I stand on the front porch. In the twilight, the scene faded. In my mind was memories, such wonderful, childhood memories. Summer, and in Genting Highlands, a little girl danced across the lawn in a pink frock, surrounded by bougainvillea bushes. A couple walks by, and they smile at the sight.
It was winter, and in Beijing, a little girl climbs the Great Wall of China, flanked by her parents on either sides. The steps were high and concrete, and the little girl climbs over them, with difficulty. Winter, and the little girl scampered down the aisles of a shopping centre, mesmerised by the sights and sounds.
It was still winter, and in Finland, the girl, now older, puts on her skiing gear and makes for the slopes. The scenery is blinding white, and her parents puff and pant, in a vain effort to catch the girl as she slips and falls from the slope. The girl looks up, and cries, as through the thick winter wear the snow is stained with the blood from a cut on her knee.
Fall, and in Melbourne, the girl donns a pale pink jacket and attempts to milk a cow. A man stands nearby, watching to make sure the cow did nothing to his girl. The warm milk is in contrast to the chilly weather. It was still fall, and the girl hikes up the hills to an old friend's home. Fall, and the girl learnt that that friend has passed on. Fall, and the girl's tears wetted the pillowcase, as memories of the lost life was too much to bear, as her shoulders shook with renewed sobs.
It was fall the following year, and the man watched his little girl's heart break. Fall, and they crossed the boudaries of culture, where the girl was dressed up in a pink kimono, wondering, watching, apprehensive.
Summer, and the girl, now a teen, realises the first overthrows of love. Summer, and the girl arises, then realises that the blood on the clothes is no longer that of a cut. Summer, and she realises that the gates to her red sea had been opened. The girl, in shock, scurries out of the door.

The saying was ever so true. You could never know how a person was until you climbed into his skin and walked around in it. Just being able to stand there was enough. You could see the way through ways you have never done so before. And it was all through a friend. Yes, friends give. But friends also return. I never repaid the kindness some people did to me, and that makes me sad.
As I drifted in my own thoughts, I realised that my vision was blurred. It was raining, but I never knew if it was due to the rain, or simply my tears.