Dating : Paper Planes

Later on in life, years later, I was rummaging my old art tools. And then I came across the old folding paper I got from back in elementary school. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be distracted for a while and make some cool origami while I was at it.

But then the second I made a simple paper plane, my old memories came rushing in, so vivid it was as if I was 8 years old all over again. Looking at my old plain paper plane with my small, chubby fingers.

A crowded classroom, full of screeching kids with disheveled stationary things here and there. But there were a bunch of kids staring expectantly at me, waiting for me to release my plain paper plane.

Being the center of attention, I felt challenged to throw my plain paper plane with so much force. I pulled my short hands back, ready to release my paper plane into the air.

And the memory suddenly froze. I didn’t remember how it went. I didn’t remember what happened next.

I was pulled back to reality, the adult me, unconsciously holding the paper plane like I was about to throw it, just like the last scene of my old memories. Awkwardly straightened up, I was confused as to what had just happened back then.

Why couldn’t I remember what happened next? It was so vivid, so lively as if those memories refused to be overshadowed by other things.

Did I successfully throw the paper plane, make it reach the highest point for as long as it can? Getting all my friends gazed in awed silence at my incredible skill of flying the paper plane, even with such a plain, uninteresting paper plane?

Or did I failed, so badly failed that my subconscious mind desperately needs to forget only that certain part? Was it so painful that even my brain refused to remember it?

Whatever it was, I was left astonished while staring at my now crumpled paper plane. A clearly different paper plane, but it was the same plain paper plane.

Feeling guilty, I made another paper plane. And then I made two, staring expectantly at them, hoping that it would trigger the next scene of those memories.

It just won’t come.

And then I made the third one.
Then the fourth one.
Another one.
And another one.
Till my floor was full of paper planes, the memories just won’t come.

And I stared hopelessly at all those many paper planes. It was the same paper planes, but they could never be the old plain paper plane. They clearly have different backgrounds. Where they placed, how they were used. It was a fruitless effort.

And then I realized, whatever happened back then, it’s for the best that I didn’t know what had happened next.

Those vanished memories must be gone for a reason.
For maybe it could trigger any other traumas or bad memories,
It was better left unanswered.

Concluding what to do with all those paper planes,
I hung them in my room.

With a clear string, I put them on the ceiling.
Juxtaposing each other in order to imitate the alignment of the stars.

The only reminders to my remaining memories,
Desperately holding onto them,
Wishing the memories won’t escape me anymore.

Dear my old, plain paper plane.
You are now plain no more,
As you are surrounded by other plain paper planes once more.