I walk on the right. My brain screams this every time I'm barreling down the gut at someone and I go right and they go left (my right). A small poof of smoldering smoke escapes from my head, as I stop suddenly and take a deep breath. I want to illustrate I'm annoyed. But it's not anyone's fault that in a country where cars drive on the left side and people are quite law abiding, it is the natural instinct to veer to the left. There's just a lot more mass to the crowds on the street. This may be due to the perspective of growing up on a country-esque island (which most could only ever picture in lemonade ads). For anyone who's ever gone on a walk with me from point A to point B, you know I don't walk; I launch. So I'm feeling a little claustrophobed every time I have to get on the MRT to get somewhere, and I just can't get around anyone! I'm like the A-Hole driver who revs it up and doesn't quite make the gap, only to come to an erratic halt. I smile apologetically at the people around me, and a father says to a little one, "Move aside, darling."
So I am learning that if I want to stand on the escalator, I should stand on the left. As I rise into the ever clear air of Singapore, I suddenly remember . . . and I hop to the left like I just escaped a dog chomp to the butt. Slowly, slowly, learning the lay of the new land.
