Weather Forecast: Raindrops will fall o'er the weary feet
Lamaze-style breathing was all I could do when I realized that three weeks had already passed since I arrived. The days in 2008 seemed to move quicker than ever. With one more week to go and lots of things to accomplish, I could already feel the pressure. Three time-bound tasks I had to do: apply for a visa extension, look for a new flat, and most importantly apply make-up for a job.
Applying for a visa extension was pretty straightforward. With just a few clicks I was able to gather all the information that I needed and secure an appointment date with the ICA (Immigration and Checkpoints Authority). I could easily notice how systematic their government agencies were by their updated and easy-to-navigate websites.
The second task was to search for another place to stay. New tenants would soon take over our flat and we were left with two options. Option #1: Find a flat with a vacant room for Marie and I to share. Option #2: Find a friend who could let us move in for the meantime while we do option #1.
The third task was the most crucial one. Getting a job quickly was the goal. A job that would pay for the visa extension, pay for the rental & utilities, and pay for the day-to-day needs like food, transportation, salon and dermatologist. Fine, maybe the last two were not really part of the day-to-day needs.
But all these three tasks were way beyond bite-size. Not fulfilling one task could lead to the failure of the other two. At that point there was no other way to tackle it than head on. Sitting on the sofa, I leaned backwards, tilted my head and stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes. As if I was waiting for the roof to open up so I could push the eject button and escape from an impending catastrophe.
With faith as my only parachute, I was not too sure if that was enough to save me.
My cellphone rang. I immediately thought that this could be the most awaited call. After sending out dozens of resumes online, this could be it. This could be the call that would lead to an interview, which would lead to a job offer, that would eventually lead to my first paycheck. A call that would help me fulfill all the tasks.
But it was Peachy, Ruthie’s cousin. She was inviting me to come over to her place. Having been in Singapore longer than myself, she offered to bring me to interesting spots nearby. At that moment I just felt that her timing couldn’t be any more perfect. Perhaps I needed to momentarily escape from the madness that I was about to sulk in. The eject button had just been pushed.
A few minutes later I was on my way to Buona Vista. Armed with my trusty street directory map and bus guide pocketbooks, nothing could go wrong. Oh, wait... I forgot to bring them. But no reason to worry as I had carefully reviewed the directions last night. I didn’t make a big fuss over it.
It was midday and everyone else was either at work or at lunch, including my friend Marie. My solo adventure was now taking place. As I sat patiently inside the MRT, I noticed this sign:
But as we advanced from one stop to another, the number of passengers kept multiplying. An MRT car is a microcosm. One could see the diverse race & culture inside. They were a mixed crowd of tourists, students and office workers from all walks of life. And just as how mixed the crowd was, so was the lingering smell. It wasn’t always like this though. Perhaps it depends on the day’s menu collective brew of odours. But no matter how overpowering than durian the stench was, no fine was indicated for that. I didn’t want to appear insensitive by covering my nose so I tried my best to enter the tantric phase of altered states. Half-consciousness was difficult to achieve. And closing my eyes seemed to just exaggerate my sense of smell. Finally, I reached my station alive yet partly groggy.
I then took the bus that would take me to Peachy’s condominium. Thinking about her own rendition of Cordon Bleu made me want to pick up Harry Potter’s broomstick and just zoom over to her kitchen.
I started seeing the same view of buildings. It turned out that I had taken the bus from the opposite side of the road. I should have read the bus guide when I was at the bus stop earlier instead of just dashing unabashedly at the sight of the bus number. Ugh! After wasting about 10 minutes and 40mph travel, the bus had just begun to ply the correct route to my destination.
Fifteen minutes into the trip and we were off the busy highway and now on a calm residential road. By then the passengers had whittled down to a sleepy few. I approached the driver and requested for him to drop me off the nearest bus stop to Normanton Park Condominium. He just nodded and mumbled something that gave the impression that he knows the place. His smile was refreshing. Until then I had not seen a cute guy who made me smile and sigh. He was a cool twentysomething dude with creamy white complexion that contrasted his jet black hair. And with nearly a month of looking at the same mold of Chicken Little-like bespectacled blokes, he was a good substitute.
I caught him thrice looking at me through his big rear-view mirror. Perhaps assuring me of our plan to elope and live happily ever after that he would take me to my destination and that there was no reason to worry. After a few minutes he stopped the bus and gestured me to wait a while as he hopped off. By this time I was the only passenger. I had never experienced buses here making a stopover and I know it’s highly uncommon. I glanced thru my window and saw him enter a small office of sorts which my anxious mind couldn’t clearly make anything out of.
Was it an SBS satellite office? Maybe. Did he answer the call of nature? Possible. Did he go out to pick up his mom for him to introduce me? Nah. He jumped on again and in a few minutes we were back on the road. New sets of passengers eventually started to hop in. I approached the driver once again just to make sure that he didn’t forget about me. Cool and collected as he was, he simply told me that my destination is very near.
