29/30 June 2007: the return journey home to Singapore

I don't know since when did I ever consider the journey back home is considered as a travel in itself.

For once, I was again annoyed at how inefficient British airports are after being put through heightened security measures in the aftermath of a car bomb made safe in Piccadilly Circus. Made me go without dinner, and had to endure hunger till the air stewards and stewardesses serves us 'supper', which is our dinner actually. That's not the point. The thing is, the journey back home, back to a place where I'm born is actually magical. Maybe because it's my first trip home. Maybe bacause I'm excited about seeing my family after 9 months. But what I can be sure is that as my tears fall uncontrollably on the early 6.23am morning of 1st July on my bed, I wonder if this is a journey home or a journey to my heart.

Too many things happened at home. All too many.

When I finally touched down at Singapore Changi and after meeting my sis while she abuse her security pass in the airport, the purchase of Cordon Bleu for my dad and finally the collection of my luggages actually jerked me out of my senses. My mum couldn't recognise me. Yes, even though I walked past her with only a glass panel between us, my sis had to point me out to her explicitly. And she cried. I regret not giving her a hug right there and then. When I saw her red eyes and her will trying hard to force back her tears, all I could do was to hold my hand up to her face and brush away her tears. My heart melted for her right there and then. I had never known I loved my mum so much, this one is for her.

Then all information about my family started to be synchronised between them and me.

My beloved grandma broke her arm a few months back.

My cousin had leukaemia. She's fine now, after receiving blood marrow from her brother.

My godma had a minor stroke again. My goddad is in poor health, and their son just did very badly in mid-year by failing English.

And many many other things that they never wanted to tell me when I'm in London, just so I do not worry. But do I not worry? Sis, if you're reading this let me tell you that I'm even MORE worried now. What else do I not know? What else is happening? I do not want a life where no news is bad news, for my family is keeping a lot from me.

When my mum came in just now to switch off the air-conditioner for us right before she starts her daily routine of work and work, I wasn't asleep. I didn't wake up exactly to tell her I'm wide awake, but I called her and she presumed I went back to bed. All the familiarity of my old lifestyle before I left for London came back again as old, but yet so many things have changed.

Right now, I do not know what to do. Sleeping for 5 hours and suffering insomnia after a 30 hour bid not to sleep before, during and after the 13 hour flight is not normal. Waking up after that 5 hour sleep feeling all emotions rushed in isn't shiok either. Neither is crying in my bed an awesome thing to do.

Coming back after the 1st 9 months away in foreign lands is simply not easy. Physically, mentally, emotionally.