It had been thirty long years, since Min last stepped ashore.

Just hours ago, he was dreaming aboard the plane. A plethora of emotions about a scrawny little boy and an oversized briefcase, packed over the brim, just like how he was feeling right now. Vertigo. Clear in his mind was the day he left for Australia with his relatives; hazy was the word that described the meadows of his past. Now on land, he still felt lost. The chaotic Paya Lebar Airport and the clinical Changi Airport; the difference between them were worlds apart. Irreconcilable. He was travelling light, clad in a white polo shirt and stonewashed jeans with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Boarding the taxi, he was greeted with a forthcoming smile by the Malay driver still dressed in his traditional garb. Taxi drivers are the real ambassadors of the country, they always say, and certainly he felt a bit more hospitality immediately after boarding the taxi. After a light conversation, He soon learned that the taxi driver was a permanent resident for just a few years, and was looking to make Singapore his home. As the taxi cruised out of the airport, artificiality soon transcended into surrealism. Palm trees lining the central dividers and the explosion of emerald trees, jaded bushes, living verdure, lush green grass.. the synthetic scenery lulled him to sleep. When Min awoke from his thoughts, he found the taxi driver tapping on his shoulder. Keep the change, Min said, as he handed over a wad of notes. You are very kind, sir, are you from Singapore? Min fumbled. Was he or is he? He mumbled something and got off the taxi hurriedly, hiding his unease. Stepping out of the air-conditioned environment, he was fully exposed to the humidity of the night and the tranquil silence of the twilight estate. He had returned to the soil of his birth place. Prince Charles Crescent, was where all his childhood memories flooded unto him. The gush of recollections took him aback the little bell that the laksa man used when he went about his rounds around the estate, and a coin earned in sweat and tears that his mother would give him to pay the man; the hard-boiled egg that his mother made when he passed his end-of-years, which was considered a delicacy in
Edmund Lee 2010 Page 1 of 3

a time where he only had eggs for birthdays; the mama store across the street that sold his favourite sweets. But the night did not heed his emotional calls; his hopes of revisiting his memories were dashed. There was nothing here he could identify with, not even an inkling of where his house once stood remained. The changes were all too apparent. The sobering thought left him alienated by all that he found around him. Finding no purpose to stay, Min ambled aimlessly, guided by the starless sky above. Wanderlust brought him face-to-face with Queenstown Cinema. The crumbling building that stood before him looked forlorn and deserted. The decades-old exterior dcor exuded an allure that he could not dismiss was it because of the refreshing change from the sterile cityscape? The old caretaker responsible for movie projection and ticket stub collection. Edged chin. Rounded thick-rim spectacles. It was unfathomable that this cinema that used to symbolise the epitome of technological progress became obsolete, just as unthinkable as how this man, its caretaker had been deemed useless and abandoned by his ungrateful daughter. Min felt fortunate that a bastion of what he could remember still existed, not just in the depths of his mind. As much as his wishful thinking would have wanted him to believe, he was surprised to find an essence of the days gone by still standing. A distance away was an empty plot of land. The morning dew had settled, and the grass glistened in the light of the lonely street lamp. Min bent over, searching the grass for something which he could not quite grasp. The three-storey Chinese emporium had vanished without a trace. How can things past and leave no mark behind? The question lingered unanswered. As morning drew nearer, the last vestige of the nights silence was strangely replaced by a deeper and more sombre stillness that was echoed in the faces of a few foreign workers gathered at a corner, looking towards their homes somewhere beyond the starless white-washed sky of a new day. Min decided it was time to leave the cinema. Time trickled while Min walked down the path, sunken heart reflecting upon his past, searching for the memories that shaped his sentimentalism. He had another place to go before he left.

Edmund Lee 2010

Page 2 of 3

Heavy footsteps treading upon the damp earth beneath, he inched carefully near the neatly lined headstones. He recalled the calmness on her pallid face in the casket at the funeral ceremony attended by few, and the anxiety on those who were present. In the Yin Foh Kuan Hakka cemetery, her headstone was a sight of decadence. Weeds had hidden her existence. The engravement of her name was barely legible. As Min used his callous hands to clear the weeds, flashes of memories ran through his mind. His mother still looked the same, fresh in his memories kind and always smiling. At least his mothers passing was marked by a tombstone, Min thought. Min wondered, how much longer would this temporary accommodation for his parents be available before the place was redeveloped into an altar of economic worship? The lands that belonged to Mins ancestors were soon to be overpopulated and survival was the new religion. He whispered a blessing in the forgotten Khek dialect, and wished that the winds of change brought them to the heavens above. My generation is lucky to have seen the change of Singapore, and unlucky to have seen Singapore changed, Min lamented to the headstones around him. By then, the sun had risen to life. No more of delving into flashbacks, Min decided, for he had to proceed with his business trip, and Singapore was a transit station, very much like the dream station Singapore represented to him. A place where memories have no place to stop. Into the dawn the boat engine roared, where the peaceful daybreak was marked by a drifting petal falling at a few centimeters per second from a tree earmarked for felling. The boat weaved in and out of the waterway just like the unstitching of social fabric. Watching the water froth up beneath the waves, Min wondered if he was drifting away from the atoll.. or was the island drifting away from him? Perhaps he was not to know. The Singapore he knew was merely a story of the past, a tale in his heart, a legend lost on the current generation that would never know of the locals who once toiled the lands. WORD COUNT: 1,137 words

Edmund Lee 2010

Page 3 of 3