Loving couples always catch my attention. Not the ones where they cannot stop gropping each other's anatomy like monkeys plucking fruits off a tree. Not that kind of lovin'. Its the subtlely loving couples that get to me. The ones where the man gently allows the lady to interrupt him whilst I tell them all the tourist information I can throw at them. The ones where the lady asks all the questions but the man stands silently behind her nodding with his hands gently on her waists. The ones where the old lady supports her old man as they totter towards the exit. The ones where the old lady smiles proudly even as her old man asks a mundane question; it is almost as if she is still in love with his voice since they first met.
Seeing this day in and day out brings hope; hope that each day can be more than just routine, hope that there is still love in this world. Not 'big love' that modern concoctions like Valentine's Day-flowers shibangs, but subtle, old-fashioned love; the tenderness that love inspires.
There was this particular couple that walked in. He was dark-skinned Asian, she was white. They were probably in their 50s closer to 60s. They smiled and sat down. They started asking about former military barracks in Singapore, about Tengah Airbase and Seletar Airport; they were in Singapore in the 1970s and wondered if all these places still exist. I could literally see their eyes twinkle with nostalgia and resurfacing memories. There is a certain look that people have when they reminisce, especially in the eyes. I like that look, very much actually. The look of reminiscence, the look of being human.
They are actually British, from Lincolnshire. They worked for the British airforce. The lady went on to proudly tell me that she was involved in the first-ever exercise of the women's British airforce (WRAF) in Singapore. Again, I saw the twinkle in her eye, this time with pride showing in the creases around her eyes. After our long conversation, they invited me to visit them when I went back to the UK. He gave me his email address; Govind is his last name. I am surely contemplating this should I return to the grey island this summer. Then as they were about to leave, the lady asked if we still had Merlion keychains we used to give away as souveniors. Sorry ma'am, we unfortunately have run out, I'm sorry. Then I thought what the heck, I'll give her my own shrimp-like keychain that hung from my orange bag. Its just a keychain, and since she wanted it, she could have it. I gave mine, and they were grateful and left.
But as I waved and smiled goodbye and they walked out the door, I suddenly felt a huge sense of loss and a thousand memories came crashing down on me and i skipped a breath. Obviously the Merlion keychain was more than a silly thing hanging on my bag. It was my last one after giving away others on my travels, and I knew that they were no longer in production. For a moment, just a brief one, my heart sank so far I couldn't locate it. The bittersweet memories of giving away trinkets that hung from my bag on my travels came rushing back. Of how it was painful giving away hanging trinkets that for myself held so many memories, yet there was something sweet in the pain of giving a part of yourself away to newfound strangers you befriended, some possibly never to speak to again.
I guess the very act of giving away a memory creates yet another in itself, so at least it still quels my own nostalgia appetite.
Very soon this stint at the Visitors Centre will end. Next week would be the last week in fact, and I honestly do wonder will I get opportunities to get inspired by strangers once more. Being inspired by strangers in foreign lands, after all, is one of the powerful memories from my 3 years abroad, now but a past I must put behind me.
