make it look whiter than it seems.

Day 24: Something you did as a child that other people remember you for.

I used to cry whenever my mum would drop me off at school. I'd make a fuss, tell her I wasn't feeling well, tell her I was scared. I would look at the other children, and shake my head, with eyes soggy and red. The children would march on through the gates, all too grown up to understand the bondage in which they had so willingly accepted, too grown up to realise that fun (& toys and pop tarts) and school were two mutually exclusive events. (don't you just love the irony: too grown up and yet, unable to comprehend?)

well, I don't do that anymore. firstly because school can be fun.

and second of all, what's one more day of school after 14 years of it? (yes including kindergarten)

Day 25: Something you would do if no one stopped you or if you knew you wouldn’t fail.

I would lie on rooftops. Throw balloons down from rooftops. Balloons filled with streamers, paint, water, rainbows, helium. I would shout girl's names at boys and boy's names at men. If they looked up, I would duck. and laugh myself silly. ha ha ha. I would prance across rooftops, skip and jump, twist and shake. maybe if there were hulahoops.

I would sing into the wind, high atop those rooftops. I would shout the words, and hold my breath. and stretch out my arms. and close my eyes. I would lie very still on the concrete grass, and think. the warmth seeping through my clothing, from the sun to the ground to my bones. I would take faulty pictures with the nook between my index finger and thumb, placing rectangles in the sky and clicking at imaginary shutters. aperture, ISO, shutter speed, auto. I would sleep. and dream dreamlessly about you and not me. me and not you.

and I would never be hurt. Because I'd be on the rooftop, and the rooftop would be mine.