Departure
July 27th 2002, 0352 hours
Location: my room
In the vase: nothing
Weather: night breeze
On the plate: mutton murtabak
In the packet hanging on the cupboard handle: teh-ping
It's my final night, and my final entry from Singapore for a long, long while.
I don't know how I'm feeling, really. Maybe a little of everything: a little excited, a little apprehensive, a little tired from all the last-minute running around I've been doing. But at least I'm in control, not a whirling bag of emotions. Mayee assures me there'll be a buildup right up to the point when the plane actually takes off, but that can wait, I think. Being busy does that to you. I've been pretty blasé about leaving so far, so much so that Joanna said (via ICQ) "You're lucky/ you can just leave." And I suppose I can at that; if necessary I can pack my bags and lace my boots and leave without a backward glance. Buddha would have approved of that, I suppose. But I love this life, and I want this: I want to spend time thinking of everything I've had here, of people I love and care for, of roads I won't be walking for a while, of times and events I'm going to miss. Yes, miss is the right word: I want to think of all the people and things I won't be seeing for what, right now, seems like too long a time. So I'll stop and I'll watch you, for I love, I love, and then be on my way.
July 27th 2002, 1748 hours (Singapore time)
Location: boarding gate 43, Incheon airport, Seoul
Weather: 36 degrees out
'm sitting in the fading evening sunlight waiting to re-board my plane - I'm making a transit at Seoul's sleek new Incheon airport before proceeding on to Vancouver. (Seems all airports look alike these days: high ceilings, metal girders, lots of glass and steel, a generally pale grey colour scheme... not that I mind, of course...) I've spent most of the flight here snoozing on the plane - no surprise, given that I'd gone some twenty-five hours without sleep before the flight. But in any case now I'm awake and writing again. Aren't you glad.
The first wash of realisation - Oh man, this is really it - came when I finally shut down my laptop, and packed it up. It's usually the last thing I do before leaving, if I'm going anywhere with it. For me it was all about losing a means of communication, about unplugging. I suppose I've become more dependent on electronically mediated social networks than I realise. And, in accordance with that theme, the second major wave of realisation came when I switched off my phone for the last time and put it aside to await my return. For a Singaporean that's a big thing, that is: no phone. No more calls while walking down midnight roads. No more messaging to say hi when you catch an unexpected glimpse of someone. No more ten-second calls when you can't find someone at your meeting place. I miss SMSing already. During the flight I'd have messaged Ange or something, if only Ange were on the same flight, or if only we'd been allowed to use phones. Or if only I'd actually had my phone in the first place. Talk about adjustment problems.
But other than that there was no real time to ponder the subject of Leaving, not really; not while saying final goodbyes to family and friends at the airport (thank-you everyone who came); not while rushing to the gate to catch my plane, which just happened to be at the extreme end of the terminal (and round a corner and down another corridor, to boot); not while trying to find room in the overhead to stow my stuff (I didn't eventually). And when the plane took off and Singapore vanished behind me in less than a minute, there was no real rush of emotion; only the somewhat businesslike awareness that well, that's it.