Stories in a City II_Lost

I was awoken at 5 am by my mother's voice calling me. I opened my eyes and replied in a croaky 'Yes?' only to realise that I was alone in my freshly washed sheets in my bed in London. I could have sworn that voice was so near and real.

I am still groggy from the long flight. My whole body is in pain from keeping upright position through two flights, lugging my 27kg luggage up four flights of rickety stairs of a period block and a massive bedroom clean up. There is still that constant pain in the lower left portion of my abdomen which I suffered throughout my flight like a bullet wound at my side that will not heal. I am not sure if this pain is real or in my head and if I could will it away. I only know that it hurts.

On the surface I appear normal. But beneath this surface runs a deep reservoir of complicated emotions. Maybe I should pray, but I have never been spiritual enough to because I constantly question God's motive, my guilt and the role I should play. Not that I do not believe that God exists.

My bedroom is strangely quiet. I cannot hear any traffic outside like I would from my 14th floor apartment in Singapore 24 hours a day. London seemed so far removed when I was at home and now Singapore seems so irrelevant from my life here in London. It feels like the reminisce of a party the night before. Empty cans of beer, half drunk bottles of wine, overturned bottles, lipstick stains on champagne glasses and I have to start cleaning up again.

What does it take for a place to be called home?

When I first exited the airport apon reaching home, I was blown away by an angry blast of hot air. I told my mom that I thought I was going to pass out because I could not breath and she told me not to be silly. Maybe so, but it was so hot, my clothes quickly clung to my body. The constant trickle of moisture down my spine and hair plastered to my face took me a while to get use to, together with the traffic, the noise and the scale of the surroundings. Emotionally, I felt out of place in a familiar environment, not just my physical being but my goals and aspirations seemed untuned to the mainstream. Yet, because of my upbringing, a part of me still aspired for the mainstream.

I am formed by many of the cultural references and behavior branded as Singaporean, even the way I speak, behave and think. But somewhere along the line of the pass year, I have grown accustomed to behaving in a certain manner culturally acceptable in London, ie not constantly smsing or talking on the mobile and being more courteous and patient. I have acquired habits like chewing gum or eating potatoes chips as part of my main meal. I have been given a a selection of newspapers that tell me what having different view points is like. It is not that I am not comfortable switching between these roles, but for the moment, as I adjust back to my life in London, I am questioning my very being in London or Singapore.

When I was in Singapore, I longed to leave. When I was in London, I wanted to visit home. When I was in Singapore, I was thinking of London. And now that I am back in London, I am missing home. I wonder sometimes that if I had even bigger problems in life or at hand that required my immediate attention, like cancer,poverty and war, maybe, my pursuit of happiness would be more fervent and meaningful and it would only take little things to make me happy again.

On my trip back, I met M through another friend. I asked him what he did for a living and he said he was a ‘Bum’ ie. comfortably settled enough to not work for a living. Such an idea seemed tempting but knowing myself, I know that even if I had such an ability, I would soon become infinitely bored by such a lifestyle. I need to work, I need to do things, I need to build things, I need to see that my life is progressing and I need to struggle to feel alive. Yet, I am also beginning to question why I work so hard for such unacceptable pay which compromises my living standards and ability to enjoy my life fully. Did I really come to London to learn, to work, to live, to play? I am no longer sure. When I left, my Dad told me to plan my life ahead. I am the 30 year old prodigal daughter. What can I plan when I am no longer clear about what I want in my life anymore and the things that I truly want seem so far out of my reach?

If my homeland is really Singapore, then my lost soul hovers on the banks of our beautified Singapore River, a ghost glittering against the waters in an evening sunset, like those ships that can never dock there again.


On Player_'Pure Morning'_By Placebo