Patchwork Past

By Andre Leong

Andre, whose holidays have been cut short by National Service, finds himself often revisiting old memories. Befitting of the “unc” title bestowed upon him by bunkmates, he writes journals and postcards to revisit the feelings of the past while anchoring the present. In this short story, he explores how fragmented memories are shared and carried quietly long after moments have passed.

We used to tear apart our shoes in the gravel playground of our dusty, dilapidated school. We used to weave together several pieces of cloth to patch up our shredded clothes. We used to say that we would return to this shared secret base together.

This was where we left our innocent rivalries behind, the petty game of virus and the cement slides that provided us with more joy than it should’ve. We were all back here now, attempting to reignite the cold past with pitiful relics of our school days. We all met our promise to meet again and to make our past everlasting, but a subtle melancholy overwhelmed the school facilities, if you could even call it one. Even the yellow flowers that now bloomed around the abandoned school garden felt bright yet empty.

We expressed a feigned smile and joy as we met and shook hands in the school, a reminder of our impoverished past—the blissful ignorance that we shared.

Having exchanged laughter and formalities, we exchanged each of these bittersweet memories, and integrated it into a patchwork, having previously ripped out the threads and seen them scatter in a flurry of color. The patchwork was uneven and poorly made, reflective of our swollen, sunken eyes.

We planted it underneath the slide, affirming a weak promise of our friendship always lasting, only within this lost sanctuary.