Those school girl days, Of telling tales and biting nails are gone. But in my mind I know they will still live on and on. But how do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume? It isn't easy, but I'll try. If you wanted the sky, I would write across the sky in letters that would show a thousand feet high: To Sir with love. The time has come for closing books, and long last looks must end. And as I leave, I know that I am leaving my best friend. A friend who taught me right from wrong, and weak from strong. That's alot to learn. What, what can I give you in return? If you wanted the moon I would try to make the stars, but I would rather you let me give my heart. To Sir with love -by Jann Arden-

half a year since i left st marg's, and it's still a very dominant part of me. how often have conversations between yun and i turned to the place i call home? almost always. when the maths lecturer said y squaret, yun and i just gave each other a look, like a common understanding only st marg's girl would have. and i realise, that even if we do not know each other, all st marg's girls have a common understanding. play vivaldi's four seasons over the radio to a crowd and you can be sure all st marg's girls will cringe. do you not understand? st marg's is not just a school, it's almost home. we may not literally have been taken from crayons to perfume, but the essence is there. this is where we grew up. this is the place we faced much of what life has to offer, where we've rejoiced when life offers something good, where we've cried when the going gets tough. "in these sound walls". these walls are imbued with our tears, both of joy and sorrow. it's not a school, it's almost our homeland. it's where the most significant change in our life took place. i finally understand when my aunty still visits her homeland in china every year even though she left when she was 10. there is an emotional bond, a bond that cannot be cut. all the little happenings at school, the "passport and ticket" rule, the do your tutorials or miss siti will chase you out of class, the pulley system, the plea for early recess, all seem insignificant when they took place. but when one steps out and looks at it from the outside, the picture of our four years at st. marg's would not be complete without these little details. thist ist thet easiest chaptert in a maths. quadrangles. morning devotion. wednesday chapel. physics lab on the fourth floor. titrations under miss siti's hawk-ish eyes. mdm su's useless lessons. miss wee's unbridled enthusiasm. mr lee's lets-run-this-class-like-a-prison. miss kang's geog lessons i can't remember anything about. mrs chua's weird english, and the permanant look on her face that tells you she's dreaming about going home. mrs teo's horrific dressing. miss ho's whispering. the pile of rubbish (made out of newsweeks and chinese newspapers and other worksheets/handouts) at the back of the class. the permanant pig-sty ness of the class. squats in physics. everytime i think of any of these, a chord strikes within my heart, and i know, that this is where i will always belong.

scribbled
8:26 PM