A Singaporean In Australia

I received a message from Yun² during my first days in Singapore. It said, "Welcome home."

Yes, it's good to be back.

I arrived a day before my birthday, which coincided with the eve of Chinese New Year. So I had a night to rest and then I would help my mother out to prepare for the reunion dinner the next day. Perhaps it was the guilt of not being by my parents' side for two years running, so it felt liberating to be finally around to help my mother with her chores during this busy period. Though she was still active and reasonably fit, age took a toil nonetheless. Her memory wasn't as fine and my dad not physically being able to help in a single task anymore (not that he used to help a lot) was a moral blow. On top of that, she had my little niece to keep an eye on. Watching her relying almost entirely on me for the CNY Day 2 feast further deepened that guilt. We could be away longer, but eventually mum would need me.

Before long, as expected, the little details of life in Singapore began to annoy me. I didn't come back with rose tinted glasses like some of the Singaporeans I knew. Little minor details such as neighbours squabbles and their complains about noisy gratings or drain covers irked me. Only then I realised how much Perth had changed me and why I failed to understand why would anyone reject this kind of lifestyle in Perth. If common Singaporeans could be so pissed off with a neighbour skipping a rope above them to shame them on the internet, wouldn't the inconveniences, inefficiencies or nitty gritty issues in Perth drive them to their graves? It further affirmed my beliefs that migration was not for everyone. The more I observed about Singaporeans in general, the more I believed only a minority of us would be truly happy living elsewhere. The rest of us would be unhappy, or unhappier after we moved. Having been there, done that, a move like that seemed more than a mere physical move to 'greener pastures'. What was more intriguing was an underlying self-discovery journey within. That made me a tad more reluctant give advice to people who wrote to me. I started with the intention to help as many as I could, because I once felt as hopeless and helpless as any of them, I could feel them and saw myself in their shoes.

Then I realised, I couldn't have been because they weren't me. People came from all walks of life, with very different background, circumstances and motivation. My opinion was neither important or relevant to even my own friends, for they seldom heed any, much less simply anyone out there. One of my principles of living life was to keep things simple and I should practice it by refraining from making the lives of the others more complicated than it should be.

There would be some who needed it badly and some who didn't. For those who had only an hour to slash a tree for firewood for the impending freezing night would hack it with whatever they had on hand, with all they could instead of asking the neighbour where and how he should begin. If you need to ask before you act, you are not cold enough. There is no harm to ask how to do it better while you are at it, though. That acts as a supplement, a complement not a substitute.

As time went on in Singapore, the busy schedule eventually wore me out. Getting around with a toddler on public transport or taxis weren't exactly pleasant to begin with. At two occasions I was shoved abruptly by grown men while I was standing in the trains, bear hugging Albany as close to me as possible. I begun to think I was wrong to declare that having an own car in Singapore was over-rated because the Singapore community simply did not have the empathy, patience or mercy for one another. There were simply too many things bigger than life itself in our minds. In such an environment where human beings were at such a detestable level, personal space became even more precious than ever and a car offered just that. So the humble pie was smashed flat on my face.

When Jen was packing and little Albany was meddling about, I overheard Jen explaining to Albany, "Pack, pack. Go home." It felt a little strange to hear that because somebody welcomed me home just several days ago. What frightened me was that I didn't know where I felt at home anymore. When my holidays were running down, I felt strong polar opposites mixed feelings about leaving. There wasn't a time in my time I had secretly felt happy to be 'back to routine' before. Yet it was such a grieve to say goodbye to the people, and dogs, that we hardly spend enough time with.

This is home truly, where I know I must be

Where my dreams wait for me, where the river always flows

This is home surely, as my senses tell me

This is where I won't be alone, for this is where I know it's home

which begs the questions of;

1) Where do you want to be?

2) Where do your dreams await you?

3) Where do your senses tell you to go?

4) Where do you feel alone?

To me, question 4 was a highlight among the rest. A common understanding of the word alone is isolation, being apart, being lonely. As a Liverpool supporter, "You'll Never Walk Alone" is not merely the club's motto but a mantra. The phrase doesn't just integrates the concepts of togetherness, teamwork and unity but also carries a metaphor that emphasize assurance that one will always be in the company of the others, be it through physical contact or more so, spiritually. As such, being physically away ironically brought me closer to the people who matters and away form those who don't. From there, I know who truly love me and who I should reciprocate to. That could be why I never once felt lonely being almost 4000 km away from .. Singapore.