Singapore diaries

getting lost and found in a shopping centre

Its Thursday. The day after the new moon.

I’m sitting on the bed in my hotel room looking out at the mirrored skyscrapers of Singapore. I’ve been here for a few days now and time is doing its weird thing, melting and stretching and speeding up all at the same time.

Part of me pines for home. I yearn for the cold sting of the ocean on a frosty morning and sand encrusted hair.

My body longs for soil under bare feet instead of shoes on concrete. My heart cries for the warm bodies of those I love nestled against me.

I’m on my way to my home lands of Norton Canon, a tiny hamlet with a population of 200, nestled in the English countryside near the Welsh border. I’ll be sinking into deep family time and I decided, in a very adult way, to do my best to arrive in a human state. So, I’m breaking up the long haul flight here in this futuristic island city.

Singapore is HOT and I’ve found a hack (apart from the obvious, spend most of your time in air-conditioning).

HOT YOGA.

Yep, you read that right, yoga in a room heated to 38 degrees.

I know it sounds crazy. When I booked an intro pass at a local studio and saw it on the timetable and thought hell no, but then the time just worked for me so I thought why not.

Weirdly, it cools me down. I sweat so much during those classes that when I leave, 32 degrees feels like a fresh breeze, literally. It’s the same with ocean swimming when it’s freezing cold. The more I expose myself to the extremes, the less agitated by temperate I am.

I’ve spent my days wandering around the city, sweating profusely and falling in love with the MRT (Mass Rapid Transport), Singapore’s excellent underground train service.

I’m surprised how enthusiastic I am about the trains, but they are really a joy. They are somehow impeccably clean even though there are millions of people travelling on them each day. I’ve been enjoying the cute little cartoons that remind us all to be nice people, like ‘Hush Hush Hannah’ and ‘Seat Sharing Sue’. You dont need a ticket, you just tap your card on and off. In an expensive city, the trains are cheap and they run every 3 minutes (!) and they are never, ever late. They are also air conditioned.

I’ve also spent a lot of time getting lost in shopping malls. Singapore shopping malls are like cities in their own right. Because of the extreme heat and humidity, much of the city is inside. It’s hard for me to love a shopping mall, but I have to admit, they do it pretty well here.

This is not the ‘Stocklands’ of Batemans Bay.

Funan Mall, where my accomodation is, has a climbing wall that towers from the first to the 10th floor. It has inside tennis courts, strange virtual reality rooms where families wear headsets and jump around, multiple music rooms with guitars lining the walls, a roof garden and a pottery workshop called ‘I am Addicted’ (there’s a lot of strange names here, including ‘Nasty Cookie, and a Hawker stall ‘Spicy Wife’. 🤔)

Nothing opens til 11am. The coffee shops dont even open until 9am which makes me question my coffee drinking habits. At 9pm the mall is pumping, people young and old are drinking coffee, slurping bubble teas, eating dinner, shopping and playing games. Every city has its rhythm. I’m fascinated by how different our rhythms are.

My sense of direction has always left a lot to be desired. I’ve spent a lot of time walking in circles and getting stuck in random floors and taking elevators that lead to nowhere.

The hot yoga studio I’ve been visiting is on the top level of another huge mall. I was very confused the first day when I followed google maps into a wall. Eventually I found my way to the top level.

The heat is stifling. It’s easy to forget what it’s like out there as I sit here in 23 degree air con.

Being here I feel life is suspended. I speak to my husband across the oceans.

‘Send me photos of what you’re doing’

He sends me the door of his sign shop and the fire at home.

How strange that life goes on, without me in it. Here I am, in this incubation of the room. Removed from the world, yet connected by fingers flying over keys.

I’ve been gazing up at the countless apartments. Millions of lives above me. I’ve been gazing at the people on the train. Young, old, creased, smooth, round, angular, looking at me, looking at phones, looking away. Each person has their own story. Millions of heartbreaks and betrayals and medical diagnosis’s and bills and ominous letters in the mail. All around me, people are falling in love, arguing about the washing up, discussing the kids, gossiping about the neighbours, making plans to exercise more, drink less, eat healthier. no life is immune to the pain of disease, death and loss. No life is without the hope of a sunrise.

