The first thing I felt when he walked through the departure gate was the air conditioning.
The air-con is normally pretty strong in Changi Airport, presumably to provide a cooling and comfortable temperature for travellers. A respite from the heat of Singapore for those departing; a refreshing, breezy welcome for those arriving. The high ceilings help to make you feel overwhelmed, and also to ensure that only the coolest air settles at ground level. But today, it wasn't doing either of those things for me. Today, all I could think about was where the warmth had gone.
The second thing I felt when he walked through the departure gate was understanding. After he had gone through the customs check and disappeared from my view, it took me all my strength to drag my luggage to a nearby escalator and sit there. I couldn't look up. I felt like if I lifted my head up, the weight of my tears threatened to turn me into a wreck, and drag it back down anyways. So there I sat on my luggage, head drooped downwards.
When I did manage to gather the strength to look up, I saw another couple standing where we did. They were hugging and teasing each other in the center of the great, wide plaza before the departure gate. It was like a scene straight out of a romance movie. I almost expected the girl to walk up to the departure gate, then drop her luggage, throw her passport to the side, and run backwards tearfully into the arms of her waiting boyfriend, to tumultous applause from the rest of the onlookers.
It didn't. She kissed him, they stared at each other, then she went through the gate without a second thought. The boyfriend lingered, then turned and walked away after a few waves.
The third thing I felt when yet another couple repeated the separation ritual was an intense urge to use the restroom. Every morning, without fail, he would bring me water to drink when I woke up, whispering in my ear that my mouth was stinky. It didn't seem to matter to him when he kissed me seconds after saying that. The last morning we had together was no exception. We'd woken up at 7, left the room at 8, and gotten to the gate by 9.
I dragged both my luggages to one of the toilets near the departure gate. He'd been pulling one of them earlier after he checked in his own, to ease the load on me. The luggages seemed reluctant to move, but I managed to bring them into the restroom with me. I brought them into the cubicle, cleaned the toilet seat, and sat on it. The strangest thing happened; water started coming out from my eyes. I realized my bladder had tricked my brain; I didn't need to use the restroom, I'd just wanted a private place.
The fourth thing I felt after sitting in a toilet cubicle for 15 minutes was the realization that he was probably still texting me from inside. I fumbled with the zipper on my bag, and retrieved my phone. My hands were wet, so I had to forgo fingerprint unlocking and just use my passcode instead. I opened Telegram, only to realize it was still connecting. The internet connection the toilet was pretty bad. I got up, cleaned myself up and tried to look as presentable as I possibly could, and left the toilet.
It felt like forever since the cold touch of a screen had divided us. It was probably even colder than usual because of the air conditioning. It felt even worse because I knew that he'd be out of reach again in no time.
The fifth thing I felt was numbness as I sat on the taxi home from the airport, watching as the skyline shot past me. I always turn the music up to the maximum volume on my earphones whenever I want to drown out the noise inside my head. As my playlist crashed through my ears and my brain (I listen to very loud music), colour seemed to slowly fade from the world. I was like Belle, waking up from her beautiful dream of a castle and a Beast, returning to her provincial life.
My house is on the other side of the island from Changi Airport, which made for a very smooth progress bar as the taxi went straight down the entire length of the Pan-Island Expressway. The inertia of constant motion made the inertia of my still and restless heart ever so slightly more tolerable.
The sixth thing I felt was exhaustion. I came home to a house untouched, in exactly the condition I had left it. Dust had accumulated, though, and walking through the hall gave me an excuse for sniffling. I brought my luggage through the door, and opened them up in an attempt to inspire myself to unpack. Maybe I'm just lazy, or maybe I'm using the fact that unpacking my luggage marks the true end of my trip as an excuse, but the luggage still lies there, open but barely unpacked.
I tumbled onto the bed. I've been taking afternoon naps more often for a while, but I've never taken a nap at 11.30am before.
When I woke up and couldn't feel his arm around me, the tears finally began to flow.