The Long Goodbye

Spent the last two days in a bout of photography and videography, making records that I expect will come in useful when I need to tide over the cold, gray North American winters that I've heard so much about. Ultimately, the intention is to bring as complete a visual record as possible of all the places in Singapore that are meaningful to me. It is a process of catching up with old connections, tidying up loose ends, rediscovering forgotten links; it is a process of reconciliation. As KHwee rather presciently pointed out before, I find the future's meaning in terms of the past, and in order to give this particular future as solid a foundation as possible, I have partaken in this long goodbye to this city.

Today, went down to the Esplanade to grab a few more videos for an upcoming project. To my surprise, I found that the outdoor theatre, a long-time favourite spot for me, had finally been rebuilt and reopened, after a year of delay. Now, it's a more imposing structure; it seems to have lost some of its elegance in the process of expansion. Nevertheless, it was with warmth in my heart that I regarded the new structure, and now I find myself looking forward to more concerts and performances in the sunset, against the much-loved skyline.

And the skyline this evening was particularly splendid. Usually, I can't rightly find a reason to be on the bayside at sunset, and when I do find the time to go down, I've found that, lately, the weather has not been conducive to spectacular colorations. But this evening was markedly different. There was plenty of cloud cover, but there was also a strong wind, so the clouds were scudding across the sky quickly, and here and there, the wind tore holes in the clouds, so that the slanting sunset rays of the sun could spear through in luminous beams. And, right on time, at seven-oh-seven, the lights of the city started to show through the gathering dusk. You look away from the skyline for a minute, and when you clap eyes on it again, you can notice the change in colours; and the time of day gives way to the time of light.

So, spent a good hour gazing at this familiar sight being transfigured by the shifting light, taking shots with my little camera every now and then. It filled me with wonder, just like it used to, two years ago, when I was writing elsewhere. After all this time, the city still casts such a spell on me. Watching it go through its transitions - so splendidly and yet so unselfconsciously, its beauty merely an incidental byproduct of the many intersecting and hidden purposes of the people who inhabit it and enliven it - watching all this, I find myself once again filled with a sense of deep wonder and contentment. I feel lucky to have been in the right place and at the right time to witness something like this. I feel that where I was and where I needed to be coincided this evening, in an instant of rare clarity of purpose. I feel (and I know this sounds presumptious, but still...) that I and the city were on the same wavelength, carrying out a conversation; or at least, that I could just understand the meaning in what I saw this evening.

And, as far as the long goodbye goes, I feel that tonight's view was the city's own farewell to me; a parting gift, if you will.

Is this a bit too fanciful an interpretation?

*

Speaking of parting...had lunch with YS at Newton Circus on Thursday. Newton Circus, the first venue of the large-scale class reunions from secondary school, before it was reconstructed and became tourist-pricey, was largely closed, it being lunchtime and the tourists still being cooped up in the city. Nonetheless, got my hands on a plate of rather good duck noodles, and another cup of sugar cane juice, thereby fulfilling another pre-departure food craving.

And over lunch, we talked about the States (since she's there this year on exchange, and thus has been one of my primary sources of what life after departure is like), and I slowly came to terms with the fact that this is the last time I'll see her before going off. For the second time in the week, the departure date, so much anticipated and longed for, has loomed as a sort of experiential terminus, a clean break with a present that is already well on its way to becoming part of the past. It still boggles my mind that this year, I am on the other side of the equation, since my earlier departure date puts me before the glass gates at the airport before anyone else I know. It feels strange to have to go around saying proper goodbyes to everyone, to consider whether every meeting may be the last, and to properly tie things up in a setting that is not the airport departure level. I have always regarded people as present up till the moment they step through the departure gates, and to bid farewell over a meal seems premature, somehow.

And it doesn't really matter that, after all, my departure this time round will only be as permanent as their departures in previous years; that is to say, sooner or later, we will meet again, either Stateside or back in Singapore. Although I know others will be going to the States to study as well, the departure date still seems like a blank wall to me, a cutoff point. I think it is because I don't know what the future will hold for me - I can't even begin to guess. As such, whereas previous years have been dominated by the worry that I would be welcoming back people who have changed so much as to become effectively strangers again, this time round, I find myself ironically worrying that I may change so much that I would also find all these old acquaintances as quaint as strangers.

