Sixty

by Amanda Jaffe

Writers' Block: A contribution from our AWA Writers' Group members

Writer Amanda Jaffe and her doppelgänger, "Give-Way Glenda," one of Singapore's mascots promoting considerate commuter behavior

Dear Singapore,

It’s been a few years since I last saw the sparkle of Marina Bay. I can’t believe you’re sixty! (Of course, I can’t believe I’m sixty-one. And don’t you dare say anything about “age before beauty,” okay?)

You wear sixty well, my friend. Then again, you were the one constantly having work done—putting up another age-defying building, endlessly filling in your wrinkles with that process you call “land reclamation.” Only you could grow twenty-five percent larger by pouring sand into the sea and still manage to look like you haven’t gained an ounce. Seriously, Singy, how do you do it?

I wish I had a birthday gift for you, but what do you buy the country that has everything? Besides, you always were the giver in our relationship.

I wasn’t sure what to think of you at first. A baby expat, I landed on your doorstep feeling flush with independence because I’d packed up my life and moved halfway around the world—only to have you declare me DOA. Dependant on Arrival. When you handed me that Dependant’s Pass, I had such mixed feelings. It was just a card. It was a constant reminder that I was, for the first time, dependent on my husband. But it was also my bridge from “just visiting” to “I live here.” That Dependant’s Pass was my invitation to your party.

You gave me new words. I jalan jalaned every jalan and lorong on the pulau, hiked every bukit, makaned at every hawker center. You brought new meaning to old words too. The enthusiasm of “can.” The wish-I-could of “cannot.” Sure, you gave me lah (let’s admit it—you give everybody lah, lah), but you also gave me shiok and alamak. And kopi C kosong. I can’t tell you how much I miss kopi C kosong.

You taught me to think of seasons in terms of monsoons. To think of the whoop of the koel bird as my alarm clock. To appreciate the benefit of an occasional gecko in my kitchen. From your vantage point along the Equator, you promised the Northern and the Southern stars. Your nightglow didn’t afford much chance to see them, but that’s okay. Knowing I slept under the stars of two skies was enough.

You may be a city (sorry, a city-state), but you gave me red junglefowl crossing the road, otters tumbling along the river, hornbills on my balcony. You also gave me nerve-racking macaques in MacRitchie and a wild boar on Pulau Ubin, but we’ll let that go for now. (I’m secretly grateful for them too.)

You taught me to think of everything as a metaphor, even food. Standing in front of a bakery, trying to decide which bun to buy (taro? salted egg?), I understood FOMO. Watching my husband exit a bakery with a bag full of buns, saying, “I couldn’t decide, so I bought one of each,” I understood YOLO. When I made the rookie mistake of bringing ondeh-ondeh home instead of eating it on the spot, I understood the wisdom of glutinous rice—make every moment of expat life count, because it will never be as fresh or as vibrant as it is right now.

You gave me the quotidian familiarities of a neighborhood. My Fruit Guy down the block, who never sold me bananas without asking when I planned to eat them. My Rice and Vegetables Guy, who charged next to nothing for enough rice and vegetables to feed me, my husband and our refrigerator. (“Good price!” he’d say. “Good food!” I’d reply.) The Chicken Tikka Guy’s Wife, who always sent us home with fresh naan. (Yes, there was a Chicken Tikka Guy too, but we knew who ran the show.)

You gave me friends. Singaporean friends who brought me on their errands, to their favorite places, and into their homes. Expat friends always up for coffee, a talk, or a walk. Writer friends who, even today, help me shape my thoughts into words.

And yes, dear Singapore, you made me a writer.

The day I surrendered my Dependant’s Pass, I cried. I’d come to think of you as home. Part of me still does. Part of me always will.

Happy sixtieth, you gorgeous island. I’m sure you haven’t changed a bit. I’m sure you’ve changed a ton. You may be a Little Red Dot, but you never failed to share your Big Red Heart.

View of Supertrees with Marina Bay Sands in the background. Credit: Amanda Jaffe

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	Amanda Jaffe was the grateful holder of a Singapore Dependant’s Pass between 2018 and 2020. Now back in the United States, she co-leads AWA Writers’ Group from afar and continues to pine for a real Singaporean kopi C kosong. Since 2023, she has published her humorous essays on her award-winning Substack, Age of Enlightenment.
	The AWA Writers’ Group meets the second and fourth Thursday of each month. For more information, send an email to writers@awasingapore.org   "If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." - Toni Morrison