
"Oh no, no, I wasn't..." he tried to explain himself, but she'd turned and stormed away so quickly; he was left standing there, momentarily stunned. (I can't remember if she took the card back, but she probably did.)
Listening to him relate the story in helplessness, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll explain it to her," I managed to assure him amidst the guffaws.
***
Days like these, I can't help but wonder how much of what I perceive are actually what they appear to be; I wonder -- these stories that I tell -- how different they are in someone else's memories, if they even remember at all.
I guess that's the beauty of human dynamics -- in one single encounter, we can walk away with vastly different experiences (as HM and G did); there are moments that some of us will remember for the rest of our lives, but these same moments, someone else will forget in an instant.
***
"There are minutes and there are moments. Minutes are for e-mail, meetings, standing in line and mowing the lawn. Moments, on the other hand, are for meditating on the first line of a book endlessly, looking at a genuine Da Vinci painting for the first time, listening to the ocean’s surf wash in and out, watching bluebirds teach their young how to fly, taking your daughter on a date, or celebrating a well-deserved accomplishment. Minutes are passing, moments are forever. Minutes get you by, moments transform your life as you know it."
-- "Minutes and Moments... Part One...," Ethos
posted by Laughingcow at 1:26 am
5 Comments:
I did something like that once. Reading someone's postcard. But it wasn't intentional because when someone hands you a post card to look at the picture, the instinctive thing to do is to look at the other side.
oh dear. i can totally identify with this story. I think I must have been in the same situation once or twice in my life.
Oops, now you both know how it looks from the other person's POV. :p Maybe to be on the safe side just stash it away immediately (and then take a peek in private if you really must!). ;)
You just can't win sometimes...
Just get a mutual friend to clear the air lor. ;) Plus it makes a great story for the grandkids, if ever. :)
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