When you find yourself comparing travel destinations to loved ones in your life, perhaps the time has finally come to hang up your proverbial passport.
As the parallels started to pound my overactive imagination, I could recall the destination that made me feel at home, no matter how great the distance, no matter how much time lapsed. I could recall the glamorous cities that glitter, always energising those in their presence. I could recall the destinations that remain unpredictable, the ones that have left me with both intense frustration and puppy-dog comfort. And I could visualise the people in my life, who so snugly occupy each of these moulds.
For Singapore though, I was stumped, perhaps because this was a country I connected with for far more superficial reasons that usually fail to inspire me. Singapore was not a destination, where I felt a seamless bond with the locals, nor was it a country where any specific sites resonate on in my mind. I would willingly re-visit if circumstance took me back but I would lack the intense longing to return that occurred with Bali, New York, with Tanzania, Italy or Argentina.
Singapore, rather, was a destination that swept me up into its web of tantalizing, eclectic flavours from hawker stall cereal prawns to waterside crab feasts. It was a destination that amazed me with its technological advancements and a digital e-world that made my city, London, seem archaic. And mostly, it was a city whose illustrious skyline views at night would catch my fixed gaze and leave me wondering how a collection of twinkling skyscrapers could engage me with such force.