My name is Levy. Two days ago, I left my home country, Singapore, for the last time in my life. It was only when the customs officer told me, that I knew I was exiled.
I knew something was amiss the moment I neared the departure gates. Like every other citizen, I went to the automatic gates, as I did every time I left the city to see the world. Singapore truly was one of the greatest cities to live in, if you are a wanderer like myself. Sat in the middle of Asia, flights to every country in the continent are mere hours away. The airport itself is also a pleasure – people from all over the world may come to see what was beyond the city gates, but the airport itself made most linger. The waterfalls and monorail is a sight to behold.
The staff were usually so nice, but today a security guard stood in my way.
“Chen Jing Li?” said the tall guard. I noticed how his waistband is hooked full of bags of equipment and tools. What weapons were they allowed to carry?
“Yes.”
“You are departing, for migration purposes?”
“Yes, sir.” I put on a tough face.
He nodded slightly. Extending his arm, he blocked my way to the gates and showed me my path. “This way, please.”
He escorted me to a quieter room, away from public view. The room had no other travellers in it, save for the tall woman that I caught a glimpse of. She left at the other end, right behind the customs counter.
A lone customs officer sat, looking at the tall woman’s papers. She pondered for a moment, looked longingly at something on them — and promptly fed them to the paper shredder.
The sound echoed around the empty room.
The guard turned around to leave, but I grabbed his arm. “Why am I here?” I asked. Something didn’t feel quite right. He looked at me with sympathy, and once again, the strange longing shared by the woman behind the counter.
“To confirm, miss,” he said, “of your departure. To make sure you know you are leaving our home behind.”
I huffed with confusion. “What do you mean, of course I know I’m leaving.”
He gently took my hand off his elbow, and set it down. He gave me a warm smile.
“Tell that to the madam over there, eh?”
I looked over. She was watching us all along. The security guard moved to his spot next to the door we entered, and settled to watch.
The customs officer wore an expression that matches the sombreness of her uniform. The dark tie and shoulder patches contrasts with the spotless white of the shirt, commanding respect just from her appearance. The golden name tag glistened against the cold white lights of the room. She stared at me coldly, but the coldness was a cover for something far more feral, as I came to find out.
I walked to the counter with my passport in hand. I nodded in greeting; she did not return the niceties. I handed her the passport; she took it, and flipped through it uninterestedly.
The officer closed the passport with a thud.
She did not say a word for a solid half-minute.
“Uhh. So…” I started.
“What?” she said, curtly.
I took a deep breath. “So, uh, can I go now, Officer? Or?”
“What do you think?” she said.
What kind of officer is this? I thought. She looked at me, expecting me to entertain her unprofessional provocations. The coldness in her eyes shifted into frustration and anger. What did I do to piss her off?
“Probably not. What’s the issue here, officer?” I tried. “Is there an issue with my passport, or…?”
“Why are you leaving?” She asked, ignoring me. Her local accent started showing itself, but I could understand the flatness of the sounds like it was my mother tongue.
“Oh,” I said, “I’m moving to the UK.”
“No. I asked, why are you leaving?” She asked again, her frown deeper than before.
“I…” Perplexed, I looked around the room. The security guard is still at the door, listening to our conversation. He nodded upward, go on, he signalled.
I looked back at the customs officer.
“I have a job there now, and a partner there. I plan to migrate.” I said with a straight face. “To the UK. England.”
She sneered. “That’s going to be a whole, what, 10 years? To get your ‘residence’.” She gave air quotes for the word, and paired with the attitude, it’s really testing my patience.
“And what does that have to do with you, ma’am?” I said. I’ve had enough with this woman.
“What’s so bad about Singapore, huh? We have jobs, we have men.”
“I have to catch my flight now, so if you don’t mind,” I said as I reached for my passport on her desk, “ I should really –”
“YOU STAY HERE.” She bellowed, slapping my hand against the countertop. “You don’t go unless I say you can go.”
The room fell silent as the echo faded. The sting on the back of my hand, however, remained.
Slowly, she lifted her hand off mine, and I took my hand back: it was full of pinholes.
“You go when I say so.” She said between gasps, and I saw for the first time, her sharp teeth and forked tongue, exposed as she let out her hot breath.
Strangely, I remember worrying about her blood pressure, while my right hand bled against my sweatshirt.
“Explain… why you are leaving forever.” She said softly.
“I, uh…” I tried to calm myself down. “It’s just, I want to see the world. There’s a lot to see out there, and I travel a lot and even studied in London, but the more I travel, the more I want to travel.”
“You can settle here, and keep travelling. That isn’t an issue.” She turned her head dismissively.
“It’s not just having vacations that make me happy there. It’s the lifestyle. The way people are not pushed to their limits, the way some countries prioritises rest and work-life balance and even offer nap-times in a day! Not rushing about every single day since they learned how to read!”
The officer’s shoulders raised again as she heated up again. “And your home? What about your family? You leave them behind?”
“I just want to live a slower life for myself! I’m choosing a lifestyle and going away is part of my choice!” I said, exasperated. I held my broken right hand against my chest, hiding into myself. The woman was relentless in her questioning, just like my…
“You answer the question, young lady.” She banged her pin-laden hands against the countertop, attempting to intimidate.
The bang woke me up. I remembered looking at her, and I remember recognizing her. I remember seeing no blood against my grey sweatshirt at all, no blood dripping from my hand. The pinhole wounds were but scars, just as old as I am.
“Oh yeah, I’ll answer your fucking question.” I bared my teeth, sharper than hers and twice as sturdy.
“I am relieved to leave YOU! YOU!
“You make me justify every move! You watch me and judge me and pin me down! You pester me about everything! I can’t grow, I can’t see, I can’t live!”
The woman fell silent for the first time, her childish attitude gone. It pained me to hurt her, but it never pained her to hurt me. It had to be done – I had to leave.
“YOU ARE ANNOYING!”
The woman at the customs counter trembled, her eyes wet with tears.
“Traitor, you speak the truth. Leave, and forget us.” she said. Her hands, human as ever, picked up the official stamps and chopped them with a professional nimbleness. The tears dried quickly against her familiar face. But, now that I sit on my midnight flight, recalling the strange incident, I can’t seem to recall her face; nor the security guard’s.
All I can clearly remember was what she said when I left the room at the door behind the counter:
“You are welcome to visit again anytime. But that’s what you’ll be. A visitor. And your home will never look the same again. Neither will I.”