Anyway, all this is rather new to me, and I do find that these de facto sendoffs in everyday environments bother me, on the one hand, because they signify the acknowledgement of and submission to the unknown that is looming ahead of me, and, on the other hand, because they are somewhat embarrassing. After all, the departure isn't really so momentous as I make it out to be in these writings; it can't be. So, on the one hand, I appreciate deeply everyone's well-wishes, and on the other hand, I have no idea how to rightly accept them, or even if I should accept them in this way.

*

And tonight, coming out of a dinner with my uncle's family, there is an all-pervasive feeling of self-consciousness. Running through my usual repertoire of pre-departure topics, laughing about childhood memories, and inviting them to visit in the winter, I couldn't help feeling that, on a certain level, I am conning them into thinking that this departure is more significant than it really is. And, in a certain sense, this sort of feting is a form of distancing as much as it is a form of lauding, in that this may be seen as a social obligation that has to be fulfilled before the social ties can be neatly cauterised.

And tomorrow, the rest of the extended family is gathering, in effect for a large-scale going-away party. I don't know what to make of it, really. I don't think all this is called for, or that I rightly deserve this. It makes me feel bad to compel them to go out of their way like this, and it makes me feel as if I owe it to them to live up to the hype. But I guess all this is really irrational worrying, fundamentally. If anything can survive the trauma of departure, then it would be familial ties. I can't even seriously consider the possibility of becoming estranged from my family, so all this griping is really a form of self-satisfaction of my tendency to think that carefree moments are a prelude to catstophes caused by carelessness.

I wonder, though, how the others are dealing with this - how the others have dealt with this in the past. Was it as cringe-worthy for them, so that when the time to depart came, they ran the gauntlet of friends and family lining the way to the glass gates with suppressed haste, and crossed the immigration line with a sense of nostalgia mixed with a not insignificant amount of relief? Perhaps the key to defusing that discomfort is to remember what it is like to be on the other side of the equation: the longing to accompany the one who is leaving, the wholesome and unresentful envy, the feeling of obligation to make it a special occasion, and the sincere feeling that the social obligation should be transmuted into something memorable through voluntary and additional effort, because the friendship with the one who is leaving warrants it. A good departure is a good catharsis for both sides; it is important to remember this.

*

But for some other people, there is still time to meet again in the remaining seven days before departure. Got C to agree to a food foray into Geylang on Wednesday evening. I was looking for one last taste of a childhood classic, Yong He Tau Huay, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was also a childhood staple for C too. So we set out into the lorongs and five-foot-ways of the notorious food street, discovering to our dismay that the stall had moved, and rediscovering it to our relief further up the road, in an expanded premises.

The beancurd sold at Yong He is simply comfort food, warm and silky, and going well with their homemade you tiao, the beancurd combining with the oily fried dough in a sort of alchemy that summons memories and a deep satisfaction founded on an awareness of returning to a comfortable place. Also introduced her to the other fare at the stall: besides their renowned beancurd, they also sell snacks that I'm told are Taiwanese in origin, though I've never come across them in Taiwan, things like pork floss biscuits and you tiao wrapped in glutinous rice.

And this being the first time that I was eating there without my family, the feeling of returning to childhood was combined with a feeling of growing up, in that we could now seek out these memories ourselves, independent from our families. Spent a long time there talking about plans for the coming year, and Vietnam, and the possibility of meeting, somehow, Stateside. These are conversations that I will miss - conversations that are distinguished by their ease and frankness, that develop organically, founded upon a solid and mutual awareness of where we stand.

Thankfully, though, it is perhaps not yet time to say this summer's goodbye to C, and to other people who I still look forward to meeting in the coming week. This, I think, is what I would like next week to shape up as: meal after fantastic meal, conversation after memorable conversation. The long goodbye to the city is well under way; for my people, though, the goodbyes cannot be as luxurious; but they must be done properly all the same. And I think this is the right way to go about doing it.