Somewhere Down The Line, We Never Grow Up

Or, do we?

 

I found fragments of my diary from 6th Grade today while cleaning my room. A while back, I had taken great care in disposing evidences (in terms of writing or photographs) from my past - much of which I've chosen to forget for a number of reasons. Let's not get into that. I had a happy childhood, I only had a troublesome teen life.

 

Anyway, so this diary I found today contained by British Council library membership card from 2001 and a bunch of my exam woes. I was surprised to find myself so meticulously concerned about being the top scorer in class and each of my writings reflected on that serious student. I actually, honestly cared about my studies and doing well - a sincerity I feel more obliged and far removed from nowadays.

 

Wait, there's more.

 

I walked back into the Abahani Indoor Basketball Gym. I used to be a 3-pointer (that's what they called us, right?) and the diary carried so many memories about basketball practice and my emotions surrounding it. I stopped playing basketball in 8th Grade (because of a muscle-nerve problem in my leg, which led to an operation later.. long story).

 

Heh, even cooler - I wrote about the FIFA World Cup and how I played football with the neighbourhood boys everyday. I don't even remember the last time I touched a ball or kicked a goal.

 

Life... is amazing.

 

My 6th Grade self would be immensely surprised to see me now. And for whatever reasons, I think I'll always have a soft corner for the little girl who read books, loved sports and actually enjoyed studying (which she probably considered "learning").

 

(=

 

ps. I spelled "break" wrong there, heh.

Done