In a far eastern memory.

The smell was immediately familiar, yet its so far etched in memory that it seemed foreign.

Yes, it was the smell of tailors, of saloons and of oily kitchens in an air-conditioned environment. Perhaps on their own these scents are far from pleasant. But together, this amalgamation formed memories. And there, right there, were the unfamilliar schoolgirls in familiar pinnafores. Yes, this was the scene I was used to in my schooldays some 6 years ago. Without knowing, I have become the young adults I used to laugh at for being 'old'; I am the young adult I used to desire to be as a teen. Somehow now, I miss the novelty of having a 'teen' on my age.

The shops that time seemed to have forgotten, that seem to have perpetual christmas lights the whole year round in the hope to attract customers. These remind me of the teenage desires. Back then, many of these shops represented a desire I couldn't attain; the over-priced Nikes, over-sized baggy jeans, over-hyped printed T-shirts...And it was no different for the schoolgirls in pinnafores, a desire I couldn't attain. Such was the fate of teenhood: what you had you didn't cherish, what you didn't you desired. And very often the former was more important to life than the latter.

'Over-rated pleasures and under-rated treasures...,' Jaime Cullum laments.

And finally when I can buy a few of those jeans and Nikes, I dont want them. Now, these desires have been replaced with other wants; house, car, DSLR lenses...It seems we, I, will forever have unfulfilled wants. Its seems like a persistent human condition. And you realise that your desires lose their gloss when you mature; the colour of a schoolgirl's pinnafore does not definitively make their character. Wow, amazing discovery dude!' I can almost hear myself say, dripping with sarcasm.

This was the place when I was once someone's boyfriend we spent good laughs (and sighs) shopping for lady shoes, where I first rode the bubble-tea wave, where I encountered my first dusty bookstore that inspired me to read non-fiction more, where I had my first taste of Turkish ice-cream, where my mum's fav departmental store used to be, where we schoolboys went to stare our first skirts down (or up). And now, I smile as I catch other teens do the same; but not quite the same.

I turn back my leather-soles and grey tie and office body lumbered back into the working class.

I catch that yellowish squarish icon and the final glimpse of Far East Square before my walkie-talkie crackles to life once more and dark clouds start to gather...