retry?

y / n


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the most important thing in life is deciding what to believe in. Some people believe only in themselves and become incredibly 'successful' and miserable. Some people don't believe in anything at all. Some people only believe in money. Some people believe in something larger than themselves, destiny, God, crystal energies. Believe as synonymous for worship. Or maybe 'rely'?

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it's my last day in singapore, and I'm starting to see the country a little differently. On the platform at stevens waiting for the mrt I notice the hum of trains in the distance and sleepy cavernous still-ness of the place. The librarian asks if it's my last day, and I say yes. Are you planning to come back, maybe we'll see you around? she asks, and I fumble for a diplomatic answer. "Possibly, who knows?" I shrug fecklessly and assume an awkward, idiotic grin. It's my last day here and I'm thinking, 'maybe this place isn't so bad.' Typical. Little india is a lot bigger than I imagined. The narrow walkways connecting shopfronts smell of flowers strung together and some kind of incense. Tourists litter the streets, carrying backpacks and wandering aimlessly and I feel a little more at ease. I ask 'do you sell em ping here'? and am met with slightly raised eyebrows 'belinju?' I try. With a gentle shake of the head, they resume their quiet bustling, indian children trickling in and out of shops and fans rotating oldly overhead. One shopkeeper takes pity on me and points vaguely behind me. I turn round to see a wall. 'There?' I ask. She nods sagely. Along the way, I pester a few more shopkeepers. The name 'sing-song supermarket' crops up, which turns out to be the way Indian and Malay shopkeepers pronounce Sheng Siong, a massive Chinese owned hypermart right in the middle of Little india. In Sheng Siong supermarket it's known as Sheng Siong, but in Little India it's Sing-song, and you can buy emping there at 1.50SGD a packet.

I meet with Wendy for lunch. It's our last day as medical students, but the day doesn't feel particularly special or memorable to me yet. After lunch she offers to pray with me 'since we won't see each other till July'. When she prays, she really prays. Earnestly. Sincerely. Unlike my half-hearted monologue, rattled off like announcements at a school assembly, all speech and no spirit. You can always tell when someone is really praying for you. Waiting for the bus home, I pretend I'm somewhere else. Japan. Malaysia. I look at the uncles and aunties and young men in smart trousers waiting and the bus lady waving impatiently for me to board and they start to look less like strangers and more like neighbours. Maybe home really is where the heart is.