The Singapore Story

“I didn’t want magic, I wanted meaning”

Although the title might suggest otherwise, I didn’t do it to “find myself” or chase some grand spiritual awakening. I wasn’t heartbroken, I wasn’t soul-searching, and I definitely wasn’t trying to eat, pray, or love my way through anything. I just wanted to see what it would be like to step away from the familiar and into something that was entirely mine.

I’d love to say that Singapore had been calling to me for years, but the truth is that I picked it because it felt safe, close enough to home and familiar from a childhood trip, yet distant enough to feel like a new experience.

I decided to take this trip for my 23^rd birthday – not to celebrate it, but to quietly dodge it. There’s a certain pressure to make birthdays in your twenties look magical with group plans, dinner reservations and perfectly-timed photos. I didn’t want magic, I wanted meaning.

“The idea of a 22-year-old Indian woman going on vacation alone was ……”

After weeks of visa uncertainty and a chorus of “you’ll be bored” and “this is a bad idea” from well-meaning voices, the day finally arrived – I was leaving for Singapore. My mother was especially quiet that evening. It was the kind of worry that had no volume but filled the whole room. I, on the other hand, was doing my best impression of being calm, adult, and unbothered until I actually got to the airport.

Immigration didn’t go as smoothly as I’d rehearsed in my head. The officer asked a string of questions that made me second-guess my entire itinerary. Apparently, the idea of a 22-year-old Indian woman going on vacation alone was something that required extra explanation. My voice stayed even, but my palms were sweating the whole time. As the stamp landed on my passport, sharper than it needed to be, I started to wonder if I was actually cut out for this.

The first moment of aloneness hit me while I was sitting at the departure gate, eating a slightly stale baguette and watching a loud group of friends across from me plot how they’d make the most of their vacation. I wasn’t envious, just silently aware of how different this was going to be for me.

“Good things happen if you stay open to them, even when they arrive looking like a potential scam”

After a comfortable yet sleepless five-hour flight, I landed at what’s often called the most beautiful airport in the world. It didn’t feel like 4 AM – not in the way I knew it. Changi was wide awake. Busy, bustling, yet with a caring charm that made even jet lag feel like a soft background hum. There was something oddly reassuring about how alive everything felt, even at an hour most cities are still half-asleep. The immigration was so smooth that it felt like a subtle apology for earlier.

I wandered around the terminal waiting for the sunrise to grant me permission to enter the city. Eventually, I reached the far end of the stretch which led me to the MRT station. As I stood staring at the metro route map trying to make sense of the colored lines and foreign names, a middle-aged man appeared far too close to my feet. My guard went up faster than Bangalore rent. He asked if I was alone and I froze. He saw the panic in my eyes, and laughed. “Relax, I’m heading back to India. I have a fully charged MRT card – do you want it?” I was still a little scared but I took the card anyway and thanked him for it. And in that moment, I realized something: good things happen if you stay open to them, even when they arrive looking like a potential scam. It wasn’t a meet-cute or a missed connection, but a fully loaded metro card? Cinematic enough for my first morning in the city.

One of the few memories I had from my childhood visit to this city was how meticulously planned everything was; and that impression held true as I took the first (of many) metro rides to Chinatown, where my hostel was tucked away. The city’s heat hit me like steam from an open oven as I stepped out of the MRT exit onto the vibrant stretch of South Bridge Road. The street was just waking up, but the air still carried traces of last night – wok-fried garlic, soy sauce and charred edges of something once sizzling which was now only a scent that was drifting through the heat. I followed the rhythm of the street until I found my small but cheerful hostel tucked between two colorful shopfronts like it had always been waiting for me. The staff greeted me with sleepy smiles and a list of things I could explore until check-in. I left my bags behind, already feeling a little lighter than when I arrived.

“I fell asleep to Hindu chants floating in from a temple across my window”

I walked through the streets of this culturally rich part of the city, taking in the textures and colors around me, when I spotted a beautiful red-and-gold structure which was listed first on the to-do sheet my hostel had handed me. The Buddha Tooth Relic Temple felt like the perfect place to start. I wandered around silently, letting the calm of the place settle over me, before heading off to explore more of the neighborhood. I tried some incredible food at a nearby hawker center – the kind that makes you forget you’ve barely slept; and then made my way back to the hostel for a much-needed three-hour nap on my tiny bed cozy enough for one person.

I woke up to a refreshing, slightly awkward conversation my hostel mates were having about bras. It was a topic that made me blink twice, but oddly enough, it felt comforting, like I’d landed somewhere casual, safe, and real. After a quick shower, I headed to Bugis Street, where I walked until my feet gave up. I had the best chili oil dumplings at a small local spot, and finally made my way back to the hostel after a long day filled with 20,000 steps and a few missed metro stops. That night, I fell asleep to Hindu chants floating in from a temple across my window – oddly soothing, like a familiar hug in a foreign city on my very first night alone.

“The kind of birthday I didn’t plan for, but wouldn’t change a thing about”

The next morning as I was swirling in bed hoping it wasn’t wake up time already, I heard….Kannada? In Singapore? I thought I was dreaming. When I woke up a bit later, a girl was standing by the only mirror in the room, blow-drying her hair and from what I could see, I could tell that she was from back home. After contemplating for a bit, I struck up a conversation with her and found out she was also here solo, from Bangalore, just like me. What were the odds? She asked what I had planned for the day. I said, “Nothing major.”
“Come with me” she said.

