Chapter 4: February Ends

It is a Sunday. The day that most people would want to spend their time outside of their comfort zone at home. Let it be watching your favourite television show on the cable, spending time with your family and talk about the week you had, let it be good or shitty as long as the response from your story either; "Oh that's good" or "Really! Oh, I'm sorry. It'll be better next week. Just Hang in there" or Laugh at what ever funny incident that occurred in the office before. Your colleague accidentally sent out porn links to the whole entire company. Your colleague got a new hair cut that looks like some loony bin character and did her own style. Hand phone missing and sent out mass email telling the entire work place to return it to its rightful owner without any press charges but deep down she wants to whack the hell of the person and in the end it was miss placed by herself in her own too-big-sized jacket pocket. What ever it is, it's time spent at home.

For some, we want to go outside. Put on ur best dress that you've been saving up the whole entire week. Comb that messy hair after the shower to look the best as you can. Put on the perfume that you only use for special occasions. The pressed pants that just came from the dobby looks sleeker than ever or others would just put on the rugged jeans they've been wearing for years and never been washed even once. All of these just to go out on the hot Sunday afternoon. It is as if you're preparing for a date. May be it's just too feel good. To walk under the scorching sun on the solid concrete pathways to be noticed by others and when they notice you, you feel good. That sensation down the spine tinkles, you feel proud. May be that's why some people are so concern about being notice, what they think, what's their criticism, their opinion, their shitty bullshit comments about what's best for you when they don't even know what's best for themselves. Fucking hell, we're living in a delusional world aren't we?

You find yourself lost. When you're just bored out of yourself, nothing excite you anymore, you don't know what to do. You wonder around blindly without aim. No purpose. You want to find that place where isolation is your best friend. Where silence is the air that you breathe. No one else cares about what shitty-shirt or fucked-up shoes you wear. You give yourself a chance to be you. To let all that emptiness fades out to the black-hole. Or, your just fucking bored and you don't want to stay at home so you let your left leg and your right to keep on moving until they're sore.

I find it weird, even for myself, to go out and just walk with out aim or destinations. But I guess that's the excitement that I'm trying to find. To give myself a chance that I might actually stumble upon something incredible. To witness an accident, to be the first to catch that rare moment, to have something that no one else has. But mostly for me, I just want to get lost where I do not know anyone and watch them. The different faces, the different background, the path they took to be where they are now. The partner they chose, the family they built, the adventures they tasted. The airport is the answer.

A group of Norwegians with their shorts, sleeveless shirts and slippers deciding where to go after they arrive. They dressed this way I guess because they can't do it in their own country or it's just too bloody hot here at the sunny-equatorial-country of Singapore.
The students with twelve of their friends and parents in a circled group sending of the future generations of the nation for Australia to further study. The thing is that their parents do not know about the parties they have every week, the sexual experiments they try to discover as their desire to explore grows larger for attraction of the opposite sex. The recreational drugs that pass around like cheap liquors and consumed like a sixteen year old just tasted beer for the first time or smoked their first fag. Parents and friends feel proud as they wave good bye to the prodigy out to the immigration counter. Little did the students know how this trip would change their life forever.
The suits walk around with their laptop bag on one shoulder and genuine leather prada limited sling bag on the other. The right hand would be busy texting the blackberry, the other is dragging small-compact-black luggage that only can fit a pair of shoes and a couple pair of more suits and a casual wear.
The Japanese tourist with their sunny-bright-tropical-coconut-palm-trees-Hawaiian-t-shirt and their straw hat. Big-huge-ass Sony camera hanging on their neck. They're proud of their products. It's like a trophy for them. The two meter square map is stretched out at the center circle of the group and trying to point out which are the best site seeing place to go to. Where's that place where you can ride that tricycle bike with the techno music pumping out as you cruise around for half an hour or so? Where's that famous big wheel that blinks at night and looks so pretty but too scared to go in because it's too high.
The surfer dudes. I don't understand these guys. Why would you want to surf at this small island. It is surrounded by other big islands, why would there be a freaking huge wave to surf on at the edge of this tiny island? May be I don't know about it. May be there's a secret place where only a few people knows. They come in with their big boards, big-backpack, three-qurater quicksilver surfing pants, sandy sandals, messy hair that's never been washed for weeks, some come with dreadlocks, and of course the beach shirts and bead-necklaces and bracelets so thick that you can't turn your wrist anymore.
Then there's the usual Filipinos, Bangladeshi, Indians, Burmese and Indonesians labor workers who just want to go back to their home countries for their own perspective reasons. They come here hundreds or thousands miles away from home to work for a mere thousand bucks a month, sometimes less. God bless them for making this country cleaner, for building the skyscraper and making the places that we call home. They always go in a group because they are bonded by their agencies. You can only go back home when you are assign to. When the work is done. When the boss is happy. When the project is finished and the client is happy with it.

Characters, the different aspects of life that walk through the check-in counters is what fascinates me the most. Is what makes me wonders; where is he going home to? who will be waiting for him at the airport? what's his girlfriend or wife looks like? what would she do when she reaches home? is that business trip just another excuse to visit his mistress here? is he or she as fucked up as I am? It's just great to imagine and let your mind run loose for once in a while, once in a blue moon. As the sun goes down on the west, the airplanes ascends to the east one by one, the lights on the sky goes dimmer and revealing the darkness of the atmosphere. But then as I looked up, one light shines above the rest. It hangs between the airport tower and the building beside it. It shines so bright I was captured, dazed and mesmerized. The moon has never been this big for months, may be almost a year. It looks so surreal. The clouds around it smeared like painted brush strokes with water paint and there was nothing else around it. A blank dark blue sky with no clouds nor a single star. A bright yellowish-orange color lit up the town as the night falls. It was 7:30, the next minute I took the ride home. February ends on Sunday with a perfect moon. I guess that's why they celebrate the month as a romantic month.