In that sense I formed an island, separated from the mainland of the world (God was, well everywhere, pretty much like The Matrix) and no matter how hard I tried to fit in, my true self always outed me, the true self influenced by the media, my environment and perhaps a small part of my genes.

It is this true self that reveals itself clearly in the life that I choose to live, carved out by the decisions I choose to make and how I choose to react to the circumstances life puts me in. I suppose the same could be said for everyone's true selves, except that everyone I know seems more or less alike.

They dress similarly, talk similarly, behave similarly, react similarly...and probably think similarly. which is why the label 'weird' will always remain invisibly pasted over my forehead, like an elephant in the room (except for a certain group of people that always seem to lack tact whenever they open their mouth, notably those of the female kind).

Over time, I grew to be comfortable with this label, though I'm still uneasy with the word 'crazy' and derivations of it ('mental' is one of them). Unfortunately, one thing that still hasn't changed throughout these defining teenage years is my yearning for people's approval. I care less nowadays, and about less people too, but I still care...and perhaps I always will, unless I develop a thick skin overnight. Faugh.

Which is probably why I'm so upset now, it being a busy Thursday night out on the streets and me not having a group itinerary to join nor an inkling on how to spend the evening, as usual. "You think too much..." is what half my friends used to tell me, leaving me to finish off the sentence in my head, "...about yourself." But I can't not care about how I'm spending my life, not when there's so little of it left to spend as a human being, compared to an entire eternity as a supernatural entity.

I'm talking about a soul and, heavenly as heaven sounds, it sure is like nothing on earth, which makes earthly life somewhat of a novelty, something to be completed wisely, satisfactorily and actively, although my definition of these notions is likely to be highly unlike God's. But that's another debate for another time.

The crowds that walk past me on the sidewalk are happy, excited and probably relieved that work or school's over for the week. Some of them, like me, are looking across the railing at the brilliantly-lit cities and integrated resort that make up the Marina Bay seascape, while others are looking at their handphones, either Facebooking or texting (words and actions characteristic of this technologically savvy age we live in).

Most of them are with company. There are said texters or Facebookers who are probably killing time while they expect company to arrive soon, the usual couples displaying too much PDA in public, the out-of-place tourists with their bowler hats and camera straps hung round their necks, the businesspeople in their office wear probably out for a night of drinks to kick off their night of thanking God it's Friday and a few stray loners, staring out to sea (or bay, in this case) like me.

Every now and then, some rollerskaters and runners glide and pant their way through the crowd, either heading to the currently unused Formula 1 track up ahead or to the Esplanade Park on the opposite side, beyond the crossing under the bridge.

There is also another set of people looking at the commotion a few metres ahead of us: yet another new act showcasing its talent at the Esplanade courtyard. This evening's band look like a poor imitation of The Beatles if they were Asian and had gone karaoke, despite keeping their bespoke suits and bowl haircuts. And yet, a sizeable crowd is actually forming around them, a crowd whose audience nods their heads to the band's beats or videos the band's every move.

One man's meat is another man's poison, I guess.

The regular bumboatful of tourists make their way around the Bay, snapping flash-assistpictures of us as we snap pictures of them, although most of us standing here take mental snapshots. Behind them, the Central Business District lights up and a projection of a swirling circle of lights can be seen against one of the buildings. The Esplanade bridge itself is lit in a set of warm hues that change from red to green, to blue, to purple every few minutes.

For an uncounted amount of time, I allow my eyes to defocus and let the lights, the gentle breeze, the faint sound of lapping water and the moderately noisy chatter around me take up the space in my mind reserved for thinking consciously. It's almost like sleeping except the fact that this is a conscious effort and one that I can snap out of easily.

To the left, the unmistakable shape of three tall towers connected by what looks like a giant ship at the rooftop stand out against the cobalt sky: the Marina Bay Sands resort. Next to it is what looks like a glass spaceship with monorail tracks coming out of it, and next to the tracks is the Double Helix (Pedestrian) Bridge, so named because of its twisted shape.

Just beside the spaceship (sounds much more fun to call it that than a train station) is a concrete platform, with people looking towards us too: scattered masses of us watching each other, separated by the mouth of the Singapore River. It's a little too disturbingly Big Brother-ish for me, so I remove my elbows from the railing and walk away, past the Beatles wannabes and into the cool air-conditioning of the Esplanade Mall.

My instincts kick into gear (after a slight pause) as my feet take me up two flights of escalators, past a few footsteps' worth of glazed tiles and straight towards glass doors and Sensormatic security scanners that detect unauthorised removal of secondhand tomes and computer discs.

I walk into the coolest public library in this country.