2 August 2008
It was perhaps a pilgrimage, one long delayed but one I’ve been following for many years. It is something so familiar it hurts.
I started from the bus stop nearest to the hostel. The one named Before Jalan Naga Sari, in a very literal way. Slung over my shoulder was my blue UK Education environmentally friendly bag filled to the brim with books and DVDs owed to the National Library of Singapore, namely The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould, a British autobiography by various authors across British history, a city guide to Oxford, volume one of Journey to the West, The Life of Mammals by David Attenborough, Tibetan Monks, Peter and Paul, and the long overdue e2|energy sponsored by Autodesk. I had not finished all the books, or the DVDs, though I ripped the latter.
It was nine o’clock and the streets were empty, so was the bus stop. My senses started taking in with hypersensitivity all the little details that I will miss with an ache. How the music wove between the night sounds, against the constant though unobtrusive rumble of traffic, how the air smelt particularly fresh at this time, how the ground was solid, how the gravel scraped, how the green railings flashed pass my side, how the yellowish street lamp scattered its light amongst the velvety dark green leaves, and the thud of feet against pavement not yet a sound. I sat facing the flow of traffic, washed over by waves.
I remember vividly, though only occasionally this sudden understanding of the train station scene in Chihiro. The entire grass plain was covered in water, and you see a solitary platform in the middle of nowhere: the train station, where the train will stop , there and only there. Like it is another world. I felt this when I stepped into the bus stop, when the pool of light engulfed me from the night. For the first time, it felt phenomenal.
While brooding over how night everything is, the itinerary presented problems thereby requiring slight modifications. As I cannot pay my library fines online I will need to find a library kiosk situated outside the library and the only place I know which had this service was the Jurong East Regional Library: a detour was necessary. One which made me glad. Also, instead of 174, 171 arrived first, necessitating a stop at the Newton MRT. It felt miraculous how maximized my journey would be.
I continued my broodings on the bus, marveling at how warm and unreal everything seemed. Many thoughts ran through my mind but I suppose much were overshadowed, regretfully, by a frustration that occurred on the MRT. When I reached the train station, to be greeted by the rattling escalators, I decided to take another detour and stepped into the all-too-frequented Seven Eleven, where the cashier whose age and nationality I know was not there. I bought a bottle of Q Bourbon and Cola which I felt suited the sentiments of this night but which also sparked off a series of financial woes. I must say I did not enjoy the entire train ride, as I calculated and racked my brains for funding sources. The problem was resolved as I stepped out onto City Hall MRT, though now I forget whether I smelt the strong soya bean scent that wafts through the whole station.
As I exited, I joined in the rush of people with a quickened pace. I thought it rather uncharacteristic for me to saunter through this stretch of land, even if I am merely here to absorb the atmosphere. The smell of Bread Talk at the entrance, a very handy Guardian further down, the diamond shop, the health food shop followed by an escalator down. HMV, TCC, the American dining restaurant with huge hamburgers, sportswear and another escalator down. A sudden stillness as cheaper artworks are displayed on both sides. Two sets of automatic doors at the end of the walk and a really long escalator up, beside the chocolate stairs. One emerges to a void deck and to groups of youngsters going about their business. Then arrive the slightly more expensive art pieces, video art this time. One was called The Invisible Force, which managed to be quite convincing. Downwind, the more stationary photography. This series had something to do with Being, in all, it meant to capture moments of Life. Again, quite convincing. As I hurried along, a few photos were familiar, like the two potted plants and the girl in spaghetti straps smoking. The two sets of sliding doors, then the wash of chilled air and the sounds of the repeating videos. Giovanni is coming to town next year, tickets are available. The escalator up to the box office where a small sign with predictable content stood, all the lights were out.
The Mezzanine sprouted huge wire trees with crawling roots and spreading branches. I believe I misinterpreted the art piece, nonetheless all it looked to me was an object between the artificial and the natural. The entire set was surrounded by (!!the rope thing you use to regulate queues..with velvet coverings!!) and I gave a small smirk in reaction to the fruits of vandalism and at bypassing the experience of walking amongst the tall trees. I glanced briefly at the commentary by the side, and I believe the artist completely missed his point. My pace slowed considerably here, and as almost a routine, I took in the Jurassic palm trees near the LCD screen, and the wooden benches, and the carpeted flat stage. The last in particular, to see if I can catch the next show. I walked onwards to the familiar smell of cookies, a dimly lit Hagen Daze, the Tatami shop, the chocolate shop that always ends up selling strawberries coated in chocolate, the minute all-things-cinema shop.
Then up two escalators to the library with water sliding down the right wall. I dumped all the CDs and books into the book drop and trotted back to the MRT with the all-too-familiar feeling of a great weight lifted.
However, at the escalator I saw the sign pointing towards the Roof Terrace. I figured it would be the best place to down the last bit of Bourbon and Cola, so up I went. It has been years since I last came up here, I believe it was either in Sec two or three. Xj and I would come up here, settle down in a little corner and whip out our homework. I would even get a little free lunch, courtesy of her mom, albeit really cold free lunch. I walked towards the corner and grinned at how cramped and uncomfy it looked, and at the large pot opposite at which she wondered whether it was an entrance to another world. Well, I did look down it once more just to confirm that there is indeed no portal of escape from this absurdly heavy reality.
I ventured further towards the edge of the terrace and leaned against the ledge, taking a couple of swigs from the bottle. I wonder why didn’t I come this far out to the terrace last time, probably because of the weather. The view was great, excellent spot for drinking alcohol but time was ticking and I was only halfway done.
I crossed the narrow road and reached the Jurong East Regional Library. Paid all my fines using first the Cash Card which had insufficient funds, and then Nets. I couldn’t help peering into the darkened windows of the library, remembering the big, grey, shaky table our ‘study group’ used to hog and how infrequently we went back there right after exams ended. The only other time I went back was to give Xj a surprise during lunch after my morning French lesson and lunch with Thao. And that rush of cold wind in the face when the doors slid open, along with it the rush of library scents. Off I trod, down the path that led to the overhead bridge, missed a 176 and sat down at the bus stop. Another 176 came after a while as I sat with my feet dangling over the taller of the two bus stop benches. I hailed it and tapped my card.
I forgot where I sat but I suppose at my usual seat right behind the bus driver, where it is slightly shadowed and where so many times I sat there crying or smiling in complete solitude. One can almost feel the change in atmosphere and scenery as the bus rumbles into Bukit Batok though upon scrutiny there shouldn’t be a significant shift. Perhaps I am much too accustomed to noting the slight changes in lighting, for it also meant a downward spiraling of my mood. I hurried across the double-lane road, up a flight of stairs and past a really small playground. The nearer block 249 loomed, the more nervous I became as I really did not want to explain my presence to anyone from the household. Though, it would’ve been nice to meet them again before I left. I sat on the blue benches facing the lifts, hearing the doors rattle open. I saw the black and white cat which is really shy and gentle.
But I felt compelled to leave as I knew this feeling of great longing would not disperse with time. It was no small feat to wrench myself away from the bench where only yesternight I sat here relieved at the turn of events, where Xj shooed her dad upstairs when he came downstairs to find me sobbing. I walked to the lifts, one of which was empty about to head upwards, and smiled at the diamond-shaped window through which I have sent her home countless of times and which was a manifestation of my progress at letting go. I wonder when did I stop following her upstairs and could stop myself at the doors of the lift. I think the first time I did that, I stopped beside the lift, waited for her to get in and for the doors to close, then stepped out and waved her off. I hurried by the brightly lit study area, memories flashed past of a darkening sky and of her sitting crossed-legged outside to catch the remaining bit of sunlight till the lights came on.
And as I stepped into the night sky once again, it dawned upon me the end of all those before. That after this, my life in Singapore has ended, this period of my life in Singapore has ended. I do not know if I have reaped as much as I should have from this land but I know that I have gained quite a bit, perhaps not enough but still, quite a bit. It seemed impossible how something could end, just like that. That the day would arrive when one will be forced to move on. Nonetheless, I am thankful that I have unconsciously been preparing for this day, knowing that I have based much of my decisions on this day, and have devoted much my time to the things that really matter so that it will be much easier this day.
As I dropped off the bus, grinning at how delighted I was to walk down this path because it doesn’t include the overhead bridge, the sentiments gradually faded. I stared at the moon through the branches of those night sentinels. Once again, I heard my feet thudding on the ground, and the gentle rustling of leaves. The last thought that crossed my mind before the lapse into reality was Good Lord, I will miss this place.
