CAFAY SOCIÉTÉ: Escapism

On the luxury of breathable space in a city teeming full of people.

Hello from the other side.

It's been nearly a week since I put the pen down and concluded my final examinations. That means no more late night mugging, waking up to the mother of dark circles, and chowing the same bland meals every day for the next three months. I'm still attempting to grasp the fact that sophomore year has come to a close. It's a looming reminder of how there's a mere two years till graduation aka adulthood, and - gasp - real responsibilities.

In the past dozen weeks or so, I've found myself invariably surrounded by a barrage of people in the form of insufficient seats in seminar rooms, overcrowded study spaces, and networking sessions I'd begrudgingly attend. It was only natural to want to come up for air. Nevertheless, finding a breathable space in a metropolitan city that is filled to the rafters is nothing short of a challenge. Even at a micro level, the proclamation of personal space as a luxury is a gross understatement. Check: working adults and students, equally weary from their inhumane schedules, standing shoulder to shoulder in the daily rush hour commute, stumbling like dominoes as the train comes to an abrupt halt.

Fast-forward to our post-exam situation. Now, cue the mandatory sigh of relief as Jolyn and I stepped out onto the tarmac of the deserted rooftop. For a moment, the soupy tropical air that greeted us was the least of my worries. (The eternal height of the summer humidity is one of the things that, despite being born and bred in Singapore, is something I'll probably never get accustomed to.) Needless to say, that sentiment retreated after a good ten seconds. In hindsight, this rooftop was a befitting location for our shoot because of the intended portrayal of an ephemeral liberation from the bustle of the city. Aside from the nondescript office worker emerging for a smoke break, the entire area was ours to use. Tres bien. Just about the right place to catch a breather.

Jolyn, undeterred by the sun, worked her poses like a goddamn pro, while I on the other hand languidly teetered on the edge of a heat stroke. Either sides of the lens could not have portrayed a more antipodal image. Me, literally lying on my back while at risk of ruining my crisp white tee, and her, hair blowing in the wind like some type of goddess. I'm only glad I wasn't the one in front of the camera on this scorcher of a day.