It's slightly past midnight, and I'm dithering, alternating between doing work and chatting with friends. The clock ticks loudly in the background, so much so that I can still hear it above the music blaring from the laptop.
The doorbell rings, the intercom monitor showing Pele's face. He's dressed casually, almost as if he's ready to sleep. But I know that he's not. And I know why.
I open the door for him, almost inviting him in. But he didn't move to. "Come on man," he says, killing the pretend face I try to put on. He knows it. "You know it, man. Come on."
Changing quickly, and saying my goodbyes to the unsuspecting, we descend a flight of stairs, going straight to Tascha's room.
"Yo," Damon says, looking up as I step through with an 'anyeong'. "He's here."
In essence, 'here' and 'there' are mere words that we use to indicate, rather than tell the truth. A world that we see, rather than feel and truly know. But this is not the time for such mindless philosophical ditherings, for the night is not the time for such endeavours.
The night is for acknowledgement, and recognition. For not only knowing, and remembering, but also showing.
Damon, Tascha, Pele and Kirsten knew. They remembered, and they showed. With time, others followed suit.
So, for those who remembered, and for those who showed...