Claustrophobia in Lion City

As the population keeps growing, I find my breaths getting shorter

Many things in life, they cannot be rationalised. For me, it is that tightening of my chest, the gasping for breaths each time I am jammed at the back of a lift, each time I get pushed all the way into the cabin, pressed against another in the train during rush hour.

For the larger part of my earlier life, I spent it trying to avoid facing it — I would insist on sitting at the aisle on a plane, in a ferry, and even in the cinemas. I made sure I had sight of the exits. I hated storerooms and places with low ceilings and would never want the doors closed. I avoided live concerts and festive markets.

There were occasions I saw stars or fainted.

Yet these days, as the city picks up its pace, one then learns to cope with the side effects that comes with it — more people on the trains, more people everywhere. Everywhere you went, you could hardly find a quiet place to dine without paying through your noses.

So music and prayers became my best friends. I try to close my eyes and imagine the vast blue sea, I try to drown out the endless, mindless chatters by yakking girls on the trains and I imagine God enveloping me in His arms, shielding me from all these encroachment.

It doesn’t work all the time, but I hope it will continue to work. Sometimes gotta give eventually. If trains can break down from the strain, so can my peace. If only driving wasn’t made so expensive, if only we could have some arrangements to work some days from home. If only we could slow down our pace of life just a little.