Listening to Eason Chen’s album, ‘The first 11 years’ – thanks to sis#4 who found and bought it for me (and I paid for it, of course).
I’m in a nostalgic mood these days.
I remember how I used to love the song ‘十年’, which came up during the examination period in our 3rd year, and I had it blasting on repeat mode.
‘想哭’ came up before that, but it was only recently that I was really able to appreciate the song and the lyrics.
I wonder if there’d be a time when we’d truly get over that something, or that someone.
I guess not.
Time only makes you realise things you did not realise at that certain point in the past, it blurs some of the incidents and memories, it disintegrates the whole painful episode into little snippets that, at times, still hurt.
But no, it does not make you forget.
I am currently reading this book called by “A long way down”, by Nick Hornby.
The story is about 4 strangers who met on a roof-top on New Year’s Eve – for the same purpose (erm, to jump off?), with different reasons.
The only thing I know about Nick Hornby before I read this book was that he wrote “About a boy”.
The reason why I remember “About a boy” is because it was adapted into a movie, and the reason why I remember the movie is because I watched it alone.
What I cannot really remember, is why I watched it alone. On one of my birthdays. Before heading off to meet some friends.
Anyway, there is something from this book which really struck a chord:
I don’t know you. The only thing I know about you is, you are reading this.
I don’t know whether you are happy or not; I don’t know whether you are young or not. I sort of hope you are young and sad. If you are old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll maybe smile to yourself when you hear me going, He broke my heart.
You will remember someone who broke your heart, and you’ll think to yourself, Oh yes I can remember how that feels.
But you can’t, you smart old git. You might remember listening to music or eating chocolate in your room, or walking along Embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave.
But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine when it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again?
No one can relive the same pain.
You do not forget; you do not remember either.