Between one home and another

I’m back home in Singapore after being in London for almost four months, and it feels like I’d never left. It’s kinda strange. I’ve been warned about many things: the return shock, the humidity, the heat…but when I got back, all I felt was an excitement bubbling over.

The first thing that struck me when I got back to Commonwealth was: what happened to the pigeons why are they so skinny?? Then L said these are not winter birds, and they’re perfectly normal; my eyes have adjusted their expectations of the common pigeon because those in London are so plump. 

And now it’s raining. I knew I had missed the sun, but I didn’t realise I missed the sound of the rain too. What I had gotten used to in London was the sound of the wind; I only learnt this year that all the howling of the wind that I’ve read so much about in books is pretty literal. The wind really howls, and it does sound like an animal or ghoul until you remember that it’s just the wind. Torrential tropical rain like that — it’s a sound of its own altogether, and it’s a lovely sound too. 

The birds in the morning chirp — different birds in the two lands, but the same happy, good-morning chirping.

When I left in September, L told me that the uncle who lives in the block across ours had asked her where I was. She then told him I had gone overseas to study for a year. I wondered how she had told him that when our most common mode of communication was gesturing across the blocks, a grassy slope and small trees between us. Last night, after seeing my sis and family off, uncle was outside his unit as he’s often been, and he saw me. He waved grandly, I waved back in excitement. He pointed out then back in — “have you come back?” I pointed down and then up — ” yes I’m back, just this morning!” He gave me a thumbs up — “good, good.” I waved hysterically — “it’s good to see you!” He waved back — “nice to see you again!” I tilted my head onto my hand — “I’m jet lagged and going to bed soon.” He did the same — “yes, rest well!” We waved again before I closed the door. 

Coming home also means spending time with the two babies who’ve grown exponentially while I was away. B says so many things in full sentences and with varying degrees of emphasis now. G is bright-eyed, cooing and wanting to be part of everything. I just realised last night that I’ve spent more time away from her than with her, in her life so far. Babies give us a such a realistic sense of the measure of time.

At the airport after I landed, I thought how funny it is that now it feels as though the distance between London and Singapore has been shortened. In a way it feels like the space between has been compressed. I love them both, in different ways, and each will never be like the other, but can sometimes feel a little bit like a flash of familiarity, a glimpse of the great gift it has been to me.