Despite the different colour in the taxi, the different make if the taxi, the different accent of the taxi-driver, the different route, the different weather, it still feels the same.
The same routine of not sleeping through the night, the same dread of last-minute packing, the same mechanical packing instinct, the same juxtaposition of dread and excitement, the same fatigue. The night before travelling to a faraway place is still the same.
Travelling the way I did in university was something I only started doing in the UK. Travelling alone is surely a recent thing. So I am thankful that whilst I'm back in Singapore, this comforting familiarity remains.
I am off to India. Having gotten used to it, I am once more waiting for my flight at the airport alone. Somehow, after the bustle of routine and crowds, I treasure such times. There is something about airports that help make this solitude as enigmatic as I make it sound.
Oh well, fighting the all-nighter fatigue. I'll end here. I'm excited, yet tinged with trepidation. Such is life's uncertainties. And I love it.