Even though our faces are so different, we are all born, we all die. Our bodies will all disintegrate eventually. We will become star dust again.

~

Last night I ‘went out’.

I remember when I was young, my friends and I would say ‘I’m going out’ or ‘I’m going OUT-OUT’. Out meant a few drinks. ‘Out-out’ meant walking home through the morning commute from some strange house holding your shoes.

Out-out isn’t a thing for me anymore but last night I did feel the energy of staying up past 9pm so I rode it. All the way to a cute dim lit bar called Sugarhall (thanks Reddit).

I sat at the bar. There was a man to my left, slurring, I’ve been drinking since 1pm, he said to no one in particular and got up to leave. He hung around for a moment, as if to wait for me to make conversation but I studied the menu intently and he left. To my right was another woman on her own. I settled in to the relief of being around other women. The menu was dizzying and I panicked and instantly regretted not ordering a Negroni.

To my right the woman was having an in-depth chat with the female bartender about different types of Rum. I felt like a teenager again, looking across, half nodding, wondering if it was too soon to get involved in a conversation I knew nothing about. When my food arrived I wanted it to share it with her but felt too shy.

Eventually I turned to her and said ‘are you from here?’

We started chatting easily, sharing tidbits from our lives.

‘I’m a designer, I live in New Zealand, but I’m from here. I’m here once a year visiting my family. I love them, but I need to get away, thats why I’m here!’

Soon the three of us, me, Jeannie and the bartender Ras (like Raspberry without the berry, she said) were sharing cookies, instagrams and stories about best and worst airlines. The verdict - Singapore airlines wins hands down but KLM has the best drinks.

‘I’m leaving for Italy next week’, Ras announced, face shining. ‘I’ve got a one way ticket!’

We all cheered.

I remember that feeling of leaving everything I’ve ever known to set up a life on the other side of the world.

As I was getting ready to leave Ras said, wait. I’ll prepare a little something for us, on the house.

She shook up a citrus explosion featuring tequila that I definitely didn’t need but couldn’t refuse.

‘You’re on a solo bar crawl,’ she said.

‘That’s awesome. Here are all my favourite bars. Tell them I sent you, they’ll look after you.’

She thrust me a hand written note.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her my bar crawl had started and finished.

I left to find more food, devouring a plate of Carrot Cake (flash fried radish, nothing to do with the popular desert) and bought a lemon pistachio ice cream that promptly melted all over my hands before walking the several blocks back to my bed.

As I walked over the river the city vibrated with sound and light and colour. I’m grateful to be here. I’m grateful I dont live here. I’m grateful for it all.

Tomorrow I fly to England, to be held in the arms of the land that raised me. To hold the people who loved me all the way here.

At the studio we’ve been exploring the Pañcamaya, the five sheaths that can obscure who we really are. Each one is important, and sacred, and needs tending to, but each one is subject to change, doesn’t have its own consciousness and cannot be aware. What we really are is the part of us that is aware of the changing body, energy, mind, intellect and stillness within. I’ve been really enjoying these talks by Swami Sarvapriyanana, I love his sweet and endearing way.

Yoga philosophy doesn’t mean anything unless it’s experienced.

This Pañcamaya map helps me to remember, as I make my way around this crowded city, I am not this body that is complaining about being too hot. I’m not my energy which feels zapped from the humidity. I am not this mind that is missing my husband. I am not this intellect that seems to be understanding this concept. I am not, even, the ānanda, the stillness within.

So what am I? I have no idea haha, but spending time contemplating the changing nature of all that I am not is soothing and I believe allows me to be a more patient, kind, loving and useful human being.

I look forward to hearing all your thoughts on this. I miss you all so much and cant wait to be back at the studio soon.

With love, Clare