Farewell — My Singapore

And me? I am leaving a piece of my soul in the red soil of this little red dot.

I did not hear the thunder when I first arrived. Singapore never announces itself with storms. It greets you with a warm, wet blanket of air—a tropical embrace that clings to your skin the moment the airport doors slide open. I remember thinking, This is what hope feels like. Sticky. Heavy. Full of possibility. farewell my singapore

And I will.

Farewell, my Singapore. Farewell to the shophouses of Joo Chiat, painted in pastel blues and yellows like a Wes Anderson film. Farewell to the Singlish I finally learned to speak— "Can, can," "Alamak," "Don't shy-shy" —words that will sound foreign on my tongue back home. Farewell to the perpetual summer, where Christmas comes with palm trees and air-conditioning. And me

Now, standing at the same departures gate, I am trying to learn how to say goodbye to a place that was never meant to be permanent, but became, somehow, home. Singapore never announces itself with storms