The notion of traveling, the journey away from the east to the west, the physical movement away from the familiar faces, the familiar places. The train is hurtling forward at breakneck speed, all other sounds are drowned out and you can only hear the low roar tightening around you, the inhuman screeching of metal against metal tracks, like a vicious assault pounding against your eardrums. The scenery is flying by so quickly your mind can barely register it, as the train emerges from the stifling claustrophobia of the city's subway tunnels ( they bear such an uncanny resemblance to ancient catacombs), then it rises into the open, streaking past the rows of colorful HDB flats silhouetted against the gradually darkening skies. The motion of the train seems to be the only certain thing. As the train judders to a halt at Boon Lay, you take a tentative step out of the train carriage and onto the platform and stand there, a lone figure motionless in this relentless ebb and flow of people. And in that moment, you feel the vastness of space, expanding, widening all around you, enormous in its aspect, and you're reminded, once again, of how utterly alone you are in all of this.
Nobody said it was easy, no one said it would be this hard