It is mid-week: Wednesday, Thursday, I can’t remember. It has been raining every day I’ve been in San Francisco. I wake up in the mornings with a chill in my bones and an ache in my throat that grows into my chest. Sometimes I go to bed at night with the same ache. I think of someone I love back in Singapore, of my job waiting for me, of how the distance between what we want and what we need can often be the furthest and most irreconcilable.

I want to cry but I don’t. I want to sleep in but I don’t.

I put on my Big Girl pants. I take a bus to the Golden Gate Bridge. You stupid landmark, you’d better cheer me up, I think. It is foggy. I can barely see 100 metres ahead. I am wet and cold. The ground is muddy and slippery. I lose my balance and fall. Twice.

I want to give up but I don’t.

Share this Story