when you start to think again after such a long layoff, it gets so tiring it kills. zzzz

just found something i wrote 5 years back. nostalgic, as always.

We were outlaws in uniform. We raid void decks, empty fields, and pre-school playgrounds, all with a black and white leather ball. Once, our punkassed ball ran onto the road and into the arms of an angry Mercedes driver, whose million dollar car deflated the $35 ball my dad bought for my birthday. Upon mr cocky's departure, my loyal comrades swarmed out of the corridors and staircases they hid in and, united we stood, we cursed the arrogant asshole endlessly, praying that he rolled those tyres onto another ball, onto one that had spikes.


Eventually, when we had it with cursing and having only a punctured ball to kick, we sat down in a circle as we came up with beautiful dreams - rich, vibrant, colorful tales of the future that had everything to do with that retarded driver. Marriage, children, our first Mercedes, first million, a burning goal to rise higher than that driver, and, of course, the ambition to hire and sack him the first minute he started work.

We go on to jcs, polys, ns, uni, society. To work, work, work, and work on families of our own. Gradually, we drift apart, gatherings every week, fortnight, birthdays, month, year, and eventually decade. Pats on the backs made way for distant handshakes. Sharp screams of exhilaration faded to passive greetings. And then, nothing. Resonating warcries have become silent smiles. The deflated soccer ball remains in the cabinet, behind each bootmark and scar a nostalgic tale.

I am now married to a Mercedes and i now know that rolling the tyre over a soccer ball is quite the kick. I have a job and though i dont feel sufficed, i know i'll get my fair share at the year's end if i play my cards right. The void decks and street shops where we used to gather are now gone, replaced by spanking new condominiums and malls. I miss the old, but i ought be glad. I can make ends meet, and I still hear the timely chimes and whines from my grey-haired mum and dad. The couple signifies not only the past, but also the future as they cuddle the little Tans in their arms, my wife watching closely with a smile. Life is good.

Still, when i remember, i make it a point to stop the Mercedes at the nearby refurnished soccer courts and kick some balls, direction more difficult to control now with my adult build. And i would whip the ball into the imaginary distance; at the friends i used to have. At the gates of glory once guarded by one clumsy fat boy, the small boys in muddy white uniforms and khaki pants laughing and chasing after one dodgy dalmatian ball, at the brothers with whom i shared rich, vibrant, colorful dreams, long gone.

And finally, when satisfaction allows, i re-enter my Mercedes, pondering which pretty lady i shall pick up first for the day. Before i can finish my train of thoughts, my phone rings, and this very helpful guy sets the order for me. He is none other than the loaded father of the spoilt, pampered pretty-but-seriously-goddamn-vain ladies, and, ah fuck, my very demanding snobbish boss as well as the true owner of the million dollar Mercedes. Oh, how I wished I studied harder.