The morning ferry cut across the strait, low tide revealing mudflats like old scars. At the checkpoint, my hand went to my lanyard—and found nothing.
Some things you don’t appreciate until they’re gone. A pass. A pathway. A way back. Would you like a more technical version (e.g., for a workplace memo or lost-and-found notice) or a creative piece like this one? lost jurong island pass
The irony wasn’t lost on me. The pass wasn’t just for entering—it was for leaving, too. Without it, I was stuck in a no-man’s-land: too close to the island to turn back, too far from home to matter. The morning ferry cut across the strait, low