Motherland

We orbit around each other as goodbyes draw close. There are only bitter words, accusations, tears springing to my eyes and I wonder why have we changed. Perhaps you are nursing the image of your loneliness when you first came to Singapore alone and fold inwards to look for the Motherland still left on your tongue? Soon, the cycle will repeat itself for we have a habit of mimicking each other, and I will nurse the image of your loneliness in the foreign land half a day behind where you are, mouth dry from the long-haul rendering everything tasteless, and wonder which direction I will have to look towards Motherland for a whiff of home. You never thought I was proud of my home, and worry about some baggage of insecurity I carry – there is a weight limit when travelling and you only want me to take what is important – and I cannot make you understand that I have always travelled light anyways. I don’t sing the national anthem loudly. I don’t tell you enough in my words or action, but I am proud. You say you will send me off into adulthood with a steady gaze on my back. You will watch my retreating figure disappear beyond your reach. This is not how I envision our goodbye. I want to blink the tears clear so I can look back and catch the last glimpse of you, remember how you look like retreating beyond my reach, nurse that vision in my loneliness and remember this is how my Motherland looks like.