Farewell My Singapore (2026)

And I will.

And yet, I do not belong. That is the quiet ache of the expatriate, the migrant, the sojourner. I have lived here long enough to know the shortcuts, the best nasi lemak , the unspoken rules of queuing with a tissue packet. But I will never know what it means to sing the national anthem in a school hall with a hand over my heart. I will never know the fear of Merdeka or the pride of National Day from the inside. I am a guest. A grateful, heartbroken guest. farewell my singapore

But my Singapore is not just the skyline of Marina Bay or the perpetual construction cranes that promise tomorrow’s future. My Singapore is the kopi-o uncle who remembers my order after three years. Siew dai (less sweet). He never asks my name. He just nods when he sees my face. My Singapore is the elderly Indian auntie feeding pigeons in the void deck of a Toa Payoh flat, even though it is technically illegal. My Singapore is the smell of durian mingling with jasmine at the wet market, the sound of Chinese opera drifting from a community center, the taste of laksa that burns my tongue in the best possible way. And I will

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. I have lived here long enough to know