The story of us

Once upon a time, at an unspecified amount of time ago, I met you. We had a common interest that kept us together as friends. Along the way, we learnt more about each other. We learnt that we had other similar interests. There were things we could always talk about. There was never a dull moment in our friendship. We were well and truly happy. 
But alas, something happened (as it always does). A slight bit of doubt creeps in, miscommunications build up, we used to be as clear as crystal, able to read each other perfectly. But soon the dust sets in, the once-clear glass begins to smudge and cloud up. Maybe it wasn't anything big when it first started. It was a small fib. Or maybe the concealment of something that did not wish to be shared. But that hiding manifested into a small, yet ever-growing gap between us. Slowly, we began to hide more, retreating into our shells, closing our books. And one day, something big happens. Maybe it's a fight. Or maybe, something happened to me and you weren't there for me. You didn't stand by me. Things don't end well between us. We don't consider each other as a person we'd rely on anymore. We'd say we're friends, and manage a hi or bye if we see each other, but we can't go back. We can never go back. I can't trust you anymore and I wouldn't know what to say to you anymore that I'd feel comfortable sharing. Apart from small talk. But if you haven't forgotten, I hate small talk. I consider it a necessary evil because it's how you warm up in conversation with strangers and new friends. But it's an absolute waste of time if the conversation isn't going anywhere because it tells me nothing about you and tells you nothing about me. 
That's the end of the story.

I've had this narrative repeated in my life so many times. And I wonder why I still do it. Why do I give so much when I could end up falling flat on my face? The joy is great, but the pain is excruciating. Why do I bother to trust new people I meet? Why do I always want to make new friends? Everytime this story ends, I put my guard up. But over time, I let it down again. Sooner or later, I get hurt again. In the midst, I also meet others who actually stay. And I guess maybe that's why I gamble with my heart.

Culture shock

I was first introduced to this when W wrote to me about it.
It was really interesting and something that I felt resonated with my experience of moving overseas.

The initial honeymoon period feels like how one might feel when they visit their dream destination for their holiday and everything is how they expected it to be, or better. I was in awe of things I'd now laugh at. I was amazed by how cheap a standing fan cost ($12 at Kmart, to be exact), I was amazed by the entire set up of Kmart and the ridiculously low prices for things that cost so much more in Singapore. I was intrigued by the supermarkets, the thought of preparing meals for myself and the prospect of having my own room that I could decorate to my liking. I guess the hype for the former two died down after a while, although I do still love a trip to Woolies when things go on sale and I still enjoy cooking. As for the latter, I quickly learnt that I'm not one for craft and decorations, so my room is pretty bare in terms of wall art. But I'm fine with that. After all, it's my room, my own space that I can be myself truly.

The culture shock began to set in as I realised that people spoke with a different accent and that it was hard for me to be understood because I spoke with a Singaporean accent. I learnt that people are racist or do hold some racial bias (to varying degrees). Moving from a country where I was a part of the racial majority to where I became a minority, I feel like I better understand how the minorities in Singapore feel, but with that being said, I do not discount that their experience might be more intense than mine and what I feel can't be compared to their experience. After all, I've only spent 2 years in a different country, whereas they have spent the bulk (or entirety) of their lives living  in a country as a minority. And although I have faced situations where people publicly picked on me because of my race, or made subtly racist remarks, I am glad for this experience because I have become more sensitive to racist tendencies and have become more careful of what I say. Coming back to Singapore and listening to the way some people around speak about minorities and race has really appalled me. Even the way my parents discuss this issue can sometimes be far from delicate and makes my blood boil. I digress and maybe I'll continue a discussion on this topic next time.

Getting back to the point, I began to feel a disconnect with the people in Oz and for a while I even held a misguided belief that I'd probably never be able to be good friends with the Aussies. That I could only form good friends with people from Singapore. I missed the taste of home, I was craving for kway chap and sambal kang kong. I was getting bored of my life in Oz.

But over time, adjustment happened. I began to get used to the fact that I couldn't access the taste of home that easily, got used to my cooking, the prices of things, the accent, among many other things. I began to pick up hobbies like guitar and swimming. A sense of familiarity began to develop and I was getting more and more content with my life in Oz. I met so many wonderful people in Oz that I can call good, close friends and I'd even consider some of them among my best friends. These people are now the ones I count on for help, who I know will have my back and who make my day.

I'd say I've adapted now. I'm pretty happy with my life in Oz. I have a wonderful circle of friends, I have hobbies I love to do and I'm managing.