A Traveler's Tale of Loss and Self-Discovery

The Rollercoaster Journey

A Personal Memoir as a Novel

Chapter 1: The MacBook Puzzle

It all started with Atral, my friend in Singapore. One evening, I noticed he was in Singapore and called him to ask about buying a MacBook Pro. He mentioned it casually. “MacBook Pros are cheaper here than in India. Why don’t you let me buy one for you?”

The thought stuck. It wasn’t just about the laptop—it felt like a smart move, a way to cut costs while still getting something I had long wanted.

But the simple idea quickly became complicated. My mother and sister spent days running between four or five banks. Each time, the answer was the same: international money transfers can only go to close relatives.

Frustration built, until my father remembered a distant connection—his friend’s cousin in Singapore. That lifeline worked, though the process was far from smooth. Finally, the money crossed the border.

In Singapore, Atral made the purchase. The MacBook was mine, though none of us knew this was just the opening chapter of a much larger story.

Chapter 2: The Call from Richard

Soon after, the phone rang. It was Richard, my friend here in India. His voice carried its usual playful energy:

“Are you free on December 12th?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously, “but I have some project work.”

He laughed. “Well… keep yourself ready. We might be going to Singapore.”

I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. But the thought refused to leave me.

Chapter 3: Between Project and Possibility

On December 3rd, after my project jury, I felt my work wasn’t up to the mark. Torn between guilt and responsibility, I canceled my flight ticket home. The decision cost me ₹3000—a sum that weighed on me heavily as a student.

I told Richard, apologising profusely. But the next day, he confirmed it anyway:

“Singapore. 12th. It’s on. Just send your bonafide certificate for visa.”

Suddenly, it was all real.

I hesitated because of finances. But then, like fate offering a hand, a wedding photography assignment landed on my calendar for December 8th. It gave me both money and confidence.

I secured the bonafide, couriered it for ₹350. But it reached late—after Richard had already submitted the visa application. Another small stumble along the way.

Chapter 4: The Train to Chennai

After the wedding shoot, I paid the person I had hired and waited for the client’s balance payment. With little in hand, I decided on a train journey to Chennai—it was cheaper than a bus.

With ₹2,000 rupees a single note in hand, I got into a taxi. But the driver wanted change. He pulled over, telling me to get it from a petrol bunk. Three bunks refused. His tank was already full. His phone was postpaid. I stood there, awkward, stranded between expectation and reality. Finally, I remembered the ICICI coupon code in my Uber app ₹200 rupees credit. When the meter touched 200, I ended the ride, adding ₹20 more in coins to cover the shortfall from the backpack. A small victory, but it mattered.

At immigration, the officer asked: “Tourist or business visa?” Confusion froze me. My bonafide had not been used, so I mumbled: “Tourist.” After a long stare, she stamped my passport. The first gate opened. The wedding shoot gave me some cash. I paid the person I hired, and the client promised to settle the balance on the 11th. That same day, I packed, prepared, and thought about money again—it was always a shadow walking beside me. To save costs, I chose a train to Chennai instead of a bus.

Chapter 5: The Floating City

When we landed in Singapore, we went straight to the Royal Caribbean cruise, five days on the sea. At the harbour, a yellow card mix-up delayed us, but eventually, I opened the smart-card-locked door to my cabin on the 9th deck. My luggage was waiting. After a shower, I roamed with my camera, capturing faces, moments, little stories.

Days blurred into a rhythm of breakfast at nine, empty hours till noon, pizza slices, puddings, pools, and wandering. I saw bikini-clad girls for the first time and awkwardly turned away, pretending disinterest, channeling curiosity elsewhere.

Kuala Lumpur dazzled me with the Petronas Towers, their elevators lined with LED screens showing the city outside. The casino on board was another world—I started with hesitation, then won 10,000 rupees. Triumph sat lightly on my shoulders.

Phuket was chaos, massage parlors every ten meters, beaches alive with a different kind of openness. I observed, half curious, half hesitant, but always learning. By night, I was back at the casino, riding luck until another 10,000 rupee profit fell into my pocket.

But luck has a way of turning its face. A five-dollar chip in my pocket drew me back to the tables. One bad decision led to another, and by the end, I had lost not just the profits but also 40,000 rupees of my own hard-earned money. That night, I couldn’t smile. My heart ached in a way I’d never known. I thought of my father, how he endured losses bigger than mine with a calm face. My own heart felt weak, fragile. To cope, I asked others for their stories. Listening, I grew a little stronger. I realised the truth: in tough times, the brain falters; in calm times, we overestimate our strength. By the end, I wasn’t the cheerful traveler anymore. I was a man staring into the gap between expectation and reality, learning painfully how fragile momentum can be.

Chapter 6: Singapore Streets

The cruise ended. Singapore welcomed us back, but inside I still carried the sting of losing.

My sister called. “Don’t sit moody in your room,” she insisted. “Go out. Live it. Save money later.”

Reluctantly, I obeyed. I picked up a map, wandered alone through the streets, explored malls, bought little except cartons of Milo—a tiny delight for my frugal heart.

Slowly, I felt myself bounce back. Not fully, but enough.

Chapter 7: The Airport Ordeal

When departure day came, I faltered again. At immigration, they asked for the slip I’d been given at entry. I had left it in the room, thinking it didn’t matter.

They pulled me aside. Everyone stared as I was led away. My friends—gone ahead, not looking back.

I calmly answered every question, showed my ID, and finally got cleared. But time had almost run out. Fifteen minutes left.

I sprinted, took wrong turns, entered the Apple Store where Richard had bought the Watch but found no trace, doubled back, ran again.

At security, they opened my bag. Two Milo packs tumbled out—the ones Richard had stuffed inside to reduce his luggage. They weren’t allowed. I threw them in the bin, stormed off, barely making it before my name hit the announcement list.

Anger pushed me to shout at Richard, but once inside the aircraft cabin, the fury dissolved. Calmness returned, just like it had when the journey first began.

Chapter 8: Reflections in the Sky

By the time I flew back, the MacBook Pro was no longer the highlight. The cruise was no longer the highlight. The story had become about me, about reshaping how much strength the heart carries.

I realised something: my mind often thinks my heart is strong enough to hold anxiety, uncertainty, and fear, but each new challenge reveals another weakness. Perhaps life is nothing but this, the slow strengthening of that muscle, the building of steel veins through every stumble, gamble, and near-miss.

As the flight hummed towards home, I thought: One day, I want to travel not just to Singapore, or across seas, but to all corners of this world… and maybe, if destiny allows, far beyond—to Mars.

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