Today, Dil and I hit up Ippudo for organic salad, killer sesame tofu, and akamaru ramen (with nitamago please) for lunch, before setting off for An Ode to Penguin, a sweet little book exhibition at the Arts House. The straight road that connects our homes and school has been ravaged by train station construction and bent into kinks and loops, but our friendship is as easy as always. We talk about our mothers and life ahead, remember prom, intense literature lessons and our sixteen year old selves, and how our form teacher taught us to flatten drink packet boxes on the first day of primary one — the day we met, fifteen years ago.
Later, another meal with another old friend. When we were thirteen we scribbled notes to each other in a little blue notebook, the perfect invention that allowed us to talk in class, without ever having to move our lips (or get caught)! For dinner, we have different variations of tea, sliced fish in XO bee hoon soup, fish in fried rice smoking with wok hei (is there any better food smell on the planet?!). We talk and laugh about silly things for hours. As the sky grows darker, I realise how much I have missed her, and that the air seems lighter with every word exchanged.
retrospectif: a notebook 