Three Trips to Singapore

Three Versions of Me

They say you never enter the same river twice. Maybe cities are like that too. Or maybe we are.

The first time I came to Singapore, I was in love.

With a person, a feeling, and a city that felt like a dream. We stayed three weeks, doing all the tourist things—hands held tight under the Supertrees, clinking cocktails on the Marina Bay Sands rooftop, kissing over chili crab. Everything was gold-tinted, like the sunset was made just for us. That version of me was in discovery mode of the city, of love, of the thrill of something that felt bigger than real life.

The second time, I came burned out.

No itinerary. No one to impress. Just a soul trying to piece itself back together. I stayed quiet. Let the gardens hold my grief without comment. I watched the same sunset from the same rooftop, but this time I didn’t take photos. The same foods tasted different. I stopped by churches and temples, and watched people at Merlion Park. I let the city and the water wash over me. I wasn’t discovering the place anymore. I was trying to rediscover myself.

And now, the third time, I’m back again.

Not for me, not for romance, but to guide someone through his journey. It’s humbling to return, not seeking magic, but offering it quietly through support, patience, and presence. I still eat satay under string lights. But this time, I spent more hours wandering malls, trying lesser-known food stalls, and walking like someone who lives here. Everything feels different. Not because the city changed. Because I did.

Marina Bay Sands remains one of the most unforgettable places I’ve ever stayed. It’s not just the luxury—it’s the way the infinity pool seems to dissolve into the city skyline, a shimmering tapestry of hope and endless possibility. 

Watching the city light up at night from the rooftop bar, sipping a Singapore Sling at Ce La Vi, I breathe deeply, letting go of all the weight I carry, allowing the soft night air to embrace me like a quiet promise. That sky has watched me love, lose, and show up again, a little softer each time.

Same skyline.

Same city.

Three versions of me.

Some places don’t just stay beautiful.

They stay meaningful, if you’re willing to come back with new eyes.