I hop around with my Forclaz waist bag holding Lila, some water, and Pocari Sweat supplies. You carry a drawstring bag that apparently fits everything else. In Singapore’s urban jungle we had collectively decided to do a hike up a 7 km trail, which makes me giddy with joy. The path we are choosing is considered moderate/difficult. You’ve been here before, once with a friend. I ask you to navigate. I’m not allowing myself to exert any more energy than I have to.
You begin with the basic questions. How long am I on a business trip? What am I currently doing? How was Damai and the baby? Which part of Singapore does she live in? You laugh when I say Tampines. It’s too far away from everywhere else in the city except the airport. But I loved her HDB.
I jokingly ask why everyone was sweating profusely. The trail seems easy to conquer. Some paths were blocked for maintenance. Whilst others panic, we just laugh it off and try to find another trail.
After all these years we still have the exact same pace for everything. The way we think, the way we move. I don’t feel left behind or pressured to move faster, like how I feel in bigger groups. We just flow. Uncles run past us from every side, each of them impressing us at different paces. You tell me living here encourages you to do more exercise; all that home weights training and weekly run. The fit uncles being one of the reasons. You do look fit, I’ll give you that. The incline is mostly bearable but gravel-slippery at some points, but still bearable with normal walking shoes.
We talk about work. I ask about your siblings. Your little sister is going to be in middle school soon. Life seems to have moved faster when we aren’t noticing. It’s been five months since I last saw you and I wouldn’t have expected you to suddenly have silver in your hair. I must admit it makes you look a little bit wiser. We stop in the middle of our tracks and encounter the most well-mannered monkeys. We even found a family with a little one. And then, more inclines. I now know why everyone’s sweating like crazy. We laugh about it and keep pushing through.
We finally make it to the TreeTop Walk. It really is worth the hike. It is a one way bridge so we couldn’t spend too much time, but we take some photos and wonder about the bridge safety guy (did he have to trek to work every single day?).
There are hundreds of stairs to climb after. You give one look at me and we both giggle, not even having to say a word. We finish the trail in record-time of around two-and-a-half hours. Decide to stretch our legs for a bit. You ask me if I wanted to have that delicious curry rice in Bugis I once told you about. The one where the chef kept stealing glances at me because he was interested. I look at you blankly, thinking to myself how in the world do you remember that little detail in the story I told you five, six years ago?
We end up walking to Upper Thomson to take the brown line to Maxwell. You take me to your favorite ice cream place. My treat, you say. Most flavors were honey-based. I try the Manuka flavor; yours is the Cookies and Cream. We share a third cup, an Apiary special. The ice cream helps with the difficult conversation that follows. On life and priorities. On love and loss. On the question that if we were to meet again in five years, would I still be crying about the same thing?
It then dawns upon me why we’re best friends. And I know I said the right thing when a few years ago I told you that whomever I marry, you will be the best man, my best man. You remember every little thing I’d said (weeks, months, years ago) and kept them in your heart. And talking to you was always easy (a ridiculously great feat for two INTJs). We didn’t have to put on performative masks. We could just be.
Full of Apiary ice cream, we decided to visit a bookstore before grabbing dinner at the nearest food center. My heart was heavy knowing the day would eventually end, and that we would have to wait another few months to see each other again.
We took the brown line before parting ways: myself alighting first at Orchard, and you at Caldecott after to transit home. I take a few brief seconds to memorize your face before saying goodbye. Frame that smile. And see if it will change the next time we meet (I hope not). Too many people change too much under the wings of time.
I look at our photos later in the night and marvelled at how we smiled ear to ear. Crinkles and dimples and all. The one precious friendship that made it so easy to breathe, easy to take 24,000 steps. Easy like Sunday morning.
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