Endless Summertime

You DON'T need – and should NOT expect – any expressions of friendliness or kindness from a colleague who is neither your type (huh) nor relevant to your research career. So what if he seems to be nicer to others? Good riddance and please don't come anywhere near me. Got my celebrity crushes on one of the tabs down there and you are miles away from their charisma.

Finding Milo to be moi type and the mere thought of him made me vibe with Sabrina's "Tears" this morning non-stop.

At this time of the year, it is useful to reach back to those good old schooldays that took place at swimming pools, only to momentarily transcend the intellectual and emotional impasse of the present –

I once became friends with a plumpish guy (hereafter FY) from another local school at the community pool. He was compelled by his mum to attend an intensive training session under the lead of our coach who swore that all of us would be pro breaststrokers by the end of the summer course. While content with my own progress, I was even more impressed by FY's strenuous effort throughout. Let's be honest, breaststroke is easier to take on for skinny guys like me, and the whole session had been quite a trial for him. Several weeks after that summer break, he DM'd me saying he had shed loads of calories. Of course I was feeling happy for him, back when I didn't know nothing about the social pressure imposed upon one's body image.

He might have grown into a tall, sturdy fella who looks exactly like those undergrads I came across days ago – maybe even more outgoing especially towards me (defo NOT overthinking). Having lost touch with each other for over ten years, I realise there is nothing else I can do apart from remotely wishing him all the best – and mate don't be upset by others' judgements about your look. Your sanguineness is what brings to mind that cloudless sky above the pool and waters sparkling below.

Guess I was being too hard on you. Still can't fathom out why I was never willing to admit that your nonchalance had more than once extricated me from dejection. You were wild, undaunted, yet reliable – a typical Arian. Maybe that's why our literature teacher always said how complementary we were to each other. I felt safe around you, and you were intrigued by, as I quote, how I 'managed to feel a melancholic attachment to literally everything' we came across.

'Mate, you want me to stick around?' There were times when you happened to grasp my fleeting sentiments. More often than not you were awfully clumsy when it came to empathising, but did it ever occur to you that you being there meant to me more than anything?

I always seemed mushy with or without your presence – and that was actually my subconscious warning me of the day when we would drift apart and no longer have a chance to laugh under the same midsummer sky. If you ever did see that through, then my regret would be rather soothed.

I always wonder

if my plaintive serenade could reach your glimmering bay

while unsure of

whether my brisk summer resembles your clement May

Seems to be your fault

that I’ve been engrossed in this school daze

envisioning portraits of lovers under shimmering shades

feeling our breaths flowing at the same pace

Would you snap me out of reverie

save me from this recurring lethargy

or together shall we take the leap