Changi Road

1996

I saw myself die as my godfather drove me along this road one afternoon. It is a long stretch of road. Driving alone takes about five to ten minutes, depending on whether you are speeding or cruising.

I had never seen that road before. It goes all the way along Changi Airport’s runways, where planes run along to take off to and touch down every other minute – what exotic lands they come from or are going to, one can only imagine – to the hangar where many more aeroplanes, exhausted or preparing for their long journeys ahead, are hidden from sight.

I looked up at the sky – its light partially hidden from the tall trees that vie with one another for sunlight, reaching ambitiously to reach the source of their light.

I thought of Sarah, my friend, who had just passed away, a year ago. Where was she, I wondered. Somewhere in heaven, I knew. But where was heaven… nothing else dominated my thoughts like death did in those days. I was constantly filled with a sadness that I could not shake off, carried over from the time I was sixteen, a year ago. I had been unable to reconcile with the idea that young lives like Sarah’s, could be snuffed out so easily.

All at once, I saw myself sitting up, weakly, on a hospital bed. Bright sunlight permeated the hospital room I was in, casting the already white sheets and my white gown in an even purer light. I knew I was dying. My parents were in the room with me and I said my goodbyes to them one by one, leaving them with words of comfort that they could carry with them through the years after I was gone. I didn’t know where I was going to then, but in that moment, I believed whole-heartedly that it would be someplace where there was a God I hadn’t yet known.

Immense peace filled my entire being then. The road ahead was long, I knew, as I saw it stretch out endlessly before me. But to my left, where the planes were coming and going, I saw an expanse of sky for me to fly in. And way above the trees, the light filtering through the tops of their leaves was where the essence of life is. I knew that in my soul.


1998

potato drove along that same stretch of road. I had no idea he had been heading there. When we turned onto Changi Road and I saw the familiar long stretch of road ahead of me, I was delightfully surprised. A thrill shot through me as I felt a stab of nostalgia that combined a painful memory of death and the promise of life.

“Mulder and Scully” was playing on the radio, a cheeky song sung in a mischievous tone. I loved it then. I felt young and alive. Yes, I felt alive. On my road that had led to my death and revived me back to life, I felt alive once more.


2007

Today, KC and I cycle from East Coast Park along Changi Road and back. As I once again see the road stretch out before me, I think about what a long journey it is going to be. Beneath the hot sun and beside the thundering planes, I feel no lethargy at all.

KC and I watch as planes come and go – what exotic lands they come from or are going to, one can only imagine – and I say a little prayer for every one of them that lands and takes off, and wish them well on their long journey ahead.

Just as surely as my journey unfolds before me – some of which I am able to see, others of which are still hidden from my view – I know too, it will take some rough effort on my part to complete but complete it, I will.

So I fly a little with the planes that take off and I imagine my destination I am heading towards.

And as the planes fly past above me, I look up and see the same light filtering through the leaves, the same life that waits far and above. Unreachable at the moment, but there, it waits, surely.