A man rushed past me, shoving me out of the way as he squeezed past me through the MRT gantry. I cast a look of annoyance his way and began a mental tirade about the lack of manners in my fellow Singaporeans. Then I caught a glimpse of his back disappearing around the corner- his backpackers bag which covered his frame and the rugged clothes he wore. A wave of empathy filled me. I don’t know his name, nor his story. But in my head, he became The Backpacker, rushing home to meet his family after a long period of separation. I smiled wistfully, as I imagined the reunion in my head. The end of missing the people you love.
Sometimes, it never ends though, does it? “You can never love people as much as you can miss them.”
I reached home just past the stroke of midnight; the moment when all the magic disappears, when all the glitz and glamour weans off. And the facade of being okay crumbles.
But when I opened the front door, I found my father waiting up for me and I knew that everything was going to be okay because I have the people that matter in my life.
But sometimes, I still need you.
Sometimes, I still need you/ Sometimes, I still need you.