When I was 12 years old, I overheard my mother and sister talking about something. I couldn’t really figure exactly what they were saying but they were behaving all strange and secretive. It had to be important. It had to be significant. I had to know.
So I asked. “What are you talking about?”
To my surprise, they refused to tell me. “You don’t have to know. You don’t have to know just yet.” I persisted and persisted but they refused to tell me. I pled and whined but nothing, not a single word from either of them, and that made me incredibly suspicious.
What were they hiding from me? Why wouldn’t they tell me?
What news was so significant and yet, crucial that I didn’t know about it?
So in the middle of the night, laying on my bed and staring at my celling, I came to the conclusion that I was dying. I probably had some terminal illness, like cancer of the eyebrows or something and was going to die in a couple of months. They were just finding a way to tell me. They just wanted to shield me from the harsh truth. They just wanted me to die happy. They probably wanted me to take my PSLE (Primary School Leaving Examination) before I died.
"-“Because I feel so touched all of the sudden seeing you, the fans. Watching the fans one by one on the stage, I want to remember those eyes and the passion as much as I can. I act and say things as if I’m joking but I’m very sincere when I say that I love you”-"