6 AM: 29 degrees at 93% humidity with 41% chance of rain. It was the morning of the walk. The temperature regular, but the humidity especially bad. Oh well, Ming Jun thought, I’ve already said I would do it, so do it I must. He flung the covers off, hoping the momentum of the action would translate to an energy he’d carry long into the morning, but by the time he turned the fan off and stepped out of his bedroom, his calves started to ache, knowing what was to come, and protesting.
His wife and daughters stood in the kitchen, waiting. Please, his wife, Ai-ling, was saying, stop being so stubborn. But in front of her was a bowl of the oatmeal she’d cooked, just the way he liked it, as if she knew her attempts to stop him would fail and the oatmeal would be needed after all. Alright, he thought, showtime. He walked over jauntily and planted a big kiss on her left cheek, both daughters turning away automatically, averting their eyes, even as the older one—Gianna, lovely Gianna—said, Pa, the temperature is going to peak at 34 degrees at noon, you have to call it off.
The younger one was quiet. Ming Jun felt his heart go out to her. Kaylee, eight and not yet disappointed in him, alone understood why he needed to do this. He spooned the oatmeal and kept his spirits up. 34 degrees? That’s too bad. He would suffer. Gianna repeated, stop, Pa, don’t be ridiculous. Was she crying, or close to it? He faltered, even as she offered again to call off the bet. It was a joke, she said, she didn’t actually want him to walk across the country, it was madness. But he had lost. He had promised, again and again, never to return to the Singapore Pools, and each time he promised, he’d meant it. When Gianna caught him with his hand in her wallet, he too was genuinely surprised. It’d been two in the morning. The bleariness of sleep crumbled into fury when she realised why her father was in her bedroom. You promised, she said. You promised. Ming Jun promised again, but he could see that she didn’t believe him. I mean it, he said, let’s make a bet. If I ever go back, I’ll walk across the whole island as penance. Gianna’s whole face tensed with hesitation, a beat before belief, and his heart soared. And then he’d gone and gambled again, anyway.
He started to wash the bowl but his wife gestured for him to leave it. Take a water bottle with you, she said, but he declined. It was hard to find public restrooms, and on his 55th birthday, the mandatory check-up had confirmed the bladder issues he’d long suspected were coming. This is madness, Gianna repeated, I don’t need you to do this. I don’t. He tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she dodged his dry lips. They weren’t an outwardly affectionate family. But then he looked down and there Kaylee was, clinging to his waist, wrapping her spindly arms around him, squeezing tight.
Seeya later, he said, cheerily, and pulled the door shut.
People were already on their way to work, crowding the sidewalks, angrily taking pictures of the buses stuffed with people that passed without stopping, no doubt for the purposes of online complaint later. A couple of them looked askance at him, plodding along in his black FBT shorts and a tight, long-sleeved exercise shirt which wrapped uncomfortably around his belly. In his right hand, a long tree branch, with which he expected to defend himself from the wild dogs that frequented the construction sites he’d pass once he made it to the middle of Bedok and beyond. Something was always being constructed in Singapore, pockets of progress scattered all over the island, and once upon a time, Ming Jun believed a point would come when progress would’ve been reached, when they could collectively relax as a nation and enjoy the fruits of their labour. Ai-ling, who’d once accepted everything he said without question, believed it too. She’d believed him when he said the gambling was just to blow off steam, that he was taking a small chance on their future, speeding up their journey to retirement. The fruits of their labour had been such a long time coming, and the sense of possibility that yawned open in the moments directly after he placed each bet was exquisite. But the moment always ended. He’d been promised things and made promises in return, and for what? At the end of the day, all progress had done for him was phase him out of employability, his skillset apparently interchangeable with the wonders of automaton.
The overhead bridge loomed, and he crossed it. He was on the other side of the highway, moving under the train tracks, which rumbled in four-minute intervals. The crowds had thinned, and the streets were quiet. Ming Jun stopped for a moment, pulling a hand towel out of his fanny pack, rubbing at his forehead. A condition of their bet was that he’d make the entire journey by foot. No taxis, trains, buses. Later, after she’d failed to talk him out of the walk, Gianna had tried to negotiate the terms, compromise on the public transportation bit of it. No, he’d said, that stupid smile on his face persisting, I promised! I’m going to do it. Watch me!
