Soliloquies

Suddenly, Spain seems so long ago, so far away.

I remember exploring the white-washed village of Mijas. The panoramic views, the beautiful white houses and the pretty door and window decors.

I remember being greeted by the sound of the waves when I awoke in Marbella and strolling the beaches of Costa del Sol.

And then there was the bullring in Ronda, or Plaza de Toros as they call it, the breathtaking gorges and the tiny streams that ran through the rugged terrain.

I remember the Real Alcazar in Sevilla, the royal palace originally built as a Moorish fort, with its intricate tilework and delightful courtyards. I remember the delectable tapas en route to the cathedral area and basking in the sun outside the cathedral. And savouring the paella at the other side of the river, served with sangria, was needless to say the ultimate treat for the tastebuds.

I remember the Mezquita in Cordoba, how it was built as a church, used as a mosque and then a church again. And its candy-striped red-and-white horseshoe arches.

I remember taking bus 32 up and down the world famous Alhambra in Granada and exploring the quaint little district of Albayzin. I remember the friendly Norwegian who got us even more lost, and the spinach salad with yogurt dressing. I remember how the Alhambra looked at night from San Nicolas.

And of course, Barcelona, home to Gaudi. The lively Parc Guell will always be my favourite part of Barcelona. I remember how beautiful it was during twilight.

Suddenly, that seems so long ago.

If life is as transient as a drop of dew, it behooves us to treasure it, to juxtapose its forlorn front with its innate richness tirelessly cumulated through the night. It beseeches us to appreciate life and its composition, to relinquish our grief, worry and hatred, to be merciful to all things small and beautiful. Life’s intricacies have moulded us into forgetting the axiom that permanence is but an illusion. Life is as temporal as a drop of dew. It behooves us to treasure it.

This time last year, it was fall in England. The trees bade farewell to their lushness as their dainty leaves detached themselves and danced delightfully to the rhythm of the wind. The wind was mild, comfortable and almost subtle, guising tactfully the bitter winter that was to follow. It was my first fall, my first time in England, and my first time in Europe. I was thrilled indeed. Life was carefree, and for the first time, so was school.

This time this year, it is summer in Singapore, like it always has been. The sun shines relentlessly. Around the island, some bask in the sunshine while others seek refuge under their brollies or in their airconditioned rooms. Thick haze blankets the island as the neighbour country mercilessly burns their forests. Work has reverted to its madness once more, and school as competitive as before. If only time could bring me back to where I was, this time last year.

But reality strikes and we all move on. When one chapter of our lives ends, we open up the next and accept the challenges that come along with it. We seek to find the value in our struggles and begin to realise the diminishing value of endless complaints and procrastination. Everyone has their own struggles, but I always believe it’s how we cope with them that differentiates us from the rest.

As for memories, they will always remain as memories. No matter what we choose to do later in our lives, they will always be a part of us. And some will always be remembered. Like how I would always remember the good times I have had, this time last year.