Credits to Debby, who contributed to this piece.

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The train has arrived. Safety messages reverberate across the platform.

The station doors slide open, and they devour the crowd. I wait as they herd into the confines with their assorted range of dark luggage and colourful backpacks. I enter; I tug my bags along. The cold train air clings to my nostrils and skin; it fills my lungs. It feels good in the train.

The train jolts. People cling tightly to the bars for an instant, then release it altogether.

There aren’t any seats around. The crowd surrounds me, but they’re hardly jittery – they grip the handles of their bags loosely. Funny how overseas trips carve neurotic masters into relaxed employers. Babies cry loosely, parents hush them carelessly. People are dogs, spent and drained. A couple kisses in the corner. They’re safe after the flight.

I didn’t have a flight – I didn’t board mine. I left early for the airport that morning at four; now it’s six in the evening and I’ve decided I won’t get on that flight. I made a choice of my own, for the first time in ten years.

That stupid employer. The family which calls me an idiot and pulls my hair and burns me with their Tefal irons. Stupid employers. The family which called me brainless and poured hot water down my hands when I told them the dog was too dirty and droped the mop on my toes and pinched my breasts. The family which made me climb the backyard mangosteen tree and pluck three wasp nests and wrest my hands off the letter from my dad telling me that my mum was gone and slapped me.

The agency found me guilty for not obeying my masters, their clients. They chucked me a ticket and threw me on a truck which went straight to the airport the next morning. “Go home and take care of your mum,” she sneered. The fat woman behind the counter looked at me through those round glasses. She wore a pearly necklace; her fat burst out at the maroon business jacket. “We’ve only got complaints about you.” Biodata File 1427 was passed through a shredder before me. I watched as the matte passport photo went through the machine. My face tore into seven. I bled.

The next morning they put me on a truck and I sat behind in the open, facing the rear. My hair flew past my face as we went on the expressway. Bougainvilleas lined the expressway – red, orange, yellow, purple. Colourful bastards. They blurred into vision.

I clutch my possessions and grip the pole. I check my shorts. Wallet? Still here. My phone was confiscated, so I won’t bother checking.

Now all I have to do is wait.

“Eunos.”