Singapore - In Transit

Dedicated to Ibraheim, the wise, and taxi driver par excellence, for starting the journey home.
This is the second post from Changi International, and the muzak isn't as irritating as I recalled. Maybe because it currently consists of identifiable jazz instruments, and I've only been here five minutes. The skies are a grey overcast dawn, as it is about 7am here, but 1am on my body clock.
Aside from being able to see outside the windows now, just about everything is as I left it eight months ago. It reminds me of a story about a Japanese garden whose wealthy owner maintained it so exquisitely that the passing of years would hardly change it. The intention was that each time he visited it, he would be able to reflect on not how it had grown, but on how he had become different since last entering the garden.

Of course, he didn't have free internet six seconds' walk from the entrance. That doesn't help with meditation on the nature of personal experiences.

But that being said, there's been a lot to consider since I was last here. The 130-ish letters home posted here sum it up. So do two volumes of tiny handwritten diary pages, and a box full of photographs on CD. I started jotting down a list of things I regarded as particularly memorable here, but realised it was getting cumbersome as a paragraph. And those of you who have been reading this correspondance from the start will have been with me through it all anyway - pick your favourite place!

I have another hour here, roughly. Next post, Sydney, in god knows how many hours.