The Moment
I had sworn to myself that I would never join mass public events ever again, after attempting to join the celebrations on new year’s eve a few years ago. This place is already crowded on regular occasions, let alone one where everyone is gathered in the central business district.
Today I broke that promise.
I arrived early enough to find a spot right up against the barricade, next to a gentleman who had flown in just to witness this in person. The crowds gathered, overflowing onto the main road. The police and organisers did their best to usher, redirect, and appease disgruntled onlookers. Then the rainstorm came. And left. Some time passed. And it came again with a greater intensity than ever before. I gave up trying to stay dry; most of the time was instead spent trying to ensure the contents in my bag were in a better state than I was. A single file of students approached, and proceeded to form a continuous chain spanning the entire length of the road. Military personnel did the same on the other side.
There was a sound of thunder.
Birds took off, the crowd gasped in shock. We checked our watches. The ceremony had begun. Sometime during the fifth or sixth firing of the ceremonial artillery, a wave of excitement coursed through the distant crowd. Many switched out their umbrellas for tiny flags being distributed this morning, and craned their necks in a futile attempt to get a better view. I did the same, jamming my half-wrecked umbrella against the barricade as a pathetic cover for my waterlogged bag, just as the lead motorcycle went round the bend. I am not entirely sure what happened next. There was shouting from the crowds as the little flags were waved frantically. Another vehicle went past. My right hand had automatically been thrown up into a salute, taking up the same posture as the soldiers who were meters away from where I was. There was probably another round fired, but it did not register in my head. Suddenly, the vehicle everyone was waiting for emerged.
For about three seconds, I saw the colours of the state flag flash past the umbrellas, the raised hands, and the berets. I don’t know what I was thinking of at that time, or perhaps I didn't know what I should have been thinking of at that time.
And then it was over.
The rest of the convoy continued to go past. The crowd watched on apprehensively. No one on the street moved. I don’t remember feeling the rain. One of the last vehicles, an ambulance, went round the corner and disappeared. There was an uncanny silence. I remember hearing some muffled sniffs and noticed some bringing their hands up to their faces. I only dropped my right arm after the military personnel did the same, but they still remained at their positions. Then some people started to leave. The gentleman next to me excused himself, explaining that he had to catch a flight in less than two hours. The traffic wardens reappeared, and after some discussion, manoeuvred themselves to relocate barricades and to usher the crowd out.
It was only then I felt the discomfort of my soaking wet clothes and the wind. It felt like the time eight years ago when we were hid underneath some trees, paralysed by the cold after pulling up our kayaks to wait out the storm, yet one other schoolmate remained out in the rain single-handedly emptying everyone’s kayaks of rainwater. I had sworn to myself that I would never complain about the cold again.
So I continued walking on to get my lunch.
Today I broke that promise.
I arrived early enough to find a spot right up against the barricade, next to a gentleman who had flown in just to witness this in person. The crowds gathered, overflowing onto the main road. The police and organisers did their best to usher, redirect, and appease disgruntled onlookers. Then the rainstorm came. And left. Some time passed. And it came again with a greater intensity than ever before. I gave up trying to stay dry; most of the time was instead spent trying to ensure the contents in my bag were in a better state than I was. A single file of students approached, and proceeded to form a continuous chain spanning the entire length of the road. Military personnel did the same on the other side.
There was a sound of thunder.
Birds took off, the crowd gasped in shock. We checked our watches. The ceremony had begun. Sometime during the fifth or sixth firing of the ceremonial artillery, a wave of excitement coursed through the distant crowd. Many switched out their umbrellas for tiny flags being distributed this morning, and craned their necks in a futile attempt to get a better view. I did the same, jamming my half-wrecked umbrella against the barricade as a pathetic cover for my waterlogged bag, just as the lead motorcycle went round the bend. I am not entirely sure what happened next. There was shouting from the crowds as the little flags were waved frantically. Another vehicle went past. My right hand had automatically been thrown up into a salute, taking up the same posture as the soldiers who were meters away from where I was. There was probably another round fired, but it did not register in my head. Suddenly, the vehicle everyone was waiting for emerged.
For about three seconds, I saw the colours of the state flag flash past the umbrellas, the raised hands, and the berets. I don’t know what I was thinking of at that time, or perhaps I didn't know what I should have been thinking of at that time.
And then it was over.
The rest of the convoy continued to go past. The crowd watched on apprehensively. No one on the street moved. I don’t remember feeling the rain. One of the last vehicles, an ambulance, went round the corner and disappeared. There was an uncanny silence. I remember hearing some muffled sniffs and noticed some bringing their hands up to their faces. I only dropped my right arm after the military personnel did the same, but they still remained at their positions. Then some people started to leave. The gentleman next to me excused himself, explaining that he had to catch a flight in less than two hours. The traffic wardens reappeared, and after some discussion, manoeuvred themselves to relocate barricades and to usher the crowd out.
It was only then I felt the discomfort of my soaking wet clothes and the wind. It felt like the time eight years ago when we were hid underneath some trees, paralysed by the cold after pulling up our kayaks to wait out the storm, yet one other schoolmate remained out in the rain single-handedly emptying everyone’s kayaks of rainwater. I had sworn to myself that I would never complain about the cold again.
So I continued walking on to get my lunch.