You know it's the Holidays when...

When did I start laughing at things like this?

You know it's the hols when you actually find yourself so bored that you start cleaning up your study table. Which is strange. I don't usually use the study table, cos I prefer the bed. And I really don't mind if the table's a mess, as long as I have my stationary and calculator within reach. But I figured that a neat study table is a more efficient byproduct as opposed to three hours before my computer.

So I got down to clearing out the junk from my study table this morning. As I went through the old textbooks, the old worksheets and funny trinkets I've collected and deposited on the table, I felt transported to the particular time when I did the papers/ read the notes/ played with the trinkets. As I dusted each item, I tried to recall when I got it, and what it meant to me back then. Then, it occurred to me: The items didn't matter to me anymore. Somewhere along the line as I grew up, I lost interest in many things. I stopped making up silly stories for the cute pencil-ends I had. I stopped laughing at the perpetual nodding dog. I stopped looking at the picture of a pitiful kitten.

I ditched the things that weren't important to me anymore. All the free pens that have dried up. All the notes and exercises I've done. All the plastacine that had been collecting dust. And some of the books that I doodled in when I was younger. (I had horrible drawings, and colouring that was even worse!) All the art projects that I did and (expectantly) were never displayed in class. All this while, I've kept them at the study table so that I could flip them open from time to time and remember what it was like to be a little kid. But this time was different. I threw them out. At that point of time, I felt no regrets, no remorse. But now that they're sitting in a nice pile in the corridor waiting to be the karang guni man's business, I feel guilty.

I feel as if I had thrown away a part of my childhood. I feel like I can never open up those books and feel like a kid anymore. And then I go back to chatting on MSN and doing up this post. So what does this show about me? Perhaps I think that I no longer need to cling on to my childhood items to remember my childhood. Perhaps I do not have the time to flip through the items in any case. Perhaps I feel that my whole life is now based on a different plane, and the items that anchored me while I was on the previous plane have outlived their usefulness. Or perhaps I had set out on a mission to clear my table, no matter the cost.

I wonder where along the line I changed my writing style from "Mary had a little lamb..." into "Mary sold her little lamb, bought chickens, sold the eggs, expanded her business and became filthy rich". I wonder when I last laughed at the little silly things... Things like toys with their whimsical smiles. I wonder if I would prefer to be a kid again, or be who I am now. Now that's a tough choice. -Jimmy