There was this time when I was lost. I was around 5 then and I lived in Woodlands. I know, you might think that's it's weird for me to have moved from Woodlands all the way to Pasir Ris. It's going from the north of the country to the east. Well it isn't that far. I mean, it's only tiny tiny Singapore, not America or something. North to east of America. Now that's movin' baby.



So! Back to wat I was talking about. My family of 3 very much elder sisters and a mother and father went shopping one day, at old Woodlands central. There were these small tiles forming horizontally long strips of different colours on the ground. I was very amused and was determined only to step on the maroon strips when I walked. I was having a hell of a time and 10 minutes later, I turn back and find that my family was not anywhere near me.



I have, till now, never felt so lonely. I began to feel scared, real scared. I started praying, promising God that I would be a better girl, be more obedient if he gave me my family back. While these thoughts were going through my mind, I made my way to the interchange where I knew my family would have to take a bus back home. I stood near the metal railings which served as a pick-up point for that particular bus, hoping that they hadn't gone home without me. All the while, I was crying, not bawling but tears slowly streamin down my face. I was so, so sad.



About half an hour or so later, my father came for me. When I heard him call my name, it was like a dream that came true. The rest of it was a blur. I remember my father's crying face, him carrying me, my sisters screaming and crying with relief and love, my mother hugging me close and me being carried all the way home.



It was the most horrid horrid experience but it made me realise, after all these years, that when I go elsewhere one day, where I'm alone, I will never by entirely happy. Not a chance, because the people I love won't be there. And the people I love will face the same thing, just because I, one person, am not there.