I knew my bicycle was in the old house and that I wanted to get it back. The bicycle had become as much a part of my existence as the clothes I wore to go out. I say to go out, because it represents me, just like clothes.
I nurtured the bicycle like a baby, replacing all the worn cables, carefully oiling all the necessary parts, aligning the brakes. Every now and then I stripped down to basics and reassembled it to ensure it was in original working condition. I even manually replaced all of the ball bearings once, a task that almost drove me insane and one that ...view middle of the document...
I tried to find a bicycle that'll replace the one I had, but somehow, I just don't like any of them. I just want my old bike back! And today, we landed on Taiwan. It's the first time I came back to Taiwan and the first thing I thought at that time was to look for the bike.
There's this old house that bothered me. I knew the bike was in there but don't know why. It was just one of those inexplicable in life you know the things. You know they are there and you know everything about them except the explanation.
The light was fading when I finally plucked up courage to approach the old house. Repeated banging on the doorknocker brought no response, so I pushed the unlocked door open and ventured inside. I looked around the house and the light no longer work because they're all cracked, some windows were broken too. I began to climb up the stairs. I was there, at the top. I saw the bike and it was covered in dust. I went over and took it out the house and cleaned it.
I then took a ride with my old friend and had all the memories back. I remembered how by the age of ten, riding the bike several kilometres to the local fishing pool, where I would set up my rod rests and umbrella and throw out the keep net before sinking into a somnambulant dream state, lulled by the lazy bobbing of the fresh water floats.