End to end, Singapore is 50 km across. A man once walked its full length, following the curves of the East West train line, in fourteen hours. It’d taken 67,665 steps, but he’d accomplished it in a day, and made it to the morning news. Ming Jun would take longer, because he wanted to seek out covered walkways where possible, taking refuge in the shade of various void decks, but the point was that it could be done. You are not that man, his wife had said, but why couldn’t he be? He thought again of Kaylee, his youngest. For the two older women, the walk would at best be redemption, but wouldn’t Kaylee see it as a point of pride? She was only eight. His miracle child, surprising them all twelve years after Gianna’s birth, when it seemed too late for life to change in any truly significant way. She was his third chance to get it right. Ming Jun’s mouth was open, his breaths coming in short, shallow huffs. A maid, bent over from the weight of schoolbags and dragging two reluctant children along, said a quiet excuse me, and stepped around him. I’m doing a marathon too, he wanted to tell her, but she was already gone, shielding the now curious children from his gaze with her large body.
Cabs honked at him from the road, but he shook his head, ignoring them. A couple trailed him hopefully for a while, but eventually sped off. Good, he thought. Good. To advert potential temptation, Ming Jun had left his wallet at home. He had no cash on him, and his phone was an old one. At his wife’s insistence, he’d taped his ID to the back of his phone. She watched him the entire time too, as if afraid he’d rip it off the minute she looked away. He wasn’t happy about this. It spoke of a lack of faith. I’m not going to need it, he said, what do you think I’m going to do, forget my own address? She replied that it was illegal to be found without your ID in Singapore, which was true, but also consistent with the fact that when in doubt, she reverted to the law. Live a little, he wanted to tell her. Some risk is good. Just some.
He wound through the various void decks of Simei, walking past the old men playing chess at the community tables and the teenagers practicing skateboarding tricks under a No Skateboarding sign, blatantly ignoring the CCTV cameras above head. Ming Jun could feel their eyes following him, and glanced back. The pitter patter trail of water he’d left in his wake was already evaporating from the afternoon heat. His phone rang.
Hi, sayang, he said.
Don’t call me that, Gianna replied. How are you doing? Will you please come home?
It’s going great, this is great exercise, maybe I’ll do this every week.
Where are you exactly?
He looked at the block number closest to him. Somewhere, he said.
You sound terrible. He could hear the anger in her voice, trembling. Can you please tell me where you are?
He stopped walking, and put a hand over the receiver so she couldn’t hear him pant. When he’d sufficiently regained his breath, he put the phone to his ear again. Don’t worry about it! I’m doing great!
The phone was wet where it’d touched his face, his hand. He hung up and re-oriented himself. Towards the next overhead bridge, then the coastline. Little bell sounds tinkled temptingly in the air. Did bicycles count as public transport? Ah, but he didn’t have his wallet. He shook his head at the bike rental man and continued walking. Around him, families whizzed by on their double-bikes and roller skates, and shirtless young men ran with their dogs, exhaling in low and controlled puffs as they pounded down the beachside track. Rain trees spread out above head, casting shivering shadows on the floor, and without the relentless assault from the sun, Ming Jun could almost enjoy the sea breeze.
Some school children passed by, doing their 2.4 km run, wearing beige P.E. shirts and jogging miserably. Chin up! He wanted to tell them. The world is bright and beautiful. They gave him a wide berth as they ran, separating then congregating again on the pavement. Ming Jun did not think either of his daughters would behave like this. He’d raised them to be polite, to always nod at or greet older people they saw on the streets. Dignity is important, he’d told them, and is the flip side of respect. They’d agreed, seriously, and the neighbours always complimented his wife on how well raised the girls were.
But someone must have called the police. He was in Aljunied, somehow sitting at the bottom of yet another overhead bridge. He could not recall having taken a break, but the floor around him was damp, his white dry-fit shirt almost transparent. The young men in blue were asking him a series of questions, and he rattled details off to prove sanity of mind. Tan Ming Jun, 57 years old, NRIC SXXXX154D. Pasir Ris Street 79, Block 436, Unit Number 04-533. He walked all the way here from Pasir Ris? Yes, yes he did. He was exercising. His family knew about it. It was his right to exercise, no? Was he breaking any laws? Were there rules against going on a walk alone across the country? The policemen looked at each other and scratched their heads. Alright, they said, take it easy, old man. One of them offered him some water, and he almost didn’t accept, out of pride. But he was thirsty. Thank you, he said, humbly. Already he could feel his bladder whining.
