She dreamt of him, first time in the past three months. She thought his visage would have faded in her distant memory, after those heartbreaking words had been muttered, those ceaseless tears had been wiped. Yet she realized that she was completely wrong. The dream seemed so real. She could still feel the temperature of his lips and the beaming gaze behind his spectacles. Nothing was changed then, it’s just that he’s gone. And she walked away as well.
She thought it would be easy to forget. Just take some effort to make herself insanely busy, her mind fully occupied, with either her study or those useless novels. However, she did not expect that the intentionally hidden memory would find its way out, at the instant when she’s most vulnerable and unprepared, to attack. It cheated her, taking her to the past, as if nothing had happened. She fell so easily, then the delusion was chased away by the familiar alarm rang in the phone. Morning has come. Time to wake up.
There’s no pain. She was just avid for the warmth of a hug, and the firm grip of a big hand.
Nineteen days before the exam, I moved my base to the study room, where I could find my diligent comrades, working persistently there, day in and day out. It’s very cold in the room, with the air conditioner functioning as hard as us, blowing out cold breeze at sixteen degree Celsius. My feet would usually get frozen after I spent over three hours there. Numbed and senseless, they refused to get warmer, even if I wrapped them with layers of blanket, in midnight when I was finally in bed at the end of a long day. The heat carried by the blood was absorbed in no time. My feet were still so cold that they hurt.
With the arise of a problem comes its solution. Last night, I fumbled in my wardrobe to dig out a pair of long yellow pants, a grey long sleeve shirt, the pair of long socks which Charlene bought for me in preparation of the trip to SNOLAB, and lastly my long missed Nanyang jacket. I put them on and saw a clown in the mirror. Ignoring my destroyed image, I squeezed my feet into my pair of shiny leather shoes, feeling secure and comfortable. Yeah, thus I was well protected from the coldness in the study room.
Once again, I proved to myself that I have a pragmatic mind. I value comfortableness much more than beauty. I admire those elegant ladies who wear high heel sandals and short skirts in winter. But I am crystal clear at heart that I would never be one of them.
I shall give credit to Leo. My iTunes music library is now filled of the pieces he gave me. Chopin’s Ballade, Nocturne and Mazurka, on and on they flew in the earphones, calming me down in no time. I like the Nocturnes the most. The heavy notes in Mazurka annoy me so much that I have not even finished one piece before I return to the peaceful Nocturnes. I know almost nothing about classics. I could not even read five-line staff. But I guess that cannot stop me from simply loving the dancing notes played on a piano. They are beautiful. And I know how much I enjoy them.
