Monday, December 22, 2014

Solstice night

I kind of hate eating alone these days. I mean, sometimes it's fantastic. I love having food and space and sound all to myself and no one to take it up or demand my attention except the food and maybe a book or a magazine. But these days, Singapore makes it so difficult to be alone. Mealtimes are a CF (to adopt an army term that some of my friends have been using in a funny way, clusterf**k) in almost every mall and eatery.

Do you know how difficult it is to get a place to sit at a decent eating place? First you have to queue for food, and I'm not comfortable leaving my bag at some remote table while I stand in line for what seems like an abbreviated eternity. Then, the mental image - of me standing with a full tray and my bag weighing down one shoulder staring hopelessly at a sea of occupied tables - creates enough anticipational anxiety that I turn away from the crowded eatery and look for somewhere less packed. Usually that ends up being a fast food restaurant, and even by fast food restaurant standards, the ones where it's relatively easy to find a seat will not be the ones with better food or lower prices. Beggars can't be choosers.

I don't stay long after I finish. The overheard conversations become jarring, a dissonance that impinges on my need for personal space. The fluorescent lighting too artificially bright and stale air wafting out the kitchen melting my vibrissae. The fast food joint has overstayed its welcome.

Bus rides in the rain are exceptionally evocative. Light filtered through spattered glass lends a muted melancholy to the night. "In the rain, the pavement shines like silver; all the lights are misty in the river" indeed. What beautiful, achingly plaintive lines.

As I let myself in, the neighbour's dog sits in the doorway facing mine, head cocked with a sense of familiarity that echoes mine and yet I know it doesn't know me, not really. I look at it for a long moment, challenging it to argue my claim, to show some sign of recognition. The moment passes, I don't know what is coming over me. I purse my lips at the dog and wave at it. Hi, I'm home.

It started me thinking about how I often get overwhelmed with the feeling that I don't truly belong anywhere. I'm always the outsider, the foster child, not quite the in crowd, perpetually standing on the fringes peering inwards. Maybe I'll just feel like that everywhere I go. I shouldn't take it that some other place is better for me, but that I should be content with where I am and that there are people who care about me even though I don't really care or I don't feel "there" enough to care. Or perhaps with me feeling like I never belong, perhaps a place where people are just more remote in general would be better, so I wouldn't feel like my distance is quite so abnormal.

Why do I always need to make things so difficult?

Avaris / 12/22/2014 09:24:00 PM

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