In the lobby of a cheap hotel, the security guard directed him to the restroom. It’s really supposed to be for guests, he said, half-heartedly. Ming Jun watched the weak stream of piss swirl down the urinal sadly. His body couldn’t hold on to much for long. It was surprising the morning oatmeal hadn’t found its way out of him yet. He paused in front of the sink. If only he could take a shower! Ming Jun splashed water all over his face and neck, and took off the sticky shirt, running paper towels under the tap then wiping down his whole torso. The time had come to put his shirt back on, but it was clammy and quite disgusting. Might he finish the rest of his walk shirtless? Why not? Other people did it. He rolled it up, but it wouldn’t fit in the fanny pack. With no other options, he stuck one end of it into the waistband of his shorts, hoping it’d stay secure. When he left the restroom, the security guard charged towards him, ushering him out into the blinding sun before any guests caught sight of him.
He was sweating again. The phone rang, but he ignored it. When he looked, he could see that Gianna and his wife had both tried to call several times. He knew hearing their voice right now would be very difficult. He was tired, amenable to persuasion. This was his problem, he knew. Things always started out well. But let the siren call, once. He’d be led anywhere.
One time, he thought he’d go beyond the small stakes of the Singapore Pools and play with the big boys at the Leisure World floating casino. Why stand in line under the hot sun, waiting on the luck of a ball, or the amble of a horse, when there were carpeted floors and air-conditioning, clean toilets and background jazz to be had? He boarded the ferry, paid the $43 return fare, prepared to strike big.
And perhaps it was the buffet line with its unlimited plates of chilli lime fish, or the triumphant yodels rising ever so often from the neon bulbed rows of slot machines, but he docked that evening $390 richer than he’d been that morning, even after accounting for the ferry fare. In all his years of betting, it was the best he’d gotten. He used half of it to pay for a nice meal for Gianna’s 18th birthday. They’d gone to that zhichar restaurant by the train station, and he ordered two kinds of crab. Chilli and salted egg. Plates and plates of mantou. Gianna refused to touch any of it, growing increasingly sullen as Ming Jun crowed about his seafaring adventures, but Kaylee went at those steamed buns like they were McDonald fries. She tore and dipped them into the crab sauce, the buns soaking yellow and red. It’d gotten all over her face. She’d been six, and so adorable. His wife had mainly looked worried. But later, she swore that the dinner was delicious, such a treat. The best she’d ever had.
The sun was almost setting and he was not yet halfway through the island. This walk was taking longer than anticipated. He could see that measuring himself against Google Map’s standard walking pace had been an act of generosity. Ming Jun plodded through the Central Business District, very slowly. The golden sun rays bounced off the glassy skyscrapers and multiplied, trapping the last of the sunlight. He no longer had cause to come to the Central Business District regularly, but Ming Jun still felt a secondhand familiarity with the area: it was the facade printed on most of Singapore’s tourism collateral. After he phased out of this cluster of high-rise office buildings, he’d be able to see the Singapore river, and the boat quay which wound around the rest of the Civic district. Back in the day, when his wife was still working as a receptionist for the Regent Hotel, they’d walk the length of the river after her work, to the Padang field outside the courthouse, hoping to spot their favourite local teams at informal soccer practice. That was back when they were freshly married. At one end of the Padang field sat a short building of red brick, the Singapore Recreation Club. They’d never been inside, but one time, on Channel 8, they saw that it had an underground swimming pool, carved out of fake rock to make it look like you were splashing in a cave. They’d been captivated; how different from the aspirational condominium pools they were familiar with, how much better. I’ll get you in there someday, Ming Jun had told his wife. How much can a country club membership be?
Looking back, his life had been a long leash of naïveté. He’d convinced her to quit her job too, when they’d been pregnant with Gianna. We’ll save on childcare, he reasoned, and it’s better for a child to grow up under a mother’s guidance. Latchkey kids always end up joining gangs. I can support us both. And it might have worked, if one of the hotels his company constructed hadn’t collapsed the year after in a freak accident. Even though he’d only been a project manager and hadn’t had anything to do with the actual building of the place, he’d been furloughed. The following years were rough. For a short time, after Gianna started primary school, his wife tried to go back to work. But the work of a receptionist had changed. Or perhaps his wife had. She could no longer click back into the rhythms of customer service; her attempts at charm jarred and bumped up against the newer ways of being. People didn’t like warmth anymore, they wanted professionalism and elegance. Ming Jun didn’t know how to feel when she finally told him she was going to work at one of those neighborhood bakeries in Bedok. The extra cash was good, he had to admit, but had he known Ai-ling would end up sweating over a rolling pin and selling hot dog buns for a dollar, he might have put Gianna in childcare all those years ago instead.
