A Colourful Life of Colourful People

Saturday, September 16, 2006

[continued]

Ri stepped into the hexagonal room filled with emptiness. The echo of his footsteps rang in his ear repeatedly. A sense of familiarity was overwhelming, yet he could not recall what was it that held such a special meaning for him. "Deja vu," he muttered to himself. Something was missing, something that he used to possess and nostalgia took over him at the moment in time. He misses something. But what? He could not exactly recall.

As the fragrance of the lavender flower drifted into Ri's nose, he went to the window and saw a field of lavender flowers. An image flashed across his mind. He frowned. It was something that occured at the field. But what? The vision went by so quickly he was not able to catch it.

Ri was already in his fifties and chanced upon this place because his daughter introduced him to it, because there was a field of lavender flowers. Purple, his favourite colour, lavender, his favourite scent and at that point in time, purple, nostalgia.

The old man rested his elbows on the window sill, enjoying the breeze that carried the lavender scent into the room. Something at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Words. Why were there words on the wall? He shook his head in disapproval of the young people these days, how they vandalised public properties.

However, the old guy decided to read what was scribbled on the wall, the one the window was sitting upon. He awed at the similarity of the handwriting to his own's and sensed warmth in the words written. Not in brilliant english, like himself, but what filled it was warmth and happiness. That was sufficient to spread a smile across her his. He was comforted that such strong friendships actually exists.

Her best friend in her lifetime was Rei. They were close as brothers and that remained from a long time ago, ever since he was involved in a car collision and lost all his memories of his past. Although the doctor claimed that the lost of memory was selective due to his own determination, to him, it was a fact that memories were lost and gone.

No doubt he was desperately trying to search his lost memories during his first few days of conciousness, but as time passed, he learnt to let go and take things easily. The memories of the past no longer bothered him. He was satisfied with his present life. He had been living with the memories, lost, for the past thirty years and it did not seem to matter whether they were there or not.

With a smile spread across his wrinkled face, he strolled out of the door and headed his way home. Yet subconciously, a drop of tear escaped from his eye...

I had a real good time @ 7:27 PM
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