Friday, April 02, 2004
This is the first match after the incident, a commemorative match in his name. We played in our jerseys with black arm bands, in between light mistlike drizzles and after pouring rain. Many of his post-death events were uncannily marked by rain, perhaps it is his way of letting us know that he knows. As I later walked out of school to the bus-stop, his missing presence more amplified than ever before, I realize it is the first time I am doing so alone, without his company. Maybe because I was more vulnerable that moment, I cried on the bus as I heard Nelly Furtado's Try on the radio. I don't know why but I think I'll always associate the song with his passing; the chorus gets me especially bad, mostly because of how the soulful melody pounces on me, almost unawares. (Below are chorus lyrics, essentially to demonstrate their irrelevancy)
Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Try
Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Try