True enough, we reached it in no time. I looked through the windshield and saw a long and narrow pathway amidst Bermuda grass. The road was a dead end and he now had to make a u-turn. I asked him once more if that pathway would lead me to the condo, to which he fervently nodded and gestured, still smiling, that it was where I should go.
Although I was a bit hesitant, I tapped out with my EZ link card and hopped off. I started to walk along the pathway. In this isolated area, there was no way I could ask anyone for guidance. Literally tweeting back to the birds would not help. I didn’t want to bother Peachy again with another text message as I already had bombarded her with lots of texts during the entire trip.
“I could do this,” I thought to myself.
I looked back hoping that I could still find the bus, or anybody that I could ask for directions. But the bus had already left and there was nobody around. I continued walking until I reach a vacant lot with one parked car. Not too far away from it was a high fence adorned with barbed wires. Through it I could see an edifice a few meters past a vast stretch of lawn.
It must be the condo, but it didn’t look like it. Peachy had actually already brought me and Marie to her condo before. But we rode a cab then and the route that it took was very different. Back then I remembered passing by a few chalet-like houses inside a compound where the roads were made lively by jogging residents in their iPod-and-dog-on-a-leash accessory, and nannies with their PSP-toting charges.
I couldn’t see any of those here. Could it be that the bus driver purposely ditched me in this abandoned area? Was this a part of his masterplan where he would eventually appear from a distance carrying a bouquet of red roses? I looked around one more time hoping for a sign that would tell me that I was at the right place. I walked closer to the fence. No one was manning the place, or at least I didn’t see one, but a set of surveillance cameras atop a post.
And then a glaring sign caught my worried eyes: “Protected Place”. The warning was interpreted in 4 languages: English, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil. Whoever made this sign definitely wanted to get his message across to all. And if by chance you don’t know how to read, the visual illustration of a man pointing a rifle towards another person could not be misunderstood. It was my first time to see such a threatening sign that for some reason made me hallucinate of Flor Contemplacion.
Fearing that another step forward would define my mortality, I stepped back and quickly walked away. I walked towards the right hoping to see any familiar clue that I was going the right way. And so I walked. And walked. Brisk-walked. Hopped. Jogged. Still no clear indication of the condo. And just as I was about to pause and catch my breath, it started to drizzle. Great! With nothing above me but the full view of the skies, now I must keep on moving. I tried to run as fast as I could but my flimsy sandals were not cooperating. My heart was pounding like crazy, not just because I felt tired but more so because I was beginning to feel nervous. I was literally all by myself, isolated in this Twilight Zone of a road.
“Houston, we have a problem. I’m officially lost,” I whispered to myself.
I saw an approaching car. This could be my only hope. I didn’t know what came over me but I waved my hand like a true blue hitchhiker, hoping in utmost desperation and panic that I could ask for directions. But alas, the guy behind the wheel just drove by with a wide, naughty grin without even slowing down. Either he thought I was just plain crazy, or that I was a prostitute at work. Or worse, both. Geez! This could not be happening to me. At that point I was hoping that Ashton Kutcher and his crew would surprise me out of nowhere and tell me that I had just been Punk’d.
But it was all too real. After several meters of exhaustive running, I reached a sign that read Kent Ridge Park. I then stared at the nearby bench like it was telling me to sit down and rest for a short while. But the drizzle wouldn’t stop. I continued running, praying that beneath all these tall trees and chirping birds I would eventually reach civilization. Several meters later, I did. Thank God! Soaking wet like a lost puppy, I searched for a bus stop or any waiting shed to no avail. But the now busy road with passing vehicles gave me the much-needed amount of confidence boost. I instantly took the first cab that caught my eyes and told the uncle to bring me to Normanton Park Condominium. Now I am not the type who would casually share sob stories with cab drivers. But at that moment, I felt like a wailing child whining to her mom about a toy that had been taken away.
A few minutes and a painful seven dollars later, we reached the condominium.
I would later find out that the bus driver actually led me to the seldom-used rear gate of the compound. Looking back, I could only laugh at that experience, although I couldn’t forget every minute of the fear and panic that I felt. I realized that depending on how we understand and interpret, often we encounter signs, literal or otherwise, that warn, inform, lead or sometimes mislead us. However, the choice to follow or not to follow is all up to the individual.
Someone who might dare to eat inside the MRT would be fined $500. Someone who chooses to ignore the warning sign could indeed face the pointed end of the gun. But personally in this unpredictable world I could only hope that, like the three Magi who were guided by the lone sign of the Star that led them to The Nativity, the consequences of whatever sign I read or witness would be magical.
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