Twilight at 9 PM

I had never seen rhododendrons this tall during a walk in the park. After all, there is something to learn every day. 

"Keep the ice cream out of the door handle," my mom reminded sternly as I went inside our car after getting a vanilla cone at McDonald's. Much to my meticulous attempts to finish the ice cream, thick drips of vanilla still fell under the dazzling summer sun. As we drove home, I admired the first signs of summer in every corner of the city - the beds of canary and velvet-shaded tulips fluttering under lush oak trees shading the sidewalks, the wisteria vines cascading in front yards, the crisp scent coming from freshly-cut lawns. The days start growing longer, with the sun lingering long enough to wilt the petunia baskets hanging nearby and scatter the fading cherry blossom petals on the carpet of green grass. My study spot on the attic has slowly turned into a steam cooker, despite the constant breezes in the backyard. The heat persists until eight o'clock, which prompts me to take a dip in the pool every other day. The fresh waves of water bring me back to the summer days in Vietnam - the familiar pungent scent of chlorine, the undulating reflections on the ceilings where bright beams of light streaked, and the muffled sound of chatter heard underwater. Troye Sivan's Swimming Pool couldn't have described it much better - "swimming pools and living rooms and airplanes" color my mind as I envision another bittersweet summer, yet ever so special, for I prepare my farewell to childhood and high school life. 

A quiet corner of the Fraser River

Much to my joy and relief, I finished all my AP exams after the first week of May, sparing the rest of my high school year from sleepless nights and butterflies in my stomach. In a mere two days, I wrote two AP exams, which were manageable yet burnt me out so badly from all the preparations leading up to it. Fortunately, the cookie from my English teacher and the DQ ice cream outside 15 minutes before the AP Statistics exam provided me with just enough energy to persist through the 6 hours that I pray that no high schooler ever has to go through. The dull gray building of my online school office starkly contrasted with the summer sun shining through the new leaves teeming from the maple trees, under which groups of students in printed T-shirts and denim shorts chatted vivaciously. Upon entering the school, I could not help but felt a surge of nostalgia, as this would probably be the last time I would come here before high school ends. The three years navigating through the byzantine course contents on the notorious Brightspace website have culminated into this day, entering the hallway for the last exam of high school. I breezed through AP Stats, much to my delight. When the clock ticked at 3:45 PM, I let out a relieved sigh. Finally broke free!

On Friday, I took the Canada Line to the Vancouver Public Library downtown for a volunteering appreciation event. From the front seat of the train, I marvelled at the teeming skyline. The snow had begun to melt on the lush green mountains afar, while the Fraser River looked like an immense mirror reflecting the maple-lined shore on the Vancouver side. As soon as I stepped out of the train station,  a sensory rollercoaster engulfed me despite countless trips downtown. Woven among the endless waves of people on every jam-packed sidewalk, the tantalizing scent of sizzling sausage from the nearby hotdog stalls followed me all the way to the bustling intersection of Georgia Street, where the majestic Colosseum-like walls signalled my arrival at the library. I was met at the entrance by my volunteer coordinator, a VPL librarian whom I only see in person a few times a year (due to the virtual nature of my volunteering program), yet maintain the warmest cordiality whenever we meet. Along with a few other volunteers, we took the elevator to the ninth floor of the library - the rooftop. Basked in the summer heat, the white rhododendrons still flourished outside, from where the skyscrapers sprawled endlessly to the violet horizons. When dinner was over, the librarians organized hide-and-seek with the volunteers. Shouts and laughter echoed throughout the vast library as we sandwiched ourselves between lofty stacks of encyclopedias and cutting-edge study tables. Hiding under a shelf in the World Literature section, I imagined being tapped on my shoulders by a character from the endless volumes flowing behind me. Would it be a fur-clad nobleman from Tolstoy's, a laughing jester from Shakespeare's, or a blushing lady from Austen's? I would sit there, staring at the battle of warm colours as the sun retreated through the skyscrapers until one of the librarians called the group to gather back.

*Intense breathing in front of an entire section on Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Ukraine*

There's nothing like having an entire section of the library of your own, except the intense acrophobia I experienced upon taking this photo

The school year is flashing at the speed of light, so I could just hope to enjoy the last days of high school to the fullest. A spare block in the second semester allows me to finish any remaining schoolwork in the morning while quietly enjoying a fresh blueberry muffin from the cafeteria. When not flipping through the densely highlighted biology notes, I would devour a book by the school's sun-streaked courtyard while jamming to the tunes of Lawrence of Arabia soundtracks (currently back to the Overture phase :)). The past few weeks, I went down the rabbit hole while choosing courses for my first year in university. All of a sudden, my history, linguistics, and neuroscience selves are battling fiercely inside as I perused through the immense list of course codes. The rare moments of peace at school would only last when the thundering footsteps of students trickling outside their classes for lunch, and I would head to a club or a table to have lunch with my friends. Over melting Slushies, our conversations remain fixed around two subjects: graduation anxieties and summer plans. It seemed that the past and the present have melted away in our minds, just to be dominated by a vague future. Although mostly sleep-deprived, my friends' faces shone a mix of anxiety and hope as we chatted about what lies before us. Doris Day's epigram "the future's not ours to see" has never become more profound.

On the other side of the Pacific, the days of high school have already come to an end. Around May 19, my Facebook feed was flooded with photos of my friends graduating from Vietnam. I could hardly believe how much they have changed. The middle schoolers decked in crisp uniforms, who roamed the ancient hallway of Tran Dai Nghia with English homework in one hand and boba tea in the other, have grown into proud graduates in flowing red robes. From the flamboyán-shaded schoolyard, they are set to traverse the world, to top institutions where they could broaden their horizons day by day. But their eyes are still shining, their smiles exuberant, their hands clasped tightly by unbreakable solidarity for knowledge. Though afar, I can still feel the warmth, which would be solidified more by the reunions under the scorching heat of Saigon in summer. Till then!

Acting philosophical while wondering what's for lunch