The Singleporean: Dating again after 10 years, nearly 10,000km from home

The Singleporean is an anonymous column by a 30something, female Singaporean writer who’s obviously single (and cautiously ready to mingle). She pens her thoughts on work, relationships, and adulting from the lens of a millennial on the cusp of a mid-life crisis.

He’s a Swedish writer with an existential crisis. I’m a magazine journalist with an overwhelming sense of ennui. We both share a dry and self-deprecating sense of humour, along with a natural tendency for neurosis. It was a match made on Bumble.

A sudden whim to visit Scandinavia brought me to Stockholm, curiosity inspired me to try a dating app, and serendipity led us both to swipe right. And on a wintry Friday night, I found myself having drinks with him at a wine bar in Sodermalm.

“You should start a column called The Singleporean,” he joked as we talked about life as a single person in Singapore.

His clever wordplay sealed the deal for me. I could see myself exploring this potential connection. Unfortunately, we live on different continents, and I was leaving for Singapore in three days. It was a deal-breaker for him.

“A younger me would have taken the plunge, but stability is a priority right now,” he said before we ended the evening.

Returning to my hotel, I sought solace in a gluten-free cheeseburger from McDonald’s, a reminder that there were worse things in life than rejection. As I chewed on my unsatisfying rebound, I felt a growing sense of deja vu. Hadn’t I been here before?

Embracing the fear of missing out

Around 10 years ago, I went out with a freewheeling artist while on a solo vacation in Melbourne. My date, whom I met on OKCupid, was a scruffy 28-year-old Melburnian with a quarter-life crisis.

We spent the day strolling through the inner-city suburbs of Carlton, before ending up at the cinema to watch Citizenfour, a decidedly unromantic documentary on the NSA spying scandal in America.

It didn’t work out – not because of our lurid choice of entertainment, but because he was polyamorous, and I was inconveniently based in Singapore. We never stayed in touch afterwards. I decided I was better suited for singlehood.

Why