I woke at my usual pre-dawn hour on my last day in Singapore. The haze was at an all time high and redirected my idea of a morning walk into a leisurely breakfast.

I couldn’t help by be excited by the idea of finally getting to Bali, but I was sad that my boyfriend would be continuing home to SFO, then Pennsylvania, then Europe and it will be a month before I see him again.  We both love to travel, and I am actually quite fond of traveling alone, but he is a joy to travel with and Bali just seems a place for lovers.

My momentary longing aside we made our way to the airport amongst a sea of masks busy with their daily goings on. Mainstream movies being one of my many guilty pleasures, I looked around feeling like I might be on set to one of those big Hollywood blockbusters about the next plague or the next zombie coming.

These men, women, and children trying to make their way through the now dangerously high pollutant air, I’m sure would not be amused by my careless thoughts, and I had a moment of shame for my lightheartedness. I am very lucky and have no respiratory or other medical conditions, but the emergency room nurse in me easily imagines the suffering that has been wrought via this smoky fog. It takes very little to take a person from living their simple day on autopilot to a horrified gasping that brings little relief, desperately aware of every breath and terrified there will not be a next.  These fires and this haze of dense campfire memories are no joke to the millions who live here…and I am made small once again by my own thoughts.

I quiet my mind, silently wish health and wellbeing to these warm kindhearted people, and make my way to Changi airport.