There’s a little flower market nearby which I often visit when I want to add new plants to my place or to spend a relaxing morning there with my coffee, to escape from the madness happening out there or in my mind. I walked into my favourite flower shop yesterday, and a few cute little pots of saintpaulia caught my attention. Without much consideration, I bought a few and hence left feeling complacent.
While on the way to the bus stop, I walked past a shop which should have been there before I was born. They sell school uniforms for students; kindergarten, primary to secondary. Nothing has changed much on the outside and window displays, same like fifty years ago. I stopped there for a little while looking to see if there’s anyone or anything that looked familiar. There’s only one older man, in his 70s I supposed, who I could not recognise but to my surprise, I saw my primary school uniform on display.
Feeling exhilarated and nostalgic, images and moments of mum taking me there every year to buy new uniforms for me kept flashing in my mind. As much as I hated the design and colours, I just loved the idea of getting something new, whatever that could be. No change then I suppose. It wasn’t an easy task although it only happened once a year as my mum had four children back then. We didn’t have a helper, and Dad was from another universe in his little world.
I no longer had to visit that uniform shop since I graduated from High school, until one day, thirteen years ago, I walked in there to get a pair of white trousers – when my Dad passed.