No Man's Land

A fluorescent light tube illuminating an old store sign. A shoddily whitewashed wall peeling from the weather. The crooked way the road sign hangs from the overhead traffic light it clings on to. There's something to be said about the less urban environment.
Driving home late tonight the small things I noticed stirred up melancholy thoughts of how I'd miss Tucson when I returned home to Singapore. I envisioned my leaving, and th feelings it would evoke from me. I remember thinking this thought:
<blockquote>If it were at all possible, I would hug Tucson for all she was worth. I would breathe her desert scent in, look in the Saguaro green of her eyes and feel the silky soft sand of her complexion. </blockquote>
Funny thing is, much as I miss family and friends back home, the attachment I have to the very land itself can hardly be considered strong.
What ties a man to his land? What exactly is it that binds our very souls to a geographic place? Is it merely the location upon which our memories are made?
Our memories, which are our past, which is our life were made here. That has got to count for something.
Life in Singapore is a premonition of the life to be, everywhere in the world. Things moving at warp speed…people working non-stop. The urban life. The cityscape of Singapore changes so rapidly it is hard to feel nostalgic at all, for the things that we grew up around have all disappeared, trampled by the fast-marching feet of progress. The hands that helped carve our memories are no more. In their place are new hands, unfamiliar hands, soft unwrinkled hands that though pleasing to the eye, hold little character.
Part of me wants to stay here.
Tonight, all of me wants to stay here. I don't want to go back to an alien homeland.

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