Seven Miles
It would’ve been easier to have just taken the train. I could’ve been wrapped in sheets, safe, and listening to the rain. Instead, I was stranded in a forest, exposed and very cold. The rain was beginning to flood in, and though the next shelter was a hundred feet away, there was nowhere else to go. I made a kamikaze run for it.
Clad in a white blouse and poofy skirt (completely inappropriate adventuring attire), I flailed through the dirt. I was ready for the sudden thunder, drenched hair, and soaked shoes. However, I was unprepared for what followed. I found the shelter carpeted by moving red and brown. Suddenly, it hit me: flying termites– hundreds of flying termites. Then I slipped– right into their family meeting. Nature: 1; Dorothy: 0.
With my white uniform stained brown, I envisioned my mother’s berating and my friends’ taunting. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you choose to walk seven miles when there’s a fifteen-minute train?” Yet, there wasn’t an ounce of regret.
In ultra-pragmatic Singapore, my expeditions were often perceived as reckless. But to me, these were the moments that broke the monotony of life and satiated my curiosity about my surroundings.
However, I wasn’t always like this.
When I was younger, my efficiency and efficacy manifested through a relentless pursuit of academic excellence. However, this previous single-mindedness limited my willingness to be creative. I looked down on the arts for being “impractical”, preferring safer, more pragmatic subjects like Mathematics and Science. I fell into step with the rest of society, and became entrapped by the seven-day cycle. But deep down, I had the heart of a wanderer.
Every day the train to school would whisk past a blur of green. To most, it was an insignificant sight, gone in a blink of an eye. However, to me, wedged in the concrete jungle, it was a color contrast too stark to forget. It became my symbol of freedom amid the rigid system. Eventually, defying the warnings of friends and family, I went off the beaten track to explore the area.
Walking those seven miles became a Friday tradition. I would take new paths and make new discoveries: an ice-cream parlor with sorbet to die for; an onslaught of termites; a glimpse of lovers kissing under the tracks, veiled by unpruned flora. And it was the perfect make-out spot– under the rumble of passing trains– aware of but away from the hustle of the world, hidden from everything except the gaze of a wandering schoolgirl.
In retrospect, I also found my own romance through the spirit of seven miles.
Seven miles embolden me to pursue intellectual interests despite the termites of societal expectation. It has given me the courage to single-handedly subvert my Asian parents’ expectations, transferring to an art school despite their disapproval. Nonetheless, this was where I fell in love with design, painting, and the unconventional style of Outsider Art. It is the spirit with which I question the cost and benefits of technological advancement, and highlight the detriments of Singapore's urbanization in my art– despite the termites of censorship and uncertainty. It is the tenacity and innovativeness that keeps my art start-up going, doing unique jobs like designing album art and selling paintings of memes.
Seven miles have taught me the value of going the extra mile: that faster isn’t always better; that sometimes, it’s more interesting to walk under the tracks. It has shown me the art of trailblazing: venturing into paths untraveled, even when perceived by others as foolish.
Today, the ice-cream parlor no longer exists, and since embarking on new adventures in art school, I’ve never walked those paths again. Yet every day, within and beyond the classroom, I continue to walk seven miles. Because be it falling into termites or exploring intellectual delights, I embrace the process, and anticipate what’s to be found.
