1.20 P.M., presentation starts. 2, presentation ends. 2.35, lost while trying to locate the coach station at Taipei Main Station. 3, coach takes off. 4, checked-in with one and three-quarter hours to kill.

It is 4.45 and I try my best to idle away this block of time before which I am supposed to board at the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport. There is an endlessly growing sense of Singaporean superiority every time I am at the Taiwanese airport because there is absolutely nothing good to do here. The terminals are tiny and the choice of shopping is confined to repetitive local treats, souvenirs and the branded stuff that hardly anyone acquires at an airport.

An hour later I am on board, ready to slide into the comfort of my aisle seat. I never forget to request for an aisle seat, essentially because of my bathroom habits. I visit the lavatory a lot, but I do it even more on a plane where you accomplish little more than drink, dehydrate, and drink again.

There is already someone at the window seat, a thirty-year-old (a fact he lets loose on later in a conversation with his fellow Singaporean man) who asks for the Straits Times. Another man approaches and asks me, in Mandarin, “Is this 34?” I wonder why he chooses to think that I am possibly a non-Singaporean flying to Singapore: is it my lack of accent? I have not even spoken yet. Is it the way I dress? I would’ve thought my minis to give me away. Maybe it is nothing more than politeness, to save us both the embarrassment in case I truly could not understand.

He gets in between us and requests, too, for the Straits Times to another flight attendant. He is luckier, because his comes quicker than the man in the window seat. Mr Window Seat is not happy and he lets the flight attendant know. A conversation strikes between the two men when Mr In-Between offers to share his copy. Mr Window Seat is grateful and they begin to exchange memories of bad in-flight service.

“How often do you travel for work?” asks Mr In-Between. He is forty, ten years his new friend’s senior, and has traveled non-stop for the past six months. Mr Window Seat sees himself as “not that bad”, he only has to fly out twice a month. I am overwhelmed by the Singaporean-ness that is hitting me from my right, and it hits the hardest when Mr Window Seat admits that he could tell Mr In-Between’s nationality by his (freaking) (New Balance) shoes.

For the rest of the flight I try not to be without my earphones in case I hear another word of raging stereotype.

Four and a half hours later, I am in a taxi with 90s’ music on the radio. I audaciously plan to at least complete three assignments before I fly back to Taipei on Tuesday evening. Then, I will begin to think about the finals that will ensue in less than a week.