The Scarlet Letter

Dear Singapore

It has been hard to understand you, since we are in the dark often.

No, not about you, duh, now why would you think that?

It’s about seeing us.

Mostly, it’s about seeing me.

I went to another island lately.

Beautiful, restless and primitive.

You must have been like that once.

How does it feel to be tamed, pruned, and claimed?

Are you familiar with serenity, calmness and peace of mind?

Maybe a dash of pure joy and happiness on its own terms?

That island was comforting in the way you may never be. I didn’t think about you when I was away.



But in more private moments, I thought of another. Having traced a name on the sand, I stood in front of the sea. He was with me, sharing my tranquility, even as the name was washed away, as though it had never existed.

It beats meaningless drifting, and if not for being apart, I won’t know what we want anymore. Singapore, you don’t do long distance affairs very well, do you – I’m of you, and patience was never thy virtue.



I need the tranquility I can buy, that you can’t afford me.


I have seen people I love dearly, betrayed and bitter (and betrayed and bitter still), left. I know they won’t have, had you been more open in your affections. And now, somewhere in lands of China and New Zealand, are the people you turned away, and I don’t know when I can see them again.


But Singapore, dear Singapore, for better and worse, you have given me a wonderful academic education and friends.

Friends that I trust implicitly and love fiercely. And there's another, who is only too Singaporean.

For now, that can be all that matters. It’s your 40th birthday, and I shall be magnanimous. Sit back and chill. Let’s.