Two months after Toa Payoh first opened, this line was too shown to the world. I was born eight years later, given a home on one extreme end, but after I turned seventeen the line became clearer. It wasn't a boundary, made to separate me from my imagination. It was my own veins, threatening to drown and suffocate me.
Just like with the North-South Line, this route begins with the aspiring pilot.
As usual, I remember what we were both wearing. It made him uneasy to have me travel all the way to the other end just for him, but I made it clear that it was no big deal. Maybe it was a lie, because I was still getting over the break-up of that time and memories were still abundant.
But I did just fine. The last stretch towards this station almost made me fall for its entirety. With the flag in the distance and the bend that allowed the two ends of the train to look at each other; if the hurricane's arrival in 2013 made me love the red line, his departure nearly made me love the green.
It was mid-May and I was still the same, spilling everything I had in a torn up notebook. Only this time in an unfamiliar place, a clean slate with neither bitter nor sweet. It was crowded enough to have me anxious, but it didn't deter the pilot from being himself. He was in his turf after all, with his home and second home being so close.
Standing on an overhead bridge almost parallel to the train tracks, he taught me a few things about life and the people in it. But for some reason his presence wasn't enough to pull me through. Like I said at Marina South Pier; he was just a mystery I didn't want to solve.
Now here we are at Joo Koon, where train service ends but this story now starts.
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