I have quite a good memory. I remember faces, not names. Even if I remember the names, it will come to me in alphabets. For example it will come to me one by one like S, then maybe T then a few days later E and so on. I remember interesting stories or facts better and I’m quite proud of my memory.

I remember. Many people forget.

But I have met people who could still remember me even after 21 years.

I guess I am really that memorable 😀

I was 7 at the time. I was the class’ Lenin. I torture people, I make them do things for me and I command silence. I was extremely communistic that the class teacher doesn’t want me as the class representative anymore after second day of schooling.

I picked on a boy in front of  his mother and the teacher had to answer to the principal.

Yes. I am Mini Mao.

There was a girl that I never shout at. She was thin, pale faced and hardly anyone listened to her. She was so shy she walked with a hunch. We both wore navy blue pinafore and sat close by. To make her speak, I had to start the conversation and then we started to discuss things. I can’t remember what it was but those were the little things 7 year old girls talk about. Family, sisters, parents, food, everything that we knew (though we were so little that it’s unbelievable that we had lots to tell.)

But we never talk about one thing. I never dared talk about it.

It’s something that I always avoid looking at. I feel embarrassed if she caught me looking at it for too long. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Mother said it’s rude.

So for one year I keep my loud mouth shut.

I know it’s not her fault but it’s something you want to feel, instead of just seeing. What’s it like, actually?

She’s not crippled, nor a retarded. She is a perfect human being. She has both arms, 10 fingers but only with 9 fingernails. She never had one in particular. Her right forefinger was naked.

It was a curious little thing. She only had little pink skin covering the nail’s place and its dry and wrinkled. It looked painful.

One day she caught me looking and she asked me if I would like to hold it.


Was it painful, I asked.

Nope. Not a bit.

It looked painful. Red and wrinkled.


When I did touch the red skin, it felt like touching a dry scaly skin. I guess you need a nail to protect it and to keep it moisturized.

Will it grow back?

The doctor said no.


The nail is dead.


I have no idea until now what’s that supposed to mean but I believed her. The next year her family moved to somewhere else. We didn’t even had a proper goodbye. She was gone and I found that out from the office.

But I keep looking for her. I always keep her name in my head  just in case I would see her again. I don’t think I could stand in front of her one day and fidgeting, trying my hardest to remember her name. It will not happen to her.

For 21 years I looked at telephone books (I knew her father’s name), school books or any hints from schools around the region.

Of course she was not there.

I looked for her in Facebook and saw her wedding picture. I know it’s her. I never forget her face. I even keep our class picture intact so that I wouldn’t forget.

I sent a friendship request and I was surprised to receive a message saying that she still remember me.

After 21 years? What have I done until I worth such long span of precious memory?

She said it’s in my name. It’s unforgettable.

Well indeed it is, but I remember her, her hair, her naked finger.

Of course, her full name too.

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