h1

reach for the stars

August 9, 2005

I don’t know if I can love Singapore any longer. History and an instinctive distrust of politics has taught me to never place my faith in the nation; this view has been repeatedly reinforced by undergoing two years of national service. It breaks my heart, really – that this is, for good or ill, home, at least by circumstance. Yet I do not feel at home here, not any longer. Any other place I choose to call home will never truly be home either – it is a lose-lose situation. Now I begin to feel the raw edge of the sense of unbelonging that Tsetsayeva felt when she had to embrace an exile deeper than any other. From family, friends, the familiar comfort of food – there are days when I want so much to run away, run far away and never come back, yet I know that wherever I run my steps must lead me back here, here to Singapore, where the ashes of my forefathers lie and the ashen tongues of my parents reside, and will continually reside. Two lives, two loves, two ways out – a duality so hopeless it only reminds me of the pretence that is my family.

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