The “certain reasons” were final. She had to go back to Malaysia, and I couldn’t move over. She couldn’t stay here in Singapore either. That was it. A border and a set of circumstances we couldn’t break through.
We were at the bus interchange. No wind, just the smell of diesel and the sound of the engines idling. We stood by the metal railings of the berth, the yellow lines on the floor looking like a boundary we weren’t allowed to cross together.
I couldn’t stop the tears. I’m 37, a grown man, but they just kept flowing, blurring the sight of the Causeway buses pulling in. My chest felt tight, like someone was wringing out a wet towel inside my ribs. I didn’t even try to wipe my face; I just let the salt sting my eyes while I looked at her for the last time.
She stepped onto the bus. She didn’t look back. I stood there at the berth, watching the tail lights disappear, feeling completely hollowed out.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I had to squint through the water in my eyes to see the text.
Her: If we cannot be together now, remember my face in the next lifetime. Find me.
I tried to type “I promise,” but my hands were shaking too much. Then the next one came in.
Her: Walk and look around and make sure you find me in the next lifetime. Don’t look at the floor. You must find me.
At this moments my tears was flowing down non-stop
I leaned against the railing and just let it out. I didn’t care about the commuters or the people queuing behind me.
Now, every day is the same. Whether I’m at the hawker center or squeezing into the MRT at Raffles Place, I keep my head up. Even when I’m exhausted, even when the sadness makes me want to just stare at my shoes and disappear, I force myself to look at every single face.
But I know my lifetime is not over yet. It has been 8 years and I still can’t let go
I’m scanning every crowd, every overhead bridge, every crossing. I promised her. I cannot look at the floor. I have to find her next time.