A long way home

As a teacher we are supposed to teach narrative writing as one of the genres in school. Last week I got an assignment to write one, with the title "A Long Way Home." The tutor wanted us to know that we can write it before we can teach it. Narrative is not my thing. It is so difficult as I find myself being less than imaginative. So came the following piece of work.
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A long way home

The year is 2006. I have been in this foreign city for over four years. It seems like only yesterday when I waved good-bye to my family at the airport, and began my life all alone at this end of the world. “You’ll have lots of fun!” “Take lots of pictures!” “Call us when you can!” “You be back before you know it!” They all said. These very words still echo in my mind.

When I sent in the application for the University of Paris, I never thought that I would feel this way. It was something new. I was going to begin my life, an independent life, studying abroad. The only thing in my mind was the independence. For the first time, I was going to have an apartment all to myself, cook my own food, with nobody to nag at me to clean up the room, do my homework, wash the dishes. I would have to do all these anyway; it was just the thought of not having someone constantly breathing down my neck asking me to do it that was so intriguing.

I had also been learning French for the past two years and would finally have a chance to put it to good use. Even though I could get French movies and books here, and have some French friends to talk to, I knew it was never the same as engulfing myself in a place where I could wake up to French music, have French breakfast and communicate in French in all aspects of life.

As the speakers called out for the passengers of Thai Airways TG419 to Paris, I said my last good-byes and looked forward to my new life in the “City of Lights.” I can still remember the smell of the plane. A slight tinge of detergent mixed with the refreshing fragrance of air freshener and the perfumes of the crew and passengers. The trip to Paris was a long one. Sixteen hours of flying halfway around the world, six time zones away. As the plane flew in the night sky, things started to quieten. As I sat there contemplating my new life, a sense of poignancy swelled inside me. Barely into my new life, I was already missing the old one.

My first step onto Parisian soil was as scary as it was electrifying. All around me people were buzzing around shopping at the duty-free shops, clearing immigration, collecting luggage, enjoying silent moments of love with their families. I quickly passed through immigration, trying my best to understand the questions posed by the officer, amid familiar sentences like “Pourquoi venez vous en France?” “Vous habitez où?” Rather clumsily I survived his inquisition and hastily I collected my belongings, ready to begin my new life as a Parisian.

The Parisian weather was not as welcoming as I had hoped for. I felt like I had just stepped into a refrigerator. Every breath I took mimicked a steam engine, as puffs of warm air escaped my lungs, forming clouds of steam in the cold Parisian morning. With the directions researched before my departure, I made my way into the city and found my apartment. It was on the top floor of a typical Parisian building, the architecture remained the same since the 1800s. Also typical was the lack of elevators, meaning I had to climb six flights of stairs to reach the floor of my apartment.

The next two weeks went by quickly. I registered myself at the university, opened a bank account, applied for a student permit and began my undergraduate studies as a student of one of the oldest university in France. By the end of the two weeks I already began to miss Singapore. Despite being one of the most modernised countries in the world, France was still awfully backward in some areas. All the registrations were done in person, meaning I often had to queue up for hours to do something as simple as filling in a form and submitting it. Plus, Internet connection was also not as readily available. It was one of the first instances that made me realised how easy things were in Singapore.

Still, I managed to settle down and could finally look forward to enjoying my stay in this land rich of culture and history. I took long walks down the streets, along the River Seine whenever I could. The architecture was old and I felt like I had travelled back in time. There were no skyscrapers and the Parisian night sky was visible for miles from atop the Montmatre district. Weekends were spent lounging in cafés and visiting museums as I slowly learnt the French way of life. Interestingly, tables in the cafés were all arranged facing outwards though I never understood why. And it cost less to drink standing at the bar than sitting at a table, as service at the bar was not as good.

As my stay continued in this land, beautiful as it is, I began to miss home. Yes, it was fun and exciting in the beginning to finally live independently. Yes, it was great to try out cooking and meddling with the washing machine. Yes, it was refreshing to finally not have the scorching hot sun and humid weather to deal with. Yes, it was enriching to learn about all the culture and practice my French with real French all around me. But after a while, there’s nothing like home.

I missed all the people that love me. Calls and messages just could not substitute the presence felt everyday at dinner. I missed the food and being able to find food at anytime of the day. Geylang with its beef hor fun and dim sum, Simpang Bedok’s roti prata, Katong’s laksa, all of which are delicious and available twenty-four seven. Speaking French was fun amusing but I missed the “lah’s” and the “loh’s” and Singlish with the mixture of all things familiar. It was then when I realised that there is no place like home. Everything I ever loved is here.

Fortunately, fours year were over soon enough. Now that I have finished my studies here, it is finally time to go home. As I sit here in the lounge waiting for my flight on the same airline back to where I came from, I can still vividly remember the day four years ago, when I stumbled my way through that gate, eager to step out and explore the world. These four years have been quite a ride, I have learnt a lot and I would never exchange it for anything. Most importantly, I have learnt how much I love my home, back in Singapore. So as I sit here, pondering about the four years that have passed, I am glad to be finally going home. This flight back would be a long one, longer than the one I took to leave; it would really be a long way home.