EW8/CC9

Disclaimer: please read this series of posts starting from EW29, then backwards.

The sun will always be on time to greet me once I alight; there will be the same woman smoking by the same trashcan, wearing the same black outfit. I never stay long enough to see what bus she takes, of course. I am so selfish that I don't care whenever I walk past, only thinking of her now in her absence.

During Year One whenever someone asked where I lived, the name of this station rolled so nicely on my tongue. I loved saying I lived here, it sounded so different from the place I actually grew up in. Like I was finally out of there.

Imagine a straight line drawn on the pavement. On one side is a girl in her secondary school uniform, running away and crying that mummy and daddy don't love her. On the other is someone six years older, tearing open her paycheck and calculating the amount to give her parents.

The 17-year-old is commended for her bravery to run, ignoring the trains that pass overhead. All she knows is self-pity, that the world is against her and nobody loves her. She responds to everything with sadness, even the few people who try to help.

The first place she runs to is her aunt's old place where her parents got married. She'll sit in the room with her grandma, ignoring all her questions, Kenapa asyik balik lambat? E'indah dah tanak belajar lagi? Jangan buat nenek susah hati boleh?

The 23-year-old is invisible in the rushing crowd, her eyes that light up with every train that passes. All she knows is pride, that she is the storm against the world and she loves nobody. She responds to everything with negativity, but puts on a smirk in the process.

The first place she goes every morning is the wretched bookstore on the third floor, with a bottle of milk coffee that tastes like shit. Her aunt's place is no longer a sanctuary, all the questions still going unanswered. Betul ke tanak makan? Tanak cari kerja lain? 'Aamir balik Johore ini hari?

That line dividing both girls is you.

Both of them found a second home in a place of regularity when everything and everyone else was madness. They also found solace in you: you, 17 and too poor to top up your own Ez-Link, and your 22-year-old ghost, waiting outside the bookstore in your trackpants and sandals.

The younger girl didn't think you would ever exist. You were the 'someone better' that everyone told me about, with your ability to completely erase my slate. You were the home that I would soon find; I just had to let go and run away, and that was when you fell miraculously in front of me.

You were the sheltered one when we first met, and I know it was my rebelliousness to blame. When we got caught behind the Circle Line unit and made to scram; when you got jerked off by a girl for the first time ever in a carpark; when I sneaked you in the night granny was in Johor while aunty worked the night shift; you experienced lust for the first time with me.

But when we hugged after you sent me home on our first date; when we ate pizza bars on the floor outside 7-11; when we hung out at the void deck opposite my grandma's place; I was experiencing something else. At 18, I was experiencing love for the first time with you.

The older girl didn't think you would ever leave. You became 'I don't think you should go back to him', with the fickle-mindedness that left me hanging more than a few times. I ignored everyone, still making you home; only this time there were grudges that I didn't let go of.

Here is the root of many arguments, some continuous, from the MRT station to the mall that I work at. October last year, when I just had to talk to a new friend that you didn't like, even after we already argued about him.

When you took the long way here to have lunch with me and I exploded about you being late instead of appreciating the gesture. When you caught me on Tinder for women, insisting that I'm making friends in the wrong place. When I walked away from you, giving up on getting you to stop your online game. When I actually dumped you over text and wallowed in disappointment when you didn't even fight for us.

Late 2017, when I ran away again, only this time from you. My clothes caught on insecurity like fire, and I ran so hard trying to get rid of it. But you chased me when all I knew to do was get angry, your hug still so familiar with the words, Stop getting angry, I don't care about that tramp! You didn't care about everyone else on the platform watching, you just didn't let go.

Again, we experienced completely different things; me with my grudges, you with your forgiveness. Do we blame the months before the ending, with your growing apathy and my inability to let go? Or do we blame the beginning, when I made myself so shitty on purpose so you wouldn't stay, only you did but I never stopped being that person?

But despite all the anger and grudge and tears, you and this side of the suburbs were my everything. From all the times we got into trouble in our youth, to the night you pulled me in front of the flower shop when I cried about fighting with my best friends at work.

2013, our eighth month together; when I wore a long skirt and you were so smitten. When we hugged at the carpark and you mumbled to me, Please stay this way forever, and I wanted so badly to be with you for the rest of my life.

2014, in the middle of all the failed reunions. When you passed by in your aunt's car, wondering why drive down this street of all places and thinking of nothing but me.

2015, a few days before I started working at Popular, waiting beneath the sun and staring at the trains. When you finally arrived, the first thing you did was hold my tummy, and for a second there I caught hope and happiness on your face. For a moment, I knew you also wanted her.

2016, when you saw a giant pillow shaped like a cat's head at the supermarket and immediately bought it for me. You came over for dinner and surprised me with it, and I had to endure my colleagues gushing about it and about how sweet you were and how red my face was turning.

2017, when you waited at Starbucks and I walked down warily and nervously. More than three months since we last met, and you just had to smile to remind me of our time. All I could do was wish you were always mine, that you never left, that your hand would always be there to hold.

2018, when you were coming over for lunch but I expected that you would be late. But a few minutes before my break hour a familiar face popped up when I was dazing in one of the aisles. I gasped and exclaimed your name, genuinely happy to see you and feeling eighteen again. Secretly wishing it would always be you.

Paya Lebar.