You are currently browsing the daily archive for May 25th, 2008.

I remember once scolding a friend for rushing out into the rain and getting soaked to the skin on the day of an IB exam. He’d gone out to walk a girl in from the bus stop. I also remember him borrowing my camera on the last day of school and returning it back to me with pictures of him and the girl in its memory. I remember teasing him incessantly and his sheepish, yet triumphant and satisfied smile. I remember him telling me that he had finally told her about him liking her and how he would wait for her.

Such commitment and adoration.

This week, he told me that she hadn’t waited for him.

Oh how life moves on. We wait, but others don’t.  

This fellow's wise enough to play the fool,
And to do that well craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eyes. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man's art.
For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

 

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