No more would the wooden swivel chair rock me for 70 restless minutes. No more would I push two
doors to enter into the air-conditioned sleeping chamber or turn back every minute to curse the lazy minute hand that keeps on forgetting to move and has to be reminded. No more would my sound-proof brain play Sudoku on the mobile.It’s all over. The flickering tube light synchronizing itself with the static in the speakers. The room going dark when the sleepy projector throws complicated slides on to the ageing white screen that painfully drops down from above. The pale beige curtains that haven’t moved for decades. The old table in the middle with the eternal glass covering the computer monitor kept below, and the perennial water bottle. The empty paper cups playing on the stepped floor. The sleeping heads and dozing faces of friends. The outrageous figures on my notebook’s last page.I will miss you CR1 (that is classroom 1 in the old building, for the uninitiated). Even though I didn’t like to sit there waiting for the minute hand to move. Even though I was pained with endless lectures joined in series. Even though it was difficult to negotiate my way out if I ever wanted to go out during a lecture.All I know is that if I ever come back to this place, and sit on those swiveling brown chairs with wood scooped out in the shapes of thousands of enlightened people who sat on them, I will surely feel my throat choke under layers of memories. I will surely want the same old screen to drop from above with that familiar groan and rickety projector to throw its last lights.I am sure for a few moments, the hands on my watch and those on the eternal witness hanging from the wall will go still. My carefully polished shoes will turn into carefree sandals swinging between the desk legs. My hairs will be back, and dark. My clean pinstripe suit would turn into a crumpled round neck tee and pair of wash-deprived jeans.
As if time has stopped since 2007.
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