I still remember the last time I shed my tears.
It was at the back of the classrooms’ building and there were no living soul for furlongs around. I was sitting on top of a huge, gray rock near a hill’s cliff and the sky was dark and gloomy and the sun’s ray was as diminishing as its pride. It hadn’t been raining or anything. The clouds were scattered widespread as thin as a tooth’s skin, moist and round but when they collided with each other, the grinding sound was horribly coarse and thunder rolled out forcefully and intense yellow sparks of lightning slashed through the sullen sky: depressing yet delicate. At the other end of sadness, an officer from the State of Malacca Department of Education was handing out congratulatory certificates for those who did well in their exams. There was the school marching band and there was the school choir and there was this group of people who called themselves seniors and all of them were knocking themselves unconscious with joy and laughter and music. The principal was grinning from ear to ear and the teachers were gossiping over each other and the canteen lady was counting her sale’s profit for the day and all of them, smiling and laughing and chatting and counting, were having a ball. It was an occasion that never wanted to be forgotten.
It never did.