As we fly over the dark water, tiny lights come into view, but it's still darker than I think. It's 2:55 a.m. and my flight is about to land. A knot of fear rises up in my throat as I anticipate the end to my 36 hour trek and I have to remind myself not to panic, to take it one step at a time. The stopover in LA felt like coming home because of my college years spent there. The layover in Japan was like seeing an old friend. Even the flight times - 5 3/4 hours, 11 1/2 hours, 7 1/4 hours - seem familiar and monotonous as international travel always is. But this, this landing in Singapore is alien to me. I've read the guide books and done my homework, but still I feel the uncertainty of the unknown threatening to make me cry, like a bully at school.
The lights come closer, defining lines, then shapes, and finally buildings. And before I know it, the plane has landed and I'm easily navigating my way through immigration and customs to the pay-per-use lounge to get some much needed R&R before heading to my hotel in Chinatown. All the signs are in English. Admonishments and reminders about the rules are everywhere in English. Everyone speaks ENGLISH! I know I shouldn't be surprised. After all, the guide books all said that English was the official language. But still the comfort it brings me is a surprise and I begin to slowly feel at ease . . .
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