While I was out running errands on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I bumped into this group of screaming young girls in the middle of Orchard Road, with this young chick being all tied up and struggling to free herself.

Happy 16th birthday Amelia, whoever you are, and it is great to be young.

I miss the madness and spontaneity that came with teenagehood, and you have amazing friends who go through the efforts to make your birthday a memorable one.

I thought that was really sweet!

As I strolled away and blended in with the weekend crowd, I could hear the buskers cheered up the stuffy, humid air with a uplifting version of the birthday song.

It really, really, is nice to be young again.

And I search for that kind of can’t-be-bothered-just-do-it moments these days, they come rare and scarce.

It is not that I don’t want to grow up, it is just that there are way too many simple, spontaneous, innocent things I miss about being young that I refuse to let go.

I miss the year 1998, 1999, where my angsty teenagehood came to a halt because of the peace I found despite of the severe bout of homesickness.

I miss the day on 1999, when it was 2 days before A levels, and I braved the cold to the nearby pub, meeting up with the nicest, sweetest schoolmates ever(whom I eventually lost touch), to watch Manchester United clinched the treble, and strangers were hugging each other as the pub erupted into roars of cheers.

I hope schoolmates didn’t have too much fingernails marks from my anxiety that night as I softly sang “There can be miracle… when you believe…” just seconds the miracle did happen.

I miss the day on 1999, when I was out watching Jacky Cheung in a foreign land, chatted to people I never knew indepth as we bade our goodbyes till dawn, and took a cab as London greeted a new day.

I took in every single moment, which I still remember vividly as I sat on the left side of the cab, looking out to Trafalgar Square.

I remember I was tearing as I took the cab ride from central London to my temporary accommodation to grab my lugguages to head for the airport.

That was the last long-distant trip I ever made, for reasons I know not why.

I think I have been trapped within the region for far too long(ever since that time, the only country I have stepped foot on is Hong Kong), and I am slowly becoming myopic.

I know I always don’t like to drift, and sometimes I can even feel dreaded I am going on a holiday soon.

But I know I have to push myself, for the fact that I might never get down to it even if I have the chance.

I need to see, I have to feel, I just.. need to, live again.