Nostalgia is a strange feeling. It is the immortal youth of pop idols in music video pixels. The chorus of familiar songs.
It started with a text.
“Have you heard?”
No, I haven’t, but now I have.
Words on a screen conveyed your passing. It isn’t even recent. No one heard until one of us did. Months have passed in the interim.
We were not close. But I saw you two years ago with your mother outside my office. You brought her to a medical appointment. You made time. I imagine I remember your voice from that last conversation we had.
I had not heard, but now I have heard. That you have passed.
I remember your voice in the seminar room. Saying the words Magna Carta.
I wish you well. Rest well, my friend.
(In memory of Mr. Dean Salleh)