On the road to the airport Heading towards my moment of glory Leaving third world deficiencies For greener pastures on yonder hills.

We who leave, are like Argives and Trojans Battling for glory and armour Blind towards the carnage and death Wrecked around them.

What I see when the stamps before my eyes are removed Are men sweating to make ends meet, Migrant slaves struggling to eke out a living in a foreign land Young men resigned to lives of hard labour for want of education Women young and old working to put bread on their kitchen tables.

Yet here I am, insolent fool The world seemingly at my beck and call, Nothing to stop my march, or so I think. 

May this thrilled heart be sobered up,  Not cut off in academia From the brutal reality  Of the road to the airport.

20210719 commentary: This journey was the first time I left JB for the UK. Papa and mama were with me. I remembered that we had a late meal in Changi, they bought me a travel pouch which I still use when I travel. It’s unfortunate I did not stop to record my experience better, or at least take some pictures.

This was an amateurish piece. The words are poorly picked leading to a jarring rhythm and pretentious words, phrases and imagery. To go full “meta,” it was probably apt. My head was probably in the clouds back then. The world was my oyster. On hindsight, it was unfortunate that I was not mature enough to make the most of my time in Durham, UK.