hey kid, i hope you remember the 18th.

i just spent the last hour in front of the computer, replying messages, itunes playing in the background, and of course the good old minesweeper when i needed a break.

i used to right click and close itunes whenever i write to you,
afraid that the melodies you play will act as too much of a distraction to what i want to write to you.
afraid that i will end up tapping to the beat, singing along, going to letssingit.com to check out the lyrics, when all i want is to write to you.
afraid that it will result in reminiscence of the time i heard the song, the person who sent me the some, the person whom i first heard the song with, when at it's finality, i still want to write to you.

it's great replying people's messages online, although it got robbed of its sentimentality as it replaced the classic snail mail.
i still do believe in them, whenever the situation calls, whenever i feel that there's so much to convey.
whenever i feel that there's a need to be personal, though blessed with the convenient alternative available of the internet.
whenever i feel that the my uniball signo DX 0.38 needs to be used to get my $1.90 worth,
when i feel that you're special.

it's amazing at how i've typed so much with you playing in the background when i never could in the past.
maybe it is because the songs you play just don't appeal to me, or maybe i've mastered the skill of filtering you out.
maybe, things have changed, just.

something i feel that might just be heartless, filtering you out.
filtering you out when i can't stand you, when i don't like you,
when you say things i don't want to heard,
when you say things i don't wish to hear, yet good for me.

it was great to be back there yesterday,
witnessing the continuation of a tradition, the ultimate trip students still experience till this day.
an unofficial reunion where amidst the crowd, i smiled and waved at familiar faces at almost every turn.
a genuine smile and a wave was all i could conjure at that very point in time, wishing it could have been more.
that was all it was, and we'll never meet again till He knows when.

a clear reminder of what it used to be back then.
when i had a uniform i loved to put on every morning, unlike now.
a uniform still hanging in my wardrobe in the same manner as it'd have been, then.

never one to be appleased with such greetings, i gave in to them this time.
short of the space due to the crowd, short of the serene atmostphere for a catch up,
short of time,
but not short of love.

for now i'll stick with the messages or emails, the electronic letters.
i remember the 18th, i hope you too.

we're getting older, but we're, still, young.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,
Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long.

what exactly waiting for in this world we are living in.
the beach boys seem to have the answer to such a perennial qustion.
the army boys, or rather men, too have the answer.
we are waiting for POP, ORD, ROD.

we all start of as kids,
kids who dream of becoming a teacher, a doctor, a fireman, a policeman.
dreams that had no need for evaluation of it's possibility, feasibility.
dreams that seemed so real, we donned the uniform if our parents could afford them.
we dreamed, we still do, but not as much.

we dream.
but we do not, dare, to believe.
that it will actually happen,
that The Dream will be realised.

our dreams,
crushed by reality.
reality that tells us that we do not qualify, that we are not good enough.
the truth that The Dream, isin't going to be able to help us lead a comfortable life.
it isin't going to get you a nice pay check,
it isin't going to living the life you want to live, living the dream.

days when we were young, these dreams they seemed real.
we had the tools, the uniform, the support.
the support from your parents, your siblings or even your doll by being your customer, your patient, the runaway robber.
it was good to have such aspirations we were told.
work hard and it will come true.

if we were to mention The Dream to one that cares about our future this day,
we might meet with a sweet talker who would tell you to work harder and it will be realised.
a friend who tells you the truth, just as a family member would.
such specious dreams, it'll be fatuous of us to pursue them.

dreams, stifled by practicality, but not dead.

one day, we will be the beach boys, it WILL be nice.