Got off my set of night shifts, settled in a corner on the train and swore on my balls to get some imminent sleep no matter what - even if it means to ignore senior citizens. It was good that there were plenty of seats to go around, thus equating any possible moral guilt.
I had realised that I could not take my eyes off the scenery.
I knew that for a fact that Singapore had many trees, but I didn't know it was that much! Roving rain-trees, big and mushy, thin tall shrubs, fanned out palms, creeping ferns, robust shades of yellow and red filled everywhere from estates, roadsides, car parks to shopping malls. And Pow! The train moved across the reservoir in Khatib and time halted on the silver mirror made of streaming water where serenity became the only emotion in the train. It had almost appeared that everyone on the train was quiet. The edges of the reservoir breed a miniature forestation which attempted to hide the satellite dishes like shameful pimples on a beautiful face.
The skies were patchy blue of a sombre tone, perhaps hinting a shower in the coming evening. The clouds were seemingly gone, or probably jigsawed so well together with the heavens it looked like a single fit. Trees after trees as the train moved, suffocating and lush. It was as if I'm on the tram in some botanical gardens. As if I'm on some kind of cheapskate ride that was designed to disappoint tourists and it did not suck at all. In fact if I was a foreigner, I would like Singapore. It was like being in Eden.
Trees of assorted nature distributed fairly in housing estates. Like the moons orbiting Jupiter. Sure, trees don't dance the savory grace of the planetary system, but on a moving train, they are orbiting, looping endlessly, born again and again without dying.
So Singaporeans, kindly remove your heads from your hindines of lofty ambitions where work, career, marriage, romance and society thrive to turn malignant in your already very limited lives and take comfort that we all live in a garden, for crying out loud.
