Afternoon at a magical place
I went to the airport Sunday. I was late for church- the shutters were closed, I was almost there, just 2 halls away. Poor Char was in mild distraught for me too; I think I have learnt from God a lesson not to be late anymore. I had planned on going to the airport by myself after service anyway. I sat down at starbucks, my espresso tasted horrible- maybe I wasn’t used to the taste, but it wasn’t my first drinking that- it tasted more bitter than usual. I read my magazine and book, occasionally gazing at passer bys. It was abit of shock to see the airport wasn’t completely desserted as I thought; somehow I had the idea only people like me with too much time on their hands would wander at the airport.
Armed security men walked past me, in awe, I stole glances at the hulking stature in dark glasses, he was taking slow steps, and turning around to cast gazes everywhere. It made me feel safe, and frightened- that terrorism is very real.
I turned my attention back to my book. I would again be distracted- I am easily distracted after all- by local families, puke inducing couples; but the ones who intrigue me the most are travellers, from the important businessmen in suits, to the holiday makers to the elegant stewardess. They would have their trolleys with luggage containing their possesions and scurry along in haste, even the strollers amongst them would have an air of urgency. They would have an air of superiority, I imagine, just because they are travellers, while us mere civilians, are grounded and bounded. Not as fleetfoot and fancy free as they were.
I finish my drink, the boy who was alone too beside me had his head down on his table, he had been doing maths. The obnoxious Chinese threesome who talked in disturbing volumes were gone, replaced by a Caucasian family. I wiped my table with my serviette, disposed my drink and made my way to the viewing mall.
Guided by signs, I feel home. The viewing mall, had many old people. I wonder why. Is it because, like me, without the luxury of money to travel made them loiter at the viewing mall? Does the mere sight of planes taking off, the mere wonder of just being in a place of arrival and departure a compensation to fulfil their wanderlust? I paused briefly only, to take a picture and left. I didn’t felt in place- I loved it too much. I felt those people were one, like me.
I browsed into a bookstore, noted books I wanted to buy. Stepped into a shoe and bag store, service was as crappy, is it because I am not white and golden haired but yellow and jet black haired? Is it my slippers with sequins, denim skirt and careless ponytail, casual jacket and layered tee with my huge print bag screamed cheap?
I saw many things, many stereotypes and unconventional beings. I saw an SPG with a foreigner whispering sweet nothings to each other at a lonely corner, a girl around my age who spent as much time fussing over her hair as I did with my touch up in the loo- alone just like me. Some uniformed girls, perhaps counter service or airline girls, I don’t know, taller with the air of foreignness to me.
I stepped into the post office, bought 2 postcards of Singapore scenery. I wanted 0ne of the airport, but to no avail; I wanted to remember this magical place. I enjoyed my company, it was my first you see, at the airport, alone by myself. I’m starting to learn to cope with being by myself and it’s the way things are gonna be.
I gazed longingly at the check ins- 5 years my dear, do wait for me.
