Either late March or early April it was when we decided we'd do a little detour from where we were and make our way to Changi Airport.
For the fun of it, and for the fact that I was a little curious as to how the situation there was.
By that time the business travellers were gone, the tourists were gone, and even the transit passengers were no longer coming in. All- if not most- of who the airport now catered for were the returning citizens and the permanent residents.
I knew it would be a quiet Changi Airport.
I wanted to know just how quiet it was.
So we hopped on the bus which took us somewhere around the central area of Tampines before going onto the expressway.
I don't know the exact route the bus took, but it made a turn and I suddenly found myself on the section of road that ran alongside the runways of Terminal 1 (or 2) and I knew I was nearing the airport.
The skies above me were clear. There were no sights of aircraft taking off or landing. There was no distinct thrumming of an aircraft engine. And parked neatly on the runways were rows of Scoot planes, their bright yellow tails shining in the glare of an early afternoon sun.
It was a pensive sight that hinted of a faint melancholy.
But it wasn't a depressive one.
For the planes were still there.
And waiting they were.
Sure, sleeping, right now they seemed to be, but awake one day they would- for the passengers that, four hour check in or not, would climb aboard them again.