Move it, someone said. It was a businessman, behind him, speaking loudly into the air. Ming Jun started, then saw the metal cord in his ear. Oh, he was on the phone, he wasn’t talking to him. But then the businessman made an impatient gesture, and repeated: move it. Ming Jun was walking too slowly, taking up too much space on the footpath. The businessman resumed chattering on about the Dow Jones as Ming Jun stepped hurriedly to the side. He swished past, and was gone. Ming Jun was suddenly aware of the double takes from the freshly released office workers spilling out into the streets all around him. He caught a glimpse of himself in a swinging office door and was surprised to find that he was still shirtless. None of the office buildings would let him in without a pass, so he ducked into an alleyway and hid behind a giant trash bin as he put his shirt back on. The shirt was mostly dry, and smelt bad, but it was better than nothing.
How much further did he have to go? The impossibility of his task loomed before him. He slapped at a fly buzzing around his ankle and noticed a mosquito bite forming. He must have been bitten somewhere between Tanah Merah and Katong, but only upon noticing it did it start to itch, terribly. He longed for hot water and mopiko. It would be fine if he went home. His family would be relieved, grateful even. But even as he considered it, he saw Kaylee in his mind’s eye. Kaylee, who was young enough to hope against reason that her father had completed the thing he said he’d do. He continued.
It was never truly dark in Singapore. Street lamps stood two meters apart, serving as both light and yardstick. Just to the next one, Ming Jun told himself, and then I’ll take a rest. And the next, and the next. The shifting goalposts were an effective strategy for tricking himself into putting one foot in front of the other. At the edges of his mind lurked a sense of the remaining ground he had to cover, but he wouldn’t allow his thoughts to go there. Why did he have to go into his daughter’s room in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t he have just waited for her to leave the house before going through her things? No, he pulled himself back, that’s not right either. The feeling of awful surprise when Gianna’s eyes met his that night echoed in him. Just to the next one, he thought. He’d made mistakes, he’d made promises. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. They wouldn’t stop him, not now. He wouldn’t let them. He would do them proud.
Sir?
The word was polite, but the tone was not. Ming Jun was surprised to find himself standing before another two police officers, these ones older than the ones at Aljunied. Where had they materialised from? Behind them, he saw another, younger officer, lingering by a police car. The car door was open: they’d driven here, stopped by the road where he was standing, and emerged. The sequence so intentional that they had to have been looking for him. The man directly in front of him said, again, Sir?
Yes? His voice was not his own, his lips cracking painfully as they parted for that sole syllable.
Please come with us.
Ming Jun shook his head vigorously. He couldn’t get in a car. That would be breaking the rules, and he’d already come so far.
The younger officer took a step forward. Immediately, the first officer shifted, putting a hand up. The younger officer stilled.
Sir? The first officer said again, more firmly this time. Ming Jun got the impression that he was being managed, but that the voice was corralling the younger officer as well. We’ve received multiple reports of a suspicious figure lurking around this residential district.
Oh. With some effort, Ming Jun forced himself to speak. I’m okay. I didn’t see anything.
The officers regarded him; three pairs of round, searching eyes.
The second officer, who’d been quiet till now, spoke up. We’re going to need to see some ID.
Now that he was no longer actively moving, dizziness leaked into his eardrums. Ming Jun swayed dangerously on the spot, and the younger officer flinched, revealing how much of a novice he was.
ID, please.
It was a perfectly reasonable request. Ming Jun grappled with his pocket, fingers finally closing around his Sony Ericsson. The phone screen lit up from the touch, revealing a low battery warning and 57 missed calls. Ming Jun flipped the phone over, but before he could pry the tape off, the second officer reached forward and plucked the phone out of his hands, squinting at the ID card on the back.
A long way from home. Mind telling us what you’re doing here?
The first officer interrupted. Can you tell us your name and where you live?
Behind them, the younger officer’s eyes didn’t leave his face.
There was too much going on. Ming Jun took a step backwards and swayed again, blinking furiously. He wanted to tell them that he’d already gone over this with their colleagues, that it was his right to walk around neighbourhoods in the middle of the night if that was when he deigned to exercise. It was a free country. But the words mixed around in his head and all that came out was a surprised puff of air.
Alright, said the second officer, who Ming Jun decided had a streak of meanness in him, let’s go. He stepped forward and took hold of Ming Jun’s arm, his grip rough. He started to guide Ming Jun to the car, tossing the Sony Ericsson to the younger officer with his other hand. Address, he said, talking to the younger officer, who nodded and got into the driver’s seat.
Ming Jun didn’t want to get in. No, he said, trying to wrench his arm out of the officer’s grip. No. He forced his legs to stop taking steps, and the officer nearly tumbled over from the sudden shift in weight.
