Personal Recount
Revision

1OFor as long as I could remember, I had lived in the same four-room flat in Bukit Merah. I knew which lift was always slow and which uncle at the coffee shop would wave at me every morning. My best friend lived three floors below, and most evenings we played football at the void deck until our mothers called us up for dinner. I had never once thought about living anywhere else.

2RAOne evening in June, my parents called me into the living room and told me to sit down. My father explained that he had been posted to a new office in the north and that we would be moving before the new school year began. I would have to change schools as well. I argued that I could take the MRT, that the distance did not matter, but my mother only shook her head. For the next few days I barely spoke to either of them.

3COn the morning we moved, I walked through the empty flat one last time. Without our furniture, every step echoed strangely and the living room looked far smaller than I remembered. I stood in my bedroom and ran my hand along the pencil marks on the wall where my father had measured my height each year. Downstairs, my best friend was waiting by the lift. Neither of us knew what to say. When the lorry finally pulled away, I turned round in my seat and watched the block grow smaller until the trees blocked it completely.

4FAThe first few weeks in the new flat were difficult. I did not know anyone in my class and I missed my old friends. I felt lonely whenever I walked home by myself. After some time, things became better and I started to feel more settled.

5RLooking back, I am glad I did not give up in those first few weeks. I still miss the void deck, and I still text my old friends at night. Last month a new boy sat alone at recess, and I knew exactly how that felt, so I asked him to join us. Moving taught me to be kind to people who are still finding their way.