2010，我們都會過得很好的

But, of course I’ll let it go. I refuse to be upset. Life isn’t fair but it’s still good.

Somewhere along the way we wilfully decided “my needs!” are more important, even if we leave each other stuck; between a rock and a hard place, an unwilling listening ear and apathy, a birthday dinner and a concert.

If we can’t see beyond ourselves, we may never see each other.

Until last night I’ve never tried looking for long lost friends on Facebook. I always think people who have just a few close friends are cool, discerning and have their own minds. It’s obvious I don’t get social networking. (And I don’t have many friends myself.)

So it was purely accidental I clicked on my friend Christine’s profile and somehow and landed on Donna’s picture. Donna from my primary 5 class, who stayed in the same block as me before her father passed away, who used a 大華醬青 soy sauce bottle for a water bottle, who told our Chinese teacher Mdm Guo she felt a weird itch running through her when she watched people kiss on TV. Most of us 11-year-olds didn’t understand titillation, but we knew it was something you’d be shy to share in class. I was always in awe (and a little scared) of Donna’s confidence and who-cares! attitude.

It was from Donna’s profile that I saw the group “CHIJ Punggol 1992″. Hey, that’s for the 160 of us who graduated in 1992! They collected 36 folks so far. I spent a long time looking at photos of somewhat familiar faces and found a few long lost friends. And I concluded. People go for surgery. One girl I used to take school bus with looked very good in party photos, in the Dawn Yang-plasticky way. There was another with less obvious changes, but still looked quite unlike she had only wielded a mascara wand and some blusher. Of course there’s nothing wrong with surgery. I’m just saying.

I also got to deduce who’s doing what from the profiles and photos. A few girls got married, two had uncommon faiths, the big-eyed Jaime looked like a 30-year-old version of how I remembered her, and everyone grew boobs.

That was the fun revelation of my weekend.

HJ texted me for lunch today, but sent the message to my old hp no., the one that ended with 7410. I had stopped using that number two years ago.

She got a reply that said she got the wrong number, and asked her to inform me to “update her contact with OCBC… if it’s important to her”.

Such a kind soul, s/he actually bothered. (To think about it, I would’ve done the same. So people who hold that -7410 number are probably all good folks. :p )

Since I got my first handphone in 2001, I’ve changed four numbers (-6733, -4301, -7410 and -1920) five times. That’s not counting the three numbers I changed in two years in Shanghai. I don’t know anyone who changes numbers as frequently. (I guess only people who owe loansharks money do this.) I’m sentimental towards many things but strangely, heartless towards phone numbers.

I wonder about the people who are using my old handphone numbers now. One day when I’ve nothing to do, I’ll call the old numbers to find out about the people who pick up the phone. How old are they? Where do they work? Are they happy? Do they get SMS and calls from my friends?

(But you know I’ll never have nothing to do. Hahaha)

I want to dress up this blog with gaudy colours and photos.

Ok it’s just a passing thought. Anything but this very serious life reflection I’m working on. Sometimes I’m so stuffy and serious I can’t stand myself.