June 3rd 1989 I leave Singapore.
Eighteen years old.
The flight West to my life.

The island behind me
is looking East to Tiananmen
with the flavour of hope

still sizzling, for now.
The world is on the edge
of something new.

I arrive in London
to the breaking news
of tanks invading the Square

and youths attending
an acid house party
causing morning motorway chaos.

I know nothing of acid or parties
or of this half-life generation
believing they are making history

who will dominate the politics
of my University years
when the story should have been Tiananmen.