Mighty, Mighty Merah.

It is 2006.

Walk into the hall with your head down, pray the seniors don't notice you and start asking questions.
Anyway you see it, it's just a color to you now- Red.

You frantically search for someone to sit with; there are throngs of other students all around you- the older ones are either whooping with spirit or trudging their feet; but on the whole, there is more whooping than trudging, and the atmosphere is celebratory.

The smaller ones like yourself fumble around, you don't know anything or anyone, save for the fact that you've been assigned this color. It's a simple word on a single sheet of paper, but it will define who you are in years to come. Red.

Marching.

It's your first endeavor to do anything particularly athletic; for some reason, you feel compelled to try, and not just write it off using your health conditions. For some reason, you want to do this. The seniors are kind in their own brutal (and loud) ways, and friendships that go deep are formed.

Two and a half hours, Mondays to Saturdays; being yelled at right to your face; all the names they called us; and yet, a good number of us stayed. Did we want to prove something? Did we want to prove that no, we are NOT sotongs or lembiks or useless cows? We believed that we could do this. We could win. After all... the little glamorous teacher who gives all the pep talks said that we had a reputation to uphold.

So we try, and we give up our skin cells to be tanned three shades darker. We lose weight and we gain discipline; we discover that comrades who share common hardships are always the closest ones. Formations are secrets, and anyone who spills even to their dearest friends are considered traitors. We can do this. We can win. We've never been quite this excited for anything before.

The day arrives. We find out two things:
1. We won. Screams on the bus and house parties all 'round. It's worth it, everyone thinks (or shouts, or both). It is SO freaking worth it.
2. We started out this journey with 'you', and ended with 'we'. Now how did that happen?

Merah is now no longer a word. It is a bond.

Keep that bond alive, guys.
The spirit doesn't lie with the cutest pengerusi, or the teachers who always turn up for practice, or your poor sweaty (and tak-da suara) kawat captain.
It lies with YOU. Yes you, little future Form One kids.
Because eventhough WE are the ones who won (for seven damn years!),
it's YOU GUYS (AND GIRLS) who are going to keep on winning.

Once a Merah, always a Merah.

Love,
Alia A.