Bugis

It is a wondrous feeling of knowing where to go but having no inkling on your exact destination. Our yesterday's expedition was just wondrous enough to prove that.

The peaceful morning was broken when an unfamiliar phone call informed me that the suitcase I was expecting had been left at Oxford Hotel. It gave me the number of the hotel, which marked the beginning of my adventure.

The suitcase had passed numerous check points and had been sleeping and snorting in a luggage airplane for several uncomfortable hours before finally landed in Singapore. However, it was not easy for it to get to its resting place. Almost weeks before, I was informed of its existence and went through a marathon battle so as to conceptualise its contents. After corresponding with my dear mother who compiled the "red-dated letter" indicating the contents of the luggage, we were happily waiting for the arrival of our "goodie bag", from which we could draw sustenance.

The tracking down of the luggage began when I dialled the number of the Oxford Hotel. A friendly female receptionist answered the phone and was delighted to find my identity corresponding with the one expected. My first task was finished. Except fpr clarifying my identity to the unknown receptionist, I got the extra information that Oxford Hotel is situated on Queen Street, Bugis. This extra snippet spared me the trouble to search in the heavy, cumbersome street directory.

Bolstered by a surge of confidence, we began our expedition after a good, nice noon nap. The dark clouds began to amass as we hurried toward the busstop, and we scurried quickly like ants moving tidbits of food into their cave. With some foresight which later proved to be comfortingly necessary, I borrowed a long-handle umbrella from the office guard. Walking on the street with such a medieval-looking umbrella, we felt embarrasment began to settle in, but we kept ignoring passerby's inquisitive looks and held our heads high.

The arrival at Bugis was just as wondrous. Actually, I was not at all familiar with the peripheries. Having been there for only three times, I could only make out some basic facts like Victoria Street being perpendicular to Middle Street and that one MRT exit leading directly into the Bugis Junction. As for iconic buildings, I know there is a National Library and SGH(Singapore General Hospital) where I had my medical check-up one year ago, and that is how far my sketchy knowledge could manage to go.

My sister was a believer of her hunches, to which I reserved a grain of doubt. But I was sure she got lucky by following her "hunches" yesterday. To my amazement, she applied her hunches all the way and I was embarrassed to admit that the route she had chosen was the shortest route possible! Adding to the wondrous feeling, we also got the chance to mill around in the main streets of Bugis and had quite a satisfying sightseeing, of course, before we collected the heavy suitcase.

As for the suitcase, the collecting of it took almost less than three minutes. We were self-conscious enough to groom ourselves again before stepping into the hotel when we realised how home-like the place was. Due to the presence of a bunch of Chinese-dialect-speaking hotel dwellers, we found it almost a relaxing and pleasant experience to get into the seemingly formidable building. That dialect happened to be the kind which I had no difficulty understanding. This kind of home feeling greatly boosted my morale as I attempted to ask the receptionist. After showing my Ezlink Card, the male receptionist who dressed like a bartender delightfully handed me the suitcase after me signing a "receipt". We were all glad that the procedure could be such easy.

With all our might, we dragged the heavy suitcase back home. It might sound easy but was anything but easy. I still remember how I rushed through the zebra line pulling the luggage with the electronic sign beeping alarmingly; and my funny position when going down by an escalator with the wheels of the suitcase one level upon me. To make the whole thing more "wonderful", the rain began to slushing down when we arrived at Clementi. When the bus finally arrived, I clumsily hauled the luggage on board while my sister opening the medieval umbrella to shield me from the downpour.

However, we were not spared of the shower when we realised disappointedly that we had to walk over a flyover before getting into the comfort zone. And no need to mention, we were drenched at our backs as if flattening right down into the water like two pieces of leaves.

These were all very wondrous with great fun, weren't they? Provided that my sister and I had not had private time together for almost one week.