The beach
22nd August 2001, 0007 hours
Location: my room
Weather: cloud-ish
In the vase: some strange exotic blooms which even Flower Auntie doesn't know the name of
Soundtrack: Joan Baez, Greatest Hits (the 1996 A&M one)
Today I stood at the bus-stop in the fading evening at NUS, and then - on the spur of the moment - I decided, I'm not going home. And walked across to the bus terminal, and hopped on to a 10, and left.
It was to the beach I went, out at East Coast; I wanted the distance, and hadn't been there in a long time. And so I walked along the park connector, in the quiet, cool night, smiling at how so much had changed; buildings I've never seen, benches being upgraded, and of course the sad disappearance of the TSD table. It was a clear, black night, with very few people about; the yellow stains of the streetlamps dashed black shadows across the path. It felt calming somehow. Patterns and vague geometry often are, for me. Didn't bring my camera, though. So no pictures.
And so I came to the beach at last, and heard the voice of the surf loud in the quiet night, like a voice of welcome. And I bounded down to meet it, calling out a greeting to the sea, waving. It was like seeing an old friend again, after a long absence. And the thought echoed in my mind: I have been away too long, as the wind picked up and blew my hair back from my face, ruffled my t-shirt. There was something joyous about it. A reunion, of sorts.
Normally hearing the sea makes me melancholy, perhaps a little sad. But not tonight. Not tonight.
I walked along the beach, sand firm under my feet: the tide had just gone out, to judge by the flatness of the sand and how few tracks there were. The beach was more quiet than I've normally seen it: it was a dark night, but even so. I suppose nobody really goes to the beach on a Tuesday night. There were a few joggers and anglers and bladers, as well as the obligatory dusting of couples, but there weren't many at all. All the better for me. I like quiet, and that's something East Coast Beach doesn't always have. I walked till I got tired of walking, then stood at the water's edge, watching and listening to the surf. A streetlamp on the path behind me threw my shadow, long and faint, out into the sea. Faint music came from one of the beachfront bars, but it wasn't bothersome; more homely, in fact.
As I walked back the wind died down, and I could feel the warmth of the sea. This is what I've been missing: all that natural energy, sand and wind and sea. NUS can wear you down, with the endless frenetic crush of people in the corridors, and all that artificial light and air-conditioning. And all that grey tile, and metal grilles. As I walked away from the sea - to where there was enough light for me to see colours again - I could still feel the wind tingling on my skin, in my fingertips.
I should come here more often, perhaps. Wearing more suitable clothes. That'd be a good idea, yes.