So.. my current tasks entails me to be in Singapore for long periods of time. In between my stay in Singapore I would go back once or twice a month just to stock up my lungs with the polluted Malaysia air otherwise it'll collapse and die. Also to stock up my appetite with the food of course, otherwise *I* will collapse and die. Sorry Singaporeans, I really can't stop bitching about the city local food. I've heard that food around your hdb flats are awesome but heartland areas are like another continent to me.
Anyway, one of the worst parts of going back to Singapore after a short stay in Malaysia is the waiting period for the flight. The freaking airport is like a no moving time zone. It's like the place where time goes to take its last breathe and pass on. It's okay if you're in the airport with someone, or if you know you're off for a holiday. Not so great when you are there by your lonesome, especially after a really hectic schedule in Malaysia spending time with everyone you care about and running errands, waiting for the damn flight to take you back to the land without smiles, for work.
So you're there at the airport. You go through the motion - check in, immigration check, then move to the waiting hall. You tell yourself you'll bring a book along with you - just to pass the waiting time during the no moving time period. Sure you've got the laptop - but it's too much of a bloody hassle taking it out of your bag, waiting for it to boot, and then having the wifi function seek out a wireless connection which may or may not be working - you know lah Malaysia. Gaya ada, mutu... dipersoalkan. So fuck the laptop. You have the book. And you know you're not really concentrating on the book because you keep staring at the watch willing with every fibre of your being for time pass but it's only been 20 seconds since you last checked. Crap. Rinse and repeat another 30 times.
Then you look around and you notice there are happy shiny people with their happy shiny partners smiling talking, in their damn casual clothes and their damn screaming kids and their damn bright happy suitcases. And you picture in your mind squishing them with your bare hands because who are you kidding? You're blooding miserable and everybody else around you should feel just like you goddamnit. Argh screaming kids. I hate screaming kids. Slap the parents! Mind squish everyone!
You read another paragraph of your book. Watch check. Oh god why is it taking so long. Look up and see what's playing on the LCD above you. What's the point? It's muted anyway. Your eyes are too lazy to move anywhere else so it stays staring at the LCD. Oh good, it's almost time to go... but WAIT where is the bloody plane? Ding dong. Sorry your flight is delayed by another 30 bloody minutes. Fuck you Air Asia. Out of 10 flights I've taken with you you've been late 8 fucking times. Paragraph, watch, LCD, mindsquish. Rinse and repeat.
Plane finally comes. You go in. Sit in the miserable cramp seat. Paragraphs, watch check. Served paid in advance single serving food. Eat it without tasting anything. Touch down. Get out. Immigration. Taxi. 90 minutes later it's just you, your luggage and your dark, empty, apartment.
Then that familiar feeling creeps into you, that feeling which clutches at your stomach, squeezes your heart, clouds your head with greyness, steals away all your happiness.
It usually goes away after a few days. But the first night is always the hardest to get by.