Saying Goodbye (again)
"I hope we make it..." Flan gasped as she half-ran to catch up with D's long effortless strides. She checked her watch for the tenth time and hoped fervently that they had not missed the hourly train. The tunnel leading to the Central station seemed never-ending. People were rushing alongside the anxious couple, hurrying them along. A Chinese man was squatting by the side, a piece of cloth spread out in front of him. Flan cast a quick glance over his products and saw that they were hand-painted cards with illegible Chinese characters; unfortunately, she really could not stop. No one else did either.
Further up, an Aboriginal man was blowing into a musical instrument - it wasn't shiny and polished like those sold in souvenir shops; this one was old and dusty and the prints were faded. His prodigy, a young Japanese youth, was holding a similar instrument and they were having a blast - swept away into a world of their own. Flan didn't want to dampen their high spirits but it was hardly any wonder that no one showed appreciation towards their art - it sounded like elephants growling, if elephants growl at all.
Almost there. Without a word, almost as if they could read each other's minds, Flan joined the queue for the tickets while D headed straight to the monitors to check the train schedules. From a distance, Flan saw him stick two fingers into the air. She sighed with relief - it was five to 2. They could still make it. "Two tickets to the International Airport please....One return and one single," she paid for the tickets just as D reached her side - "1 more minute!" Flan's heart skipped a beat - What! He meant two minutes, not 2pm! They sped to the gates, ran up the stairs to platform 23 and jumped into the cabin just before the doors slid shut.
Their hearts still thumping from their sprint, they collapsed onto the navy blue seats on the upper deck, giggling. D held her hand tightly as the train rumbled along; his large warm hand engulfed her small cold ones. Swallowing the familiar lump in her throat, she turned her face away from him, hoping that he had not seen the tears glistening in her eyes. He too turned his face away and hoped that she had not seen his eyes. At least, they had another 2 hours together - it was better than nothing.
Fat Seagulls
Flan and D stood in the middle of a crowded pavement just off Circular Quay. D was busy adjusting the lens, so focused was he at his subject that he forgot to reply Flan's seemingly angry retort - what do you mean by museums are not meant for tourists? What a feeble excuse!
Flan couldn't sulk for long - she was distracted, momentarily by the row of identical birds standing on the fence, just along the harbour front. Identical because they are all so chubby. It was funny, at least to them. "Quick! Before they fly off!" D took several snapshots in rapid succession, zooming in and out, twisting the angle up and down, before he was finally satisfied with the outcome.
Soon, they left the birds alone to admire the view and headed to the Opera House. A man with a green beanie was busily chewing his burger, a bag of crumpled McDonald's paper bag by his foot. He caught the attention of many because he was literally surrounded by at least a dozen seagulls, all cackling with excitement. Then, all of a sudden, the man threw up a piece torn from his burger into the air and a sharp-eyed seagull swooped down and caught it in its beak - all in mid-air!
D and Flan burst into laughter. It was funny somehow. "Oh, that is so wrong! What about the other seagulls!" The birds continued staring at the man, waiting for their opportunity..."Don't worry, they are all so fat," D replied, pulling Flan closer to him. That was just the reply she needed, as she grinned up at him while they walked away from the man and his devoted audience.
Starting Over
Flan stepped back and admired her work - the pictures were arranged haphazardly. There were pictures of D and herself, oh plenty of those - all smiling and happy, and then there were those of her and Mr Brown, those of her family and friends and her adorable students... snapshots of her life, a happy life.
What have I done? She asked herself again, for the hundredth time, since she had embarked on a journey that she had waited so long for. Seeds of doubt were planted as weeks passed; at times, there were moments when she felt exhilarated - the seed of doubt and fear killed, just for an instant, before it crept back...
Flan bit the end of her pen, frowned and concentrated hard on the task in front of her. She was writing postcards to her students and friends. It was her first time. She used to be too busy to even reply emails, let alone take the initiative to choose postcards, buy stamps and sit down to construct a letter. It's so odd to have all these 'free' time on your hands all of a sudden. She was beginning to like it.
Ooah, so many plans and ideas, how should she start? It's only a matter of time before the ideas push the last seed of doubt away, she consoled herself.
