Monday, April 03, 2006

its nice to remember

as the happy tunes of keith urban play in the back ground.
Its nice to know that you're loved.
Its nice to know ling and family remember.

i know my uncle gets sullen.
thats his way of remembering.
not much of a help to me.
but he needs it too.
for missing his sister.
his own time,
his own comforting.

i wonder what the rest are thinking.
do they remember?

yesterday.
tomorrows moms anniversary right?
dad replies. yes. it stops there.

today.
dad speaks ' seven years, very long time'
a quiet yes. it stops.
this is the first time in a long time hes been around for it.
sometimes away.
or im at my cousin's place.
to remember.

but i wonder. what will happen 20 years from now.
will we still remember.
will we still hold on.
would he have moved on with life?
id hate it if its because of her.
and does that mean forgetting.
i dont want to forget.

its hard to recall memories.
for they seem so distant.
and u only recall certain ones.
the ones that you want to remember.
for whatever reasons.
waking up with the lego set on my birthday.
new york. the service apartments.
the pro yo and expensive bumble bee at toysr'us.
the x-wing, and drawn tie fighter. i still have that
lim ah woo road.
and greenwood with the orange roof.
and back to lim ah woo road again.
and maple woods.
and now here.
to the back room.
to mount e.
i dont like mount e.
i hate mount e.
i hate the corridor.
i hate the room.
i hate the car ride.
the look on their faces.
the car.
the chair.
the bed.
and the crushed pda.
its still in the drawer i opened.
that happened before that day.
i wasnt there when it happened.
6 plus in the morning.
i hated it.
rubbish.
rubbish.
i hated it.
hated it.
why do i write this.
to remember.
because we continue.
with conviction and purpose. for life's joys.
for the One who has set out the cause before us.
though questions of His sovereignty are ever present.
we continue and still rejoice
because times of gladness, are ever present.
always remembering
through the sadness.

love you lots.

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