I took an MRT train to the airport yesterday to send Sarah, Lihao
off. I stood up to give up my seat to the older folk streaming into the train at City Hall. So did another senior Malay man for a young mother and her kid.
As the train emptied itself of its human baggage futher down the line, he took a seat and invited me to do the same.
So I found myself at the end of a monologue about the government's failure to prevent price hikes and to protect the man-in-the-street, all the way to Tanah Merah.
It seems he was an ex-PAP member and once a loyal public servant too.
"I tell you, not everyone likes our PM! I tell you!" Hearty but almost-contrived laughter.
"Well, then what should we do?" I reply knowingly.
"Pray to God!" More characteristic laughter.
"Yes of course. We'll see the rally tonight then," I remarked.
So I found myself scribbling Sarah's farewell note on the long tunneled ride to Changi. And boy, was it an tear-soaked emo goodbye.
Part of me rationalised it away. You got 4 girls flying together to America, and each of them has a sizeable band of good friends bidding goodbye. All it takes is one teardrop to taste the cold airport air around aching eyes, and the avalanche of lacrymosity descends.
It did hit me last Saturday night, and again in church on sunday. I'm going to leave all this for quite a while.
And it hit me again last night as our PM Lee unveiled plans for the rejuvenation of downtown Singapore. When politicians talk about their plans for the future, I always feel left behind; nostalgia pulls me back to simpler, familiar days, but wanderlust and whimsy turn my gaze towards an uncertain future, full of possiblity.
Eight more days. I really have to start writing more farewells.