You thought it was over, but there's just one more... These are stories inspired by Singapore

_{Train Source}

The smell of fuel and burnt rubber wafted from the outside. After all, Changi Airport was considered one of the best in the world, so unwanted aroma like that never lasts long. It was the gateway to a melting pot that was Singapore, but it held up surprisingly well, considering all of the cultural influences that passed its walls.

A man, wearing a plain white t-shirt and denim jeans, alighted from a recently parked aircraft, and walked into the airport. His face was clean shaven, and his hair was neatly cut. He passed the security check with no problems, then pass the immigration desk without any raised flags. Security personnel never even took a second glance at him. He had no bags, so he strolled through to the Skytrain, en route to Terminal 2, without any delay. There was nothing significant about the way he looked. He could easily disappear in a crowd of whatever nationality. The only remarkable thing about him was how unremarkable he was.

He alighted from the Skytrain at Terminal 2, went down the escalator, and made his way to the TransitLink ticketing counter. From there, he took out the only cash he had in his pocket—around SG$12. He purchased an EZ-Link card with SG$7 in stored value. With it, he was able to gain access to MRT. He smiled at the cashier, then walked towards the turnstile to tap his card on it.

The man took in a deep breath as he waited for the train to arrive. '3 minutes,' the screen displayed, with regard to the next train's arrival. He stretched his arms high above his head and let out a long-drawn yawn. There wasn't anything for him to hold on to, and he felt a sense of freedom from that realization. All he had in his pocket was an EZ-Link card, his passport, and that was it.

The train screeched to a halt, and its doors opened at roughly the same time. Passengers alighting it were given priority, before the people boarding made their way inside. Considering they were coming from the airport, the sound of rolling strollers inevitably filled the air. It was music to his ears, but he didn't contribute at all to the rubbery symphony.

Upon boarding, the man rested his back against the train wall. He positioned himself exactly where he could get a good view of the outside without needing to move around the carriage. The man squinted his eyes at the first sight of natural light. It was blinding, but he felt giddy once he caught a glimpse of it.

This was the sight he was staring at only a few minutes ago while he was high above the sky, he thought. It wasn't entirely what he had expected, but it was exactly the view he had hoped for. The buildings stacked up neatly against each other without looking too cramped. There was a perfect balance of nature and man-made structures. He couldn't help but notice that the roads were scantily occupied by cars, so he couldn't help but wonder if driving would've been the better option for him to have taken. The lack of funds he had in his pocket only served to solidify his decision.

The carriage was filled with all sorts of nationalities. Singaporeans, Indians, Chinese—all of which he could easily blend with without any problems. He smiled at everyone he made eye contact with, but most just averted their gaze. It didn't discourage him, however. He just continued to go about his way.

In a matter of minutes, the train stopped momentarily at Expo Station, then at Tanah Merah, where the man got off to transfer to the East-West line. He was faced with a conundrum of whether to board the train heading for Pasir Ris or Tuas Link. Going by sequential order, the man chose to go to Pasir Ris, since it was labeled '1.' He boarded it, and he made it all the way to the end of the line, but he didn't get off. Instead, he chose to ride the train all the way to Tuas Link.

The train ride to his destination was longer than the previous ones. As the train traveled through the sights that he had seen before, he instead passed his time making attempts to converse with the passengers. He didn't always have a successful outing, but there were some who indulged his desire for a conversation.

The man was neither old or young. He looked and sounded like a middle-aged man. If his features were to be plotted on a bell curve, he would be sitting exactly at the very top. He didn't look intimidating at all, but some people became unnerved at how calm he was. The man had an air of being inviting, but with the way the world was, there was only a thin line between being inviting and being a serial killer who was luring potential victims. All of the people who chose to converse with him were either too trusting or too ignorant.

What was impressive about how the man operated was that when he conversed with people, he talked to them using their native tongue. It was an attempt, on his part, to make the conversation more comfortable, but it also served to eliminate any chance of misinterpretation.

He inquired about their thoughts of the country, and the people, and the culture, and everything and anything concerning Singapore. The man was careful not to overstep his bounds and go into personal territory. He seemed like a professional interrogator, with the way he allowed the information to freely flow out from the people he was talking to. Some passengers who he sat next to were intrigued, and even volunteered to converse without him needing to prompt them.

As he reached the Tuas Link station, he, again, chose not to get off. He sat on a vacant chair and waited for the train to fill up. When the train arrived at the Tuas Crescent station, an elderly woman stepped inside the carriage. With no more seats available, he called to the woman and offered her his seat. The woman was thankful, of course, and didn't question if he had any ulterior motives. He had none.

He transferred to the North-South line when the train stopped at Jurong East. The man made sure he bid proper farewells to everyone he came into contact with. He made a slight detour at Choa Chu Kang, but he returned to the red line of the MRT once he was done. When he arrived the Marian South Pier station, he alighted the train to stretch his legs for a while, but he was careful not to leave the station. After all, he only had a few credits stored in the card, and he didn't want to waste a single cent.

Once he had a good enough stretch, he went back at it, and continued on with the same routine for the entire day. He went from end to end, then transferred to the nearest line. By the middle of the afternoon, he had already visited every station of the MRT at least once. He strolled through the carriages, grazing his fingers on the metallic railing, the hard plastic walls, and the fiberglass windows. Closing his eyes, he made sure to feel every sway whenever the train curved and the frigid wind that was blasted by the airconditioner.

From the distance, he could see the sun slowly setting. He couldn't help but smile, remembering how his day went ever since the plane landed at Changi. There were no red carpets, no private escorts—just a simple man simply touring the country via train. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

As the train rolled through the Somerset station, several security personnel boarded the carriage and asked the man to come with them. They took him to a holding room, where they interrogated him about his motives. Several passengers had alerted the authorities of the man's presence, and they had been observing his movements on the CCTV ever since.

    "Not once did you exit to go to the bathroom, or to eat or drink," a security personnel queried. "What's your deal?"

    "I didn't feel like I have to," he replied.

After a few minutes, several men in suits barged in and took custody of the man. The security personnel resisted, citing jurisdiction, but they eventually folded. They took the man to a plated car, and drove him straight to the Office of the Prime Minister.

    "Well?" the Prime Minister asked, as he welcomed the man to his heavily-guarded office. His hands were shaking as he poured the man a drink of his most preserved liquor. "W-What do you think?"

The man paced around the room, feeling the books with his fingertips. He then turned his attention to the mahogany desk that was resting prominently at the center of the space. Letting out a deep grunt, he curled his hand into a fist and knocked on the wooden table two times. He looked outside the window and gazed at the city skyline.

    "I'll take it," he proclaimed, with a smile.

    "That's great!" the Prime Minister gleefully exclaimed. "I'll have our lawyers draw out the paperwork. Would you ... Would you be changing the name though?"

    "No. I think I'll keep it. It already has a nice ring to it."

---

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