7.10am: The handful of students in the classroom barely fill up a fraction of the empty tables and chairs. There is a geography test coming up the same day but no one can really concentrate on their revision. A few murmurs can be heard occasionally but besides that, the classroom is mostly filled with an uneasy silence that makes those present shift around in their seats, unused to this quietness.
For eight months, it had never been like this. The first classroom on the fourth level of the new block would have been spilling with youngsters in military style uniforms, some with shirts out and shortened skirts, huddled together copying geography homework or simply catching up on their sleep. On fridays, they would be studying for an upcoming test, heads bent over textbooks, practising the strokes of Chinese characters or furiously memorising a page they left out the night before. And always, a certain boisterousness bubbled, with screams and shouts from those playing and constant ribbing of certain individuals.
But none of that existed on 17 August 2007, Friday.

7.20am: The silence was broken. 'They're back already!'We look out of the windows anxiously, leaving the geography books alone with their pages flipping in the breeze. A group of students stand in the middle of the parade square.
We go down to see all of them with wet eyes sobbing their hearts out. Some girls are doubled over from crying too hard while others cling onto their friends, weeping like there was no tomorrow. The boys try hard to mask their sorrows but then their faces crumple, their tears spill out and they begin to wail. Mr Soon comes over, pats them on their backs and tries rather unsuccessfully to cheer them up.
The classroom is cold; and even with full attendance it seems empty, void of a cheerfulness that existed for two weeks. We move around the class with ease-- but only to run to our classmates to cry out loud. We take out our geography books for a last minute lookthrough but our hearts are not with the effects of land pollution. Wails can be heard all around but somehow, it still seems quiet. The slight drizzle outside amplifies our sadness.
our sadness of 17 students on a plane headed back to chongqing.
our sadness of the quiet, spacious again classroom.
our sadness of not having another person sitting next to us, accompanying us through tedious lessons and lectures.
our sadness of seeing friends gone.
our sadness of having lands and seas and mountains separating us.

separating us from being able to share school hours.
separating us from being involved in insider jokes.
separating us from running a cross country.
separating us from having fun on a water ride together.
separating us from touring singapore.
separating us from playing soccer on the chung cheng field.
separating us from watching assemblies and concerts.
separating us from chasing after your bus all the way out of school on our last day.

再见。
海内存知已, 天涯若比邻。
不要忘了我们; 我们11月见。