A vision of you

The rain continues to fall. Today it complements my mood nicely. No, not sad or melancholic but rather, nostalgic. A nostalgia for something called home, an idea which i have yet to grasp, or which i know so well that it has become part of my self, too hard to extricate or separate. A part of me does not want to admit that i left home to come here because home is good, happy, beautiful, where dreams come true. And i felt so little of any of this. I was mostly sad. Everywhere i looked, i saw the ugliness of a country plagued by racism and discrimination although it was too proud to admit that to itself. My dreams were falling away one by one. But what is that compared to everything else. The smell of fish curry simmering on the stove. The sweet musky smell of eveningtime. The gorgeous sunsets. The times spent sitting on my bed listening to love songs, wishing and hoping for someone to sweep me off my feet. Sunday dinners with my aunties. Sunday lunches with my parents. Gilmore Girls at 6pm on Sunday evening, accompanied by a cup of tea made with condensed milk. Saturday evenings spent with my choir. Going to Borders to buy magazines. The beach for my afternoon runs. And i could go on and on. All this beauty and goodness. As i sit here, i think: i am in a country i know very little about. I find it hard to understand the slangs and colloquialisms. I only have memories lasting two years. Television and radio programming could do with some help. I am sitting here listening online to Class 95, a Singapore radio station. Vernetta is on. I know Vernetta- she was the deejay i listened to every afternoon. I am familiar with the way she speaks and the music she plays. I know that from 2-5pm, i can hear 90 minutes of non-stop music. I know all this and i like it. It's familiar. Even the rain reminds me of home, where it rains all the time, nothing unusual except that it causes everyone to complain and have wet shoes. Here, rain means water so badly needed for a sun scorched land. I don't even want to complain about it because in church, we pray for it. I wanted to love Sydney so much and hoped it could become my home and i could forget about Singapore. Except now, i can only remember the good things about the country i grew up in. I can only smell the sweet evenings and see the magazines at Borders. All the bad is slowly melting away. I find myself running towards home, which i can now say is Singapore. Was Singapore. I don't know. I don't feel that Sydney is non-home. How can it be when i step into the ocean and feel so at peace, when i am in the arms of the beloved i prayed so hard for, when sitting down with a coffee at my favourite cafe makes me feel so content. Maybe it's ok to admit that i left home for something else that could possibly become home in the years to come. I am even more confused when i realise that i cannot live in Singapore again. It will stifle me. I know that. So i do what i know how to do. Listen to radio stations online, speak to my family over the phone and cook chicken curry. While i visit the beach, drink coffee with soy milk and put my feet on J's lap. The best of both worlds.