I’ve tried writing about this day, and the way I felt at the time, about 100 times already.
That feeling of freedom, excitement, nervous anticipation and ohmyfuckinggodi’mactuallydoingthis.
In spite of the 8 hour flight (and inevitable delay before departing) it didn’t really hit until I landed and cleared immigration. I’d travelled locally a bunch of times in the months leading up to this, so the whole act of packing, going to the airport and hopping on a plane hardly felt groundbreaking.
After check in I exchanged a few texts with a (by then former) co-worker, hoping to find out if any of the cute cabin crew who regularly stayed at the hotel we worked at would be on my flight. They weren’t, but the normalcy of our friendly banter helped delay that sense of doing something different beyond the normal day to day.
The flight itself was fine. Dragged on a bit, as I had nothing to watch and could only read & listen to music for so long. I think half the battle is the fact that Australia is so bloody huge, it takes 4 hours or so before you even see ocean below and feel like you’re getting somewhere.
Anyway. I stepped off the plane, naively nervous about having to show my proof of onward travel that I’d diligently booked in advance, and with thoughts of Schapelle Corby & dodgy baggage handlers while I read the signs warning of death penalty for drug traffickers in Singapore in the line for Passport Control.
I didn’t need to show my proof of onward travel, which annoyed me a bit if I’m honest having made the effort to book my bus journey out, and it would seem that no one slipped anything untoward into my backpack. I hit send on a tweet (how else would people know I made it?!), threw my backpack over my shoulders, and wandered out into Singapore.
Well, into the public areas of Changi arrivals, anyway. I’d read so much about how amazing an airport it was, and would be leaving by bus in a few days, so I figured I’d try and explore a little. What was an extra 30 minutes in the airport when I had as much time as my money would last ahead of me?
I soon realised that all the cool shit at Changi was airside, and the most I had to see were food courts and armed police (these guys had giant fucking RIFLES? Hello culture shock) so soon wandered off to the MRT station to make my way to Chinatown, and check into my hostel.
On the MRT I tried my best to play it cool as my eyes flitted from side to side trying to take in as much as possible outside the window, listening to the various languages being spoken and just generally being enamoured by how diverse the people on the carriage were. Having moved from London out to suburbia (first in the UK, then Australia), I was starting to realise in my twenties how much I missed that diversity that you only find in the urban areas of truly international cities. People watching fast became my favourite pastime on this trip, and that MRT ride was the first hit.
On exiting the MRT station, as soon as I looked up I saw the lights on a gorgeous Chinatown street, and in the upper left corner of my view, the entrance to my hostel. I buzzed at the door to go up, and the girls on the front desk told me they’d been trying to get hold of me, because I was a few hours later than I’d told them to expect me on my booking. I explained away the flight delay (conveniently leaving out the aimless wandering at Changi) and asked where I could still find a good bite to eat that late.
They sent me to Maxwell food court, something I’m still thankful for to this day because it’s always my first stop whenever I’m in Singapore. Most of the stalls were closed, including the famous chicken rice joint adorned with newspaper clippings and photos of Anthony Bourdain's visit. Instead I got some fried dumplings and a can of tiger from one of the few stalls still open, grabbed myself a table, and sat down with a ridiculous fucking smile on my face. After landing, commuting, checking into the hostel, finally I had 2 minutes to sit down and reflect on just how obscenely happy I was.
I’d just landed in a foreign land, on a one way ticket, with wide open plans and the bag on my back (well, under my bunk bed at this stage, but you get the point). I was feeling as good as I’d ever felt, a greater sense of freedom than ever, and overflowing with anticipation for what the next few months might bring.
That feeling barely went away over the course of my journey, and to this day nothing has come close to replicating it.