I haven't posted in 1 month

So sue me.


-Katrina, reporting live, from her cell in Singapore

So that picture post never happened; have a a big block of text instead

Hi! I’ve been here for more than a week now, and I wish I could say that it’s been an easy transition—you know, “no sweat” …………………………….:P but I can’t.

So much has happened - but before I go on about anything I ought to start from the beginning.

I landed at Changi Airport at 12:45PM SG time on Friday the 26th, after having sat on my butt for over 17 hours. (So, not so different from my average weekends). I was in a daze. I wandered around like a fool for about 30 minutes before I finally found the immigration gate, where I fell in line to “get in.” I hadn’t really broken out of my reverie at that point--I was exhausted, stinky, in Asia, and my hair looked absolutely horrible. It was hard for me to comprehend that I was so far from home—all I could think of was getting past this strange and magical barrier (flashing lights and everything) that was the only thing between me and getting into a car that would take me to Lying Down Horizontally on a Mattress.

And so I waited.

I’ve always been fascinated by airports… they are the crossroads of the world, after all. They can be incredibly sad places or places full of happiness and anticipation. You know how it is. The place to embrace loved ones after so long… they’ve grown fatter or thinner, older; maybe their hairstyle is different, and yet it’s the person you know, and you love them. But it’s also that awful place where you get that sick feeling in your gut and a frog in your throat because you have to say goodbye. And to others it’s nothing more than a temporary purgatory—a segue to the “other-world.” But not to me. Airports are full of all sorts of people; but not just ‘people’... because people are worlds all on their own. Just think: each person in that airport is on his/her own individual mission, each with his/her own story to tell—one that you’ll never know—but a story nonetheless. And none can complete his mission or story without first catching a few moments on this rotating carousel of people worlds apart…and yet inches close. It’s incredible! It blows my mind--the idea of being right next to someone (several people; hundreds) with a completely different childhood, language, history and culture from you. I like to think of it like this: walking briskly towards a door with your name on it at the end of a long corridor (the gate and flight to your final destination), and brushing right past hundreds of unlocked doors that lead to entire universes along the way. But you don’t dare to (nor have the time to) look into any of these doors, even if they are all unlocked, and right within your reach… (In short, no one wants to be CREEPY). (Sadly for me there is nothing I can do to avoid this which is why I have no qualms about talking to people at airports, and also in dangerous neighborhoods.) So there. Some people think that airports are a springboard to new places and time zones; but I think those worlds are already there. At the baggage claim; in that long line to get coffee at the Starbucks…

Speaking of coffee—

I wanted one.

And some decent food too. Standing in that immigration line felt kind of like waiting in a queue to get into heaven, or a big park attraction (same thing? HAHA jk). Just picture a bunch of yapping happy people waiting excitedly to be cleared for entry by uniformed, stern-looking Asian St. Peters, guarding the entryway to the sparkling clean tropical haven that is Singapore, where everyone speaks English and is particularly savvy with cell phones.

I finally got through at about 1:20. And all I have to say is that I am so glad that answering simple questions and being confused is my strong suit, because they let me in after about 15 seconds.

Hooray! (WHAT WERE THEY THINKING)

I stepped outside with my luggage 20 minutes later realizing rather quickly that this was not heaven at all because heaven is certainly not this hot. (!)

Hooray! (WHAT WAS I THINKING)

It was the pink sign that read “KATRINA” in all caps that finally brought me back to reality.


The journey was over. My plane ticket was now just a meaningless piece of paper, and there was an old Chinese lady with a neon sign with my name on it for goodness sakes, waiting to take me towards something that could very well be my doom.

As I went to open the passenger door on the wrong side of the car, I laughed.