“May God rescue you from this mall with a death sentence
soon.”
I’ve been thinking about this line since yesterday, that someone dropped it in a
group chat. The funny thing is, it’s not untrue. But there’s still something
disturbing about it that has been occupying my mind.
There are two types of people here. One type absolutely
hates Singapore; they feel trapped and want to move toward the West. The other
kind absolutely loves it here: good salary, better quality of life, higher
standards in everything, a travel hub in the heart of Southeast Asia where you
can just hop on a flight and be at a spectacular beach within a few hours, the
most beautiful nature when it’s green and the most stunning buildings when it’s
not. The gap between the two kinds seems huge. I’m yet to figure out which type
I belong to.
But also — why on earth do we have to make everything black
and white? Like, why can’t it be something like, “It’s good here, except for
the weather,” for example? And I was like that for the first few
weeks. I kept telling people how I kinda liked it here, except for the weather,
food, and culture. But recently I’ve realised I’m just repeating myself,
speaking from habit without even thinking about whether I still feel that way.
Frankly, I’ve even bored myself with the same conversation over and over again.
Yes, the weather is hot and humid, get over yourself, Fatima.
I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, one of
which is whether I like it here or not. Like, I’m in such a rush to make a
decision. I don’t know why I’ve been hurrying myself. I keep doing self-checks
on whether I’m happy or not. I’m just so embarrassed that this is my litmus test
for deciding things. How shallow of me? What if I’m deeply unhappy? Does that
make this country a bad place? Not really, no. Also, what is happiness anyway?
This is a day-old topic now, we’ve talked about it enough.
But in short: you drink a nice cup of coffee, you have a nice conversation with
a good friend — boom, you’re happy. A
few hours later — boom, happiness is gone. Because it’s momentary. It doesn’t
last. What lasts is being content and at peace with your surroundings in the
bigger picture. But for some shallow reason, I keep questioning where I am on
this happiness scale. I don’t know what trophy I’m going to get if I figure it
out, but frankly, it matters to me.
Yesterday I was deeply unhappy because the unripe avocados
I’d been saving for a weekend breakfast ripened too quickly and turned all
black and mouldy. I had to throw away four once-great avocados that I’d been so
proud of ever since I got them on sale at a faraway neighbourhood market. And
now they’re gone — so is my avocado-egg-toast breakfast dream. But so, what? I
went for a little walk and got myself eggs, turkey bacon, English muffins,
pancakes, and coffee. Because I was hungry and didn’t want to choose. And frankly,
things are cheap enough here that you can order yourself two breakfasts without
breaking the bank.
But it’s not always like that in life. Most of the time,
you’ve got to choose one thing and stick with it, irrespective of how humid it
is. That’s just how it is. There are so many perks I keep forgetting. Like, I’m
doing my dream job. But I guess I can’t help comparing everything to my old
home, which, honestly, has become like a curse now. Because I remember so many
times thinking, Oh God, I hate living in the UK. I didn’t really hate it
— I was just having a bad day. But it’s easier to blame the country you’re
living in rather than accept that it’s just a circumstantial thing.
You can’t really do that in your home country, because where
else would you go? But when you’re living in a foreign land, you have the
option to choose. So, you can be more vocal about what you like or don’t like.
You can still choose to live there, which most people do, but I guess it’s just
easier for that foreign country to take the blame for your
not-so-smoothly-sailing life.
As for me… I’ve been doing okay. But I’ve been distracting
myself with things and people. Frankly, I still do that. Sometimes life
is just life. It doesn’t have to be good, bad, or ugly. Sometimes stability and
routine weigh much more than happiness. Not to say I’m unhappy — but just to
say it doesn’t fucking matter if I’m happy or not.
When it comes to others, I keep preaching about how they
should “enjoy every colour of life.” But me? It feels like I’m still searching
for that perfect colour, which doesn’t exist, frankly.
“I’ve been thinking,
Of all the little things
That you’ve been missing
When will you learn?”
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