Singapore, Singapore.

It's really quite strange to think that I've been on this (arguably) First World island for nearly a year now. I've probably grown to take many things for granted, such as the first-rate public transportation system and public infrastructure in general, the almost total absence of crime and the attendant city-dweller fear, and, to get much closer to home, the blazing fast connection to the Internet at the office¹.


The train and bus system here is a real marvel, especially in comparison with the Philippines' own paltry, overcrowded efforts. Combined with an impressive dedication to pedestrian-friendliness and accessibility, I feel as if I could get anywhere I wanted on the island cheaply, safely, and without any hassle. At times it feels almost like the open world of a sandbox game, where you could simply head off and walk in any direction and be sure you could eventually arrive anywhere within your field of view.


But enough one-sided gushing, I'm beginning to feel too much like the Third-World refugee that I am. My intended point was just that, hey, I've been here for a while in this place that encourages wandering around and going to places, and I haven't really stretched my legs that much. Sure, I've walked a couple of times from here to the Orchard Road area and back², and sure, I've walked the Southern Trails, been to Bukit Timah Nature Reserve and the Botanic Gardens, but I don't feel as if I've really come close to the heart³ of this place.


What I mean to say, I suppose, is that I don't feel like I've been making the most of all the opportunities available to me here. Malaysia's just a bus ride away, yet I've never gone there and have only the vaguest intentions to do so. I don't have a curfew to worry about, and I'm free to spend my time however I want⁴.


I think it's long past time I started really exploring this place⁵, and living experiences to tell stories about. (And, no, the visits on weekends to the same cafes⁶ and restaurants don't really count.)


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[1] Not to mention decent access to it almost everywhere else on my phone.
[2] Two hours or so each way. Not the most scenic route, as it's city street after city street, but the feeling of being able to take such a long walk is worth it.
[3] OK, this isn't the place to argue about whether there even is a "heart" to this place that can be found. I know too little about the local culture and can only rely on vague impressions and secondhand hearsay. But it does seem, on that scant evidence, that there is a valid concern as to the existence of a uniquely Singaporean heritage apart from the admittedly-impressive if boring one of order-from-chaos and First-World-from-Third.
[4] Only to an extent of course, I am after all gainfully employed and can't just hare about whenever I want.
[5] On a related note, it's also long past time that I started settling in and just maybe making more of a home in this place, but that deserves to be talked about in its own venue.) I'm young, unattached, and have ample resources to enjoy my life and mold it to what I want it to be.
[6] Oriole Cafe does really have excellent coffee, though!

Escapism, or Unfortunately, I am not a figment of the imagination

You know what I want to do? Save up some money, make up a plausible excuse to be gone a couple of days. Then disappear alone. I don't know where I'd go, and it doesn't really matter too much. It just has to be somewhere I've never been before. And somewhere I wouldn't accidentally meet someone I knew. Somewhere to be alone.

This might just be more escapism, but I really feel that such an experience would help me get a better grip on myself. Yeah right, wishful thinking.

These past two weeks, I feel like I've let myself get into a real rut. Each day brought the same vague worrying about my lack of progress, and continued inaction. Each day I would refuse to face these feelings, choosing instead to immerse myself in Murakami's fiction, music, and the interactions of strangers and friends on the Internet.

All the while, of course, rationalizing to myself that this state of affairs would only be temporary. That there was really nothing I could do, that I deserved a break. That I needed to relax and just let the image of what I want to do form by itself. To an extent these are all true, as all rationalizations are.

But only to an extent; no matter how peaceful, a rut is a rut. Things like this can't go on forever. I need to feel that I myself am creating something, bringing something of worth into this world. Being someone of worth.

The difference between me and a protagonist in a Murakami novel? No supernatural forces are going to shake me out of my self-imposed stupor. No beautiful, mysterious, troubled woman is going to appear and turn my world around.

I'm going to have to change my reality by myself.