My Trip to Europe

This was originally submitted as an observational research essay assignment about a place of interest in Singapore. The picture (layered with an effect for privacy) was required to prove I physically visited the place. XD

I see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she takes a deep breath. She then pulls her luggage through the automatic glass doors of the Terminal 3 entrance and stops to look at the flight information board. Rows of flight details arranged in order of departure time fill the six screens, blinking at her as they switch between the different languages. She already has all her flight information stored in the Notes of her phone, but she double-checks anyway. She glances around to look for Row 11, but instead, she notices the people standing in her vicinity, looking at the information board as well. It dawns on her that she is the only person travelling alone, while all the other people have loved ones with them. I feel a prick in my heart when I see her, a lone traveller, walking towards Row 11 with her head held high, trying to be strong for me.

‘May I know if you have any lithium batteries in your carry-on bags? If you do, please place them in your check-in luggage.’

She shakes her head in reply while glancing over the monitor to see if her luggage is within the maximum weight. The counter girl checks it as well and deftly loops the luggage tag onto the side handle. She takes her passport from the girl and moves away while double-checking the information on her boarding ticket. She hears the whir of the conveyor belt moving her luggage and she immediately looks up. I feel a smile form on my face as she discreetly blows a kiss towards her luggage and whispers, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Mummy.’ I say to her, but she does not hear me.

She checks her watch as she walks towards the Old Town White Coffee outlet to buy a teh-c-kosong before heading over to the departure hall. After showing her passport and boarding ticket to the security guard, she ambles her way past the brightly lit duty-free shops, with me enjoying the aroma of tea trailing in her wake. She eventually sits near Gate A10, where she can see the airplanes docked at their respective gates. She takes out her phone to check her messages but stops in her tracks when she sees her lock screen photo.

It is a picture she took of me, exactly a year ago today, six months before I died. We were talking about travelling across Europe one day, I was doing my signature pout that she always made fun of, as I said, ‘I’d be forty by the time that happened!’

My mother’s hand instinctively moves to her neck and touches the pendant partially filled with my ashes. The rest of my ashes is stored in a glass bottle, nestled in her luggage, waiting to be sprinkled across Europe.

No mother should have to live longer than her child. But my mother is the strongest person I know, and she is living for me.