HOPE SPRINGS

from a story largely untold.

the boulder of failure rolled off me the moment i saw the queue outside the istana snaking all the way to plaza singapura.

i had almost teared right there and then. on the bus.

the man who lies in the state room of the istana right now was our president. he was given an honorary doctorate late in life.

his highest education before that was his 'o' levels.

i admit i didn't know this snippet before CNA screened a tribute to him.

and i confess i was so bent on paying my last respects at the istana because of that unglamorous history of his.

I HAD WANTED TO THANK HIM FOR MAKING ME CRY.

(and i'm weeping as i type this because i didn't get to...)

you see, even in death, the guy gave me something.

the entire day, i kept hearing his voice in my head...urging me to "keep believing in yourself".

for if someone like him could make that much out of his life with an 'o' level certificate, then surely i could do the same. in my own way.

i must stop wallowing in my current predicament and move on.

when everything around you serves as a constant reminder to what you narrowly missed though, it's just plain hard.

and you try to attribute all that's happened to fate, thinking that it'll make you feel better. but really, it doesn't.

i had let myself down.

i had let myself down.

i had let myself down.

now, i gotta pick up the pieces.

thank you, once again, mr wee.