[mood| traveler’s high]

[music|Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats – I’ll Cut You Down]

So here I am in Singapore… curled up in some sort of cafe-lounge, digesting the questionable-looking cheese-and-tomato sandwich that was the freshest thing I could find that was also vegetarian and also available at these hours…

Here at the Singapore Airport, where everything is sponsored by Changi – the push carts, the random ‘Become a Millionaire!’ giveaway in the main thoroughfare, even the gat damn internet. Must find out the story of this corporate overlord… or what I’ve just traded away for a chance to ~connect~ . Pray tell, Changi, what dark secrets of mine are you now privy to? But oh, thank you so, for the sweet Internet…

[UPDATE: ‘Changi’ is apparently the Singapore airport’s Christian Name. Difficult to track down any other connection to the word, corporate, cultural or otherwise. But oh, what’s in a name, after all?]

4:24am and about 11 more hours to go before takeoff…

The coffee machines whir and whirl, comforting sounds of the traveler’s office… the sweet smell of cappuccino makes its way over even to this strange corner where I sit amongst the 35 pounds of on-the-road life that’s all I have in the world, spread out around me in ruins. Plugged into a cube about 2 meters away where a family hovers around the small tabletop, personal devices all affixed and barely using the cushions they’ve commandeered but for a bit of anguished-looking attempts to lean back on them…

But it is nice on the floor, over here in my nook. I can lay down at last. Stretch my body out and in a few opposite directions than the ones it just so patiently sat through for some six hours on the way out of Melbourne.

Headphones in. Shoes off. Chai latte at an arm’s length. For whole moments at a time I can almost forget I’m in a public place.

And that is the beauty, isn’t it? Finding yourself, wherever you are. Making a space out of whatever you’ve got… some small patch of purple rug nestled next to a couple of potted plants with a fine window view. Ah yes, and the sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon now…

A fresh influx of bodies; another flight landed safe here in Singapore. The family is gone and a quartet of plucky British women sit in their place. They discuss the local gossip of Elizabeth’s husband and Pollyanna’s niece in uppercrust accents. They leave their garbage behind them when they go.

Plenty of hours yet to spend here in Singapore. Maybe time to find that basement train straight into the city for a proper breakfast in the fresh air before making my way back to that recycled stuff in my second tin-can ride of the day.