Marking his alma mater’s 50th anniversary, the writer recalls fond memories of classmates, mentors, and the spirited neighbourhood. — Freepik
Time stood still for me in September as I looked forward to attending a gathering celebrating the 50th anniversary of my old school LSB (La Salle Brickfields).
As I, Class of 1975, walked up the steps approaching The Loft, a faint murmur of voices and laughter reached my ears. It sounded just like the familiar chatter that once echoed through the corridors of LSB classrooms. Could it really have been 50 years ago?
And here I was, perhaps in the final chapters of life. Half a century has flown by – never to return. When I walked out of those school gates in 1975, I also walked away from a part of life that would never be the same again. Little did we know then what lay ahead.
There are some things I simply cannot separate – the place, the classmates, the teachers. They form the unchanging image I carry of LSB. Yet each year, that picture grows more faint, more distant.
And then there’s Brickfields – rarely spoken of, but unforgettable. To me, it was special, unique. As I reminisce about the LSB of the past, I cannot do so without thinking of Brickfields. LSB was Brickfields, and Brickfields was LSB.
In that small patch of land stood a mosque, a Buddhist temple, a Hindu temple, a church, and a Chinese temple – each coexisting within walking distance.
It was in this diverse and spirited neighbourhood that we came together – to attend school, to chase girls, to engage in mischief, and to live the reckless adventures of youth. So different from the lives young people lead today.
And yet, I’m glad I passed through that chapter. In doing so, some of us became more than friends – we became comrades.
And the food! The narrow alleyways of Brickfields served meals we still dream of. Did anything ever taste better?
At the gathering to celebrate LSB’s 50th anniversary, I had the honour of shaking hands with two of our teachers – Mr Benedict and Mr Dennis. What a contrast between them. My respect to both.
Mr Dennis was the one to be feared – not someone you wanted to meet in the hallways if you were up to no good. His fiery eyes and swift movements could conjure a cane in the blink of an eye.
Mr Benedict, on the other hand, was gentle, firm, and empathetic. His presence was reassuring, his guidance quietly impactful.
As I moved through the gathering, catching up with old friends, I couldn’t help but feel the absence of those who have passed on. May their souls rest in peace.
As the years go by, the truth is unavoidable – the numbers will dwindle. One day, these reunions may cease altogether.
If I’m still around when that happens, I will have only my memories to revisit this treasured past.
The few hours we had together passed in the blink of an eye. And, as I shook hands, said my goodbyes, and stepped out into the night, a quiet sadness crept in.
But even in the melancholy, there was something beautiful – a reminder of the bonds we built, and the moments we shared that still echo through time.