We checked off all the classic tourist spots and spent the day talking about everything from work to home to growing up. Somewhere between laughter, shared silences, and snapshots, we realized how much we had in common. The day ended not with a grand view or fireworks, but with the comfort of a dosa from Anand Bhavan – a soft landing to mark my birthday eve, and a small celebration of two strangers finding something familiar in each other.

The night that followed felt nothing like the one before. My new friend introduced me to her new friend – a Chinese college student she’d met at the hostel. The two of them stayed up with me until midnight, wished me a happy birthday, and decided we had to celebrate, even if it was something small. The only place still open was a little ice cream parlor run by an elderly Singaporean couple, their warmth as comforting as the scoops they served. We spent hours there, sharing stories, laughing over cultural quirks, and bonding over the universal chaos of growing up with Asian parents.

Just when I thought the night was winding down, a flood of birthday calls came in from friends and family who’d completely forgotten about the time difference. It was chaotic, loud, and oddly perfect – the kind of birthday I didn’t plan for, but wouldn’t change a thing about. The next 24 hours felt like magic stitched by chance.

“I showed up to the restaurant, sunflower in hand, still unsure if this would be awkward or great”

The birthday morning began with kaya toast and a quick goodbye to my Bangalore friend, who was off to Malaysia. I set out to do the one thing I’d actually planned for the day – Universal Studios. I still don’t understand why theme parks are always planted in the hottest corners of the world, but a steady supply of ice cream kept any real complaints at bay.

What I also had planned for the big day was dinner with a colleague. In one of our informal work meetings, I happened to mention my trip to her city, and she instantly suggested we catch up. I was a little unsure, not really knowing what to expect; we’d only ever spoken on Teams. On my way to meet her, I passed by a flower shop near the MRT station and spotted this huge sunflower that instantly reminded me of her. Something about it just fit – bright, bold, and warm in a way that matched the little I knew of her. I showed up to the restaurant that she had picked, sunflower in hand, still unsure if this would be awkward or great. Turns out, she was even better in person – fun, easy going, and the kind of company that makes conversation feel effortless. Over shared drinks and laughter, we tried to figure out whether the couple at the next table were on a first date. She got me birthday dessert and walked me back to my hostel. It felt less like meeting someone new and more like catching up with an old friend. She had a way of making you feel like you’d known her forever, like a reminder that some connections just click.

Later that night, as I passed the laundry room, a familiar smell stopped me in my tracks. It was the unmistakable scent of home, and I knew instantly, there had to be an Indian in there. Before you think that sounds strange, let me clarify: it was Maggi. The comforting, oddly universal aroma of a solo traveler from Delhi making Maggi in a kettle, as one does. She offered me a bowl without hesitation. We stood there, two strangers with tangled hair and tired feet, sharing stories over soupy noodles. It was simple, warm, and strangely grounding – the ending a long, beautiful day deserves.

“The setting sun felt like a gentle goodbye… not just the close of a day, but the end of something bigger”

The trip was winding down. It was my last day – bags packed, heart a little heavy. I grabbed crepes and a Milo from the sweet little spot across the street, the same one that had become a favorite. With no fixed plan, I set out to see whatever I hadn’t yet. The ArtScience Museum felt like a gentle peek into the future. While I was there, I met a generous Filipino woman who offered to take pictures of me. And somehow, through her lens, she captured not just how I looked, but exactly how I felt – calm, open, and just a little more whole. Later, I wandered back to Chinatown for some last-minute souvenir shopping. Tucked between lanterns and tea shops, I stumbled upon the most charming little store, run by an elderly Chinese woman with the gentlest smile. She showed me a t-shirt she had hand-painted as a tribute to her beloved fat cat who had passed away. It was tender, quirky, and full of love. I bought it, of course. How could I not?

I ended my trip at Sentosa island, watching the sun dip into the sea. I hadn’t known until then that the most beautiful moment was waiting for the very end. Lying back on the warm rocks, I watched the sky soften into gold, and somewhere between the hush of the waves and the stillness of the horizon, tears slipped down my cheeks uninvited. The setting sun felt like a gentle goodbye, marking not just the close of a day, but the end of something bigger. I couldn’t believe I had done it, all of it, on my own, and yet never really alone. The universe had met me halfway.

Then, in true comedy fashion, I missed the last MRT which shuts at 12:30 a.m. I stood on the street, mildly panicking – the kind that rises in your chest without warning, the kind I now realized my mother must’ve felt the night I left. That helpless worry of not knowing what’s next, only now it was mine.

But just like it had, time and again, the city softened the moment. A kind man helped me find a cab. The driver smiled, dropped me to the airport, and said, “You’re very brave. Come back soon.”

And for the first time, I believed it.

TL; DR:

I took a solo trip to Singapore for my 23rd birthday – not to find myself, but to dodge the pressure of celebrating it. What started as an escape turned into something simply magical: strangers became friends, small moments became big memories, and I came back feeling more whole than I left. This is a story about silence, serendipity, and learning how to belong – even when you’re by yourself.

With Love,

A