Friday, December 24, 2010

Passing out 2010 "乐一晚".

Yes, despite not wanting to face the end, my final performance as a member of the Nan Hwa Marching Band came to an end 2 nights past. I came in the band room with nothing, but I left with so much, it would take me a lifetime to impart that amount of experience to others.

My friends, brothers and sisters in heart. The batch I am with is indeed a blessed one. I marched with them through sun and rain, through sweat and blood. Into unfamiliar places facing a common problem, a common hope, a common dream. I had live it through with them.

And passing out was no different, I had one hope that I believe is the same with the rest. Make music, make it good, and make it memorable.

Videos were shown, although I got the feeling only a handful of people enjoyed it. Nevertheless, seeing the many people acknowledging our dedication and contribution to the band, it was all good enough.

Passing out passed as fast as it came. We went McDonald's to have the post-event celebration. Percussion age-outs were then finally given their present. No easy task to unwrap it all, mine had easily 50 layers of wrapping. Hui Ming and Huei Su's ones are worse, they had cello-tape wrapped around several layers compared to mine, which were all papers, Hui Bao was easiest, just 2 layers. Well, when I finally reached the present, it was a friggin' piece of nougat, and a message telling me my real present is in the car... Well? Nevertheless, it was enjoyable.

And we went to Marina Island at 1. Quiet, cool and serene, good time to sleep. And I walked around and stare at the sea. Many things ran-through my mind, many many things.

And I was about to leave, until you said you're coming, and I waited, and came you did.

We talked, not much. It was a lovely evening actually, and I actually enjoyed the company. But it was a bit awkward. But the moon was really round, real darn round. And my hormones were raging. It didn't felt like me talking, yet it was more like I was talking to myself. Still, a warm hand, a cold hand. A warm heart, a cold heart. Maybe we can pull through.

I'll remember this night, 张韵璇.