The moment that iconic tower topped with the ball came into view in a backdrop of a green coastline, the sense quietly crept up against my skin. As the plane taxied through the terminal upon touchdown, seeing Singapore flags on the sides of other SQ planes had that sense take a better grip of my consciousness. And it was when the leading flight stewardess welcomed Singaporeans home over the announcement system when that sense engulfed me. Home.
I was home, a first homecoming, at least a proper month, for this was the furtherst and longest I have been away from home, from Singapore. I was not exactly nostalgic, wherein old memories float through my grey matter, where old smells and senses teased my almost air-plane-sterilised senses. I just smiled, sensing that sense.
Returning into the embrace of the sun and the arms of that precious one further bolstered that sense. No, not nostalgia again. These experiences had no room for former memories to enter the experience itself; I was just living in the wonderment of that moment. Nice. Family, my room...
But where IS home? Not a new question, really? Could I get the same kind of sense being with close friends and family in another obscure part of the world? Possibly. I am often quoted to saying "home is where the heart is"; since I've forgotten who I picked that clever line from, I'll just assume its mine to some extent.
But how true is that truism? While I figure that out, I'll enjoy this sense in the meantime. Cheers, with kopi peng and mee pok tah....
Uncle T
