This was a post I had typed up on the plane back to Singapore two months ago:
One more trip back to Singapore to escape the summer heat in
Brisbane, and I find myself getting more and more lost in my motherland. A
couple of trips back I actually got lost in Singapore and had an episode where
I went to the wrong MRT station (Farrer Rd instead of Farrer Park). That was
when I first thought, oh dear, I’m really becoming a foreigner in my own
country. This time, I’m finding myself more often than not, taking a long time
to manage the Singapore coins when it comes to paying ever since we’ve had the
change in coins some time ?last year. I am no longer able to pay without
looking, and look like an absolute tourist.
When does your home no longer become your home? Or, when does some
place become your home? I’ve asked this questions numerous times ever since I
left for UQ in 2009. Very quickly, a couple of years have now become almost 6
years, and I’m sure, might pretty soon get close to a decade. What did I figure
out in the 6 years?
I figured that at some stage, home is where your partner is.
But then I figured that home is still where your family is.
I also figured that home is where you are feeling most independent,
and to me this means where my car sits.
Home appears to be where my 3G line is.
Home might be where your friends are, but what if your friends are
ones that will leave and return to Singapore for good? Then perhaps you are
left with none.
This will probably be one of those meaningless, aimless, terribly written posts that have no clear subject matter, direction or conclusion. That’s probably a pretty accurate reflection of my sentiments and brain right now.
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