Singapore: Day Three

Day Three: Orchard Road by evening and dinner at a sidewalk cafe.

We caught the hotel shuttle to the airport then went by MRT to Orchard Road. The subway was crowded and of course I was the only Western woman on the platform, in the subway car. With Akira as my companion, we are The Thing to be stared at. Singaporeans are as conservative in public as are the Japanese when it comes to displays of affection, so it doesn’t help that Akira puts his arm around my waist pulling me close, several times kissing me. The staring doesn’t have the same feel as it did in Japan, where people were extremely curious but more reluctant to be rude. The Singaporeans are not subtle. Several men try to catch my eye, then look at Akira who seems oblivious to the attention.

Later on the way back to the hotel, I have a meltdown when he puts his arm around me again. Of course he is offended and I can’t explain my reaction to him, built up as it is over too many experiences. I say to Akira that people are staring. I can’t explain that it’s not just him, not just me, not just the moment. I can’t say that it’s really the stress of too many times being the thing to look at, and how it’s not just these eleven days in Singapore, but those many months in Japan, too, when I was stared at and stared at and stared at on the subway, in the grocery store, at the gym, on elevators, in shops, on the street, in airports, every day, every time I left the house, left work, walked down the street, walked into a coffee shop or convenience store. At first, it was interesting, but over time it became wearying and I began to get avoid eye contact, began to withdraw into myself, began to feel people’s polite but inevitable curiosity scrape away at my existence. Over time my confidence began to erode and I would become paranoid and overly sensitive to the attention.

It is dark but the street is lit up and all the shopping malls are open. People wander as they do when shopping, half-dazed. After a year in Ginza, I've had my fill of shopping as recreation. Akira wants to wander, but I drag him into Takashimaya, where there is a Kinokuniya. I need something to read by the pool, so I buy the next Anthony Bourdain.

I don’t care about shopping beyond this, and looking at other shopping tourists hardly counts as sightseeing. I don’t feel good and I don’t want to be wandering around the high-priced malls and shopping arcades. I ask Akira where he wants to have dinner. He doesn’t have any ideas, so I pull him off to one side and dig out my guidebook. There are several interesting (small and unusual) places mentioned, but in America Akira would be the quintessential big chain restaurant patron. We just pick the nearest restaurant and sit.

We’ve opted for some sidewalk cafe on Orchard Road. At dinner (Sinaporean-ized American-ish food---diet Coke and a ham, pineapple, and mozzarella on rye sandwich for me and Tiger beer and vegetables on rice under a layer of melted cheese for Akira) he talks to me about what he wants to do with the rest of his life. I am The Good Girlfriend-slash-Other Woman while he talks so it never occurs to him that that sound is my heart breaking as he talks about the future we don’t have together. I eat and try to stay connected, but I find that I can’t. I don’t want to listen and I don’t want to feel anything and I don’t want to say anything about what I do feel. When he finally notices this and asks me what’s wrong, I find that I can’t say anything at all without saying anything, so I say nothing.

I say I want ice cream.

I know there is no future in our future. I know that this is likely the last time we’ll be together. I can deal with this reality so long as I don’t have to face it.

After dinner, we go back to the hotel.