Come on, old man.
No car.
The officer came up close to Ming Jun and wedged both hands under his armpits, trying to drag him over. Ming Jun made his body go limp, deadweight collapsing against the officer.
Jesus, the officer said. Then, to the first officer, what are you doing, just standing there?
The first officer hesitated, but moved to join them. He put his hands on Ming Jun’s waist, then, changing his mind, grabbed at his feet. Ming Jun started panicking.
No car, no.
We’ve got a crazy, the second officer said loudly, his voice a beacon. The younger officer leapt out of the car and ran towards them. Ming Jun’s phone tumbled from his lap, and bounced twice on the road, where it lay, face up, the screen cracked.
Oh my god, the younger officer said, his face near Ming Jun’s for the first time. He stinks.
Ming Jun flailed, suddenly, his hand suddenly coming free and smacking the second officer in the face. What the fuck, the officer said, and out of nowhere Ming Jun was on the floor, cheek pressed to the gravel. The phone was right in front of him, barely a meter from his nose.
David, the first officer said, be careful, he’s old.
I’m not going to break any bones. But the second officer was sitting on Ming Jun’s back, keeping him pressed to the floor. Ming Jun could feel the second officer’s weight, supported primarily by the low squat of his thighs, but with just enough pressure exerted on his back to keep him in place. They were in Clementi. It wasn’t bad progress at all, Ming Jun was nearly three quarters of the way through. He was so close.
Help, he said, but the officer didn’t, or wouldn’t, hear.
Do we take him into custody, or send him home? The younger officer was excited, his voice charged. Singapore’s crime rate being so low, this might have been his first ever actual altercation.
Help, he repeated. The weight on his back increased, ever so slightly.
Call it in, the officer above him said. See if there are any known records for this guy. Did you get his ID?
On the floor, the phone began to ring again. It was on silent mode, so the Sony Ericsson’s screen just flashed, trembling on the ground.
I’ll get it, the younger officer said. It wasn’t clear if he was referring to the ID, or the phone call.
Please.
This time the officer heard him. What?
Please, Ming Jun said. He struggled, his body twisting uselessly. No.
Fingers appeared before him, reaching for the phone.
Don’t.
The officer’s weight shifted, he was looking down at Ming Jun. From somewhere above his head, the younger officer’s voice floated. It’s his daughter.
He was in Clementi, he was so close. Only 22.6 km more to Tuas, if he took Boon Lay Way. He didn’t even really have to make it to the very end of the island. As long as he got to Jurong East, that’d count; that was essentially the last interesting thing on this end of Singapore. After that it was all construction and sand. If he made it to Jurong East, he’d call it a win. Please, he said again, twitching against the officer’s butt. Please. I only have a little bit more to go.
Hey, is the old man hyperventilating? Get up, get up. The phone was still ringing: Ming Jun could feel the air vibrating with the force of the call. David, get the fuck up. You’re going to be in deep shit if he has a heart attack.
I bet he’s a runaway, the younger officer was saying. Let’s find out.
The first officer: Christ, don’t be an asshole. Can’t you see he’s crying? He’s not right in the mind.
Please, please.
◆
Ming Jun dozed off several times in the car, sandwiched between the first and second officer in the backseat, sneezing every couple of minutes as the air conditioning blew straight at him. They’d given him a tissue to mop his face up, but the tear and mucus stains had dried on his cheeks and under his nose regardless, cracking painfully with each twitch of his face. His wife and daughters would be waiting downstairs when the police car pulled in, red-eyed with worry. They hadn’t eaten all day. Gianna in particular had spent most of the evening harassing different police branches in an attempt to file a missing person report, even though upon describing her father’s last known physical appearance, each officer on the phone had said, patiently, that it seemed as if he’d planned to go on a long walk, what with the full exercise outfit, was she sure he wasn’t just choosing to digitally detox? His wife had said, over and over again, you can’t stop that man, he does what he likes, he doesn’t see that it affects us all too. There’s no point, he’ll come back when he wants to. But she’d continued calling Ming Jun regardless, dialling every few minutes, burning down the battery on his phone.
Only Kaylee, standing between her older sister and mother, waited patiently for her father to return. She wasn’t worried. Even though it was way past her bedtime, she didn’t feel sleepy in the least. Her eyes were bright, seeing what her mother and sister couldn’t see. As the police car turned into the estate, Ming Jun barely conscious within, Kaylee straightened. She tried to make herself taller, watching the car twist through the different blocks, threading its way to the three waiting women. The red and blue lights flashing in triumph as her father returned home in glory.