It’s been nearly two weeks since I left Singapore to return home. And home, that tiny speck of a dot one won’t even notice on maps of my home state, is where I’m at. Outside, it’s quite beautiful — and cold. We received our first significant snowfall in several years only yesterday as the sheets of ice cascaded downward for part of the early morning and well into last night. If one looks outside, it’s literally a bed of icy white sheets laid over everything one once knew and recognized. There’s no activity — just calm, serene, and abundant white. If you dared defy it all, go outside, scrape off the vehicles to slide down the hill and onto the highway to embark on a hazardous trek to someplace else, you’d find little to do under the circumstances.
That’s quite the change from Singapore, where just a peek outside the window of my room revealed boisterous tropical trees and plants, a poolside swimming instructor attempting to teach half-a-dozen soaking wet children more interested in drowning each other than learning how to swim; and the humidity would lay across your face like a wet washrag while the fresh tropical breeze attempted to cool you off. And when I sat in quietude examining it all, day or night, I knew there was just an awful lot going on around me (and that, chances were, roti prata was being eaten without me present).
My last night in Singapore was a memorable one. Yang, Ling, and I were joined by Doreen, Elina, and Mark for a film earlier that afternoon at the Cathay Cineleisure and we followed that up with a gigantic seafood dinner at a restaurant near the shore. We’d since said goodbye to them before driving up the street to take care of a very important matter of extreme urgency: grilled stingray. It was while waiting for the stall owners to prepare this treat that I lamented to Yang and Ling how I so dreaded leaving Singapore, and how I felt I would miss it so much. They appeared genuinely surprised to hear this. I half expected Yang to ask me, “Is that the drunken prawns talking, buddy?”
There was no disputing the possibility existed, but I was quite sincere. After all, I find that I miss the weather, the unpredictable afternoon rains, the even more unpredictable evening showers, and the predictable act of me not bringing an umbrella.
I miss the tropical landscape; the impeccably clean streets and buildings, the trees and vegetation situated among the plentiful cityscape, the daring architecture, the copious parks and gardens, and the sea.
I miss the food, the stalls at the hawker centres, the orphaned smells mingling together as they waft invitingly toward me. I miss the overwhelming selection, the adventure in arriving and not even knowing what to order. I miss the lunchtime rush to the food courts, when everyone has the same idea. I miss Katong laksa. I miss the excitement about food that most Singaporeans appear to share.
I even miss the public transportation, where social grace is often thrown out the window in lieu of more important things, like the illusion of getting to one’s destination sixty seconds faster; the train rides and minding the all important gap at each and every stop, and the temptation to get off at every stop to see what I’m missing. I miss the bus rides leading to destination unknown, the alighting bell and the beeps of the fare cards.
But most of all I miss the people, the multiple cultural backgrounds existing beautifully among each other, the dress and languages. I miss the hawkers, especially the ones so desperate they offer to make you a shirt and pay you S$20 for it; the food hawkers, all business-like, quick and efficient. I miss the bus drivers who, if crossed, go well out of their way to give foreign-speakers within earshot the ultimate crash course on the really useful Chinese swear words.
I miss the anticipation toward the date of November 18th, Yang and Ling’s wedding day. I miss the preparation, sharing in their experience; speaking with Minister Huang, who always kept it light and fun. I miss watching Isaac, Danyel, and Gwen making their rounds down the aisle during the rehearsal. I miss the early morning anxiety of guessing what proverbial gauntlet Ling’s friends had cooked up for us. I miss the ride in the bridal car which Ronnie drove for us, who was friendly and conversant and related his own wedding day experiences; with Grace and Roger, both of whom had amazingly interesting stories to tell on their travels around the world; with Doreen, who I was pleased to discover had actually seen the same movies I had (!), and who had to translate my excuse for a Best Man’s speech into Mandarin at the last minute. So sorry!
And most especially I miss Yang and Ling, my big brother and sister across the Pacific, who pampered me to no end, whose graciousness I shall never forget and which I hope to repay in some fashion within my lifetime. You two made this trip feel inviting, safe and secure, adventuresome and rewarding. You made me feel like family, and I cherish you both.
I had the time of my life. So, yes, sincerely, I miss it all.
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