It doesn’t necessarily matter that her name was not this name, nor that name, nor was there anything remarkable about any of the things that drove me to find time away from my usual preoccupations. Among these preoccupations were the usual laundry lists, but there was also something about a cupcake with a Singapore flag that would always remind me of almonds in the time of, in the time of something. The important thing is that it did not matter. And at the moment, Singapore did, or rather, does. It always has mattered, whether I was here or not, and whether or not I was trying to forget her. How she would often tell bold lies throughout the course of the evening, and only speak the truth in whispers.
She wasn’t the only one, and I would like to say that I was the only one who recognized her speech patterns, but I saw in her what I had seen a dozen times before. And she saw it in me, too, and we would sometimes talk about how we had found a way not to talk about the only things that were on our minds. Among these were obsession, cupcakes, and the smell of particular trees in this part of the world. Hotels in Singapore have never reminded me of anything that reminded me of her, and this is where I felt safe. Until I understood that they had nothing to do with her, then they became fetishized for their ability to take me away from her. It’s an old cycle, and it’s not necessary to continue to watch the wheel turn.
Enough here to be here, in this place where I can find myself looking at all the things I would never consider buying for myself. Shopping in Singapore is one thing, but shopping for a memory is quite another, and there is usually no end to the options. One day I would make a film about everyone I ever met, everyone who was ever here, and everyone who was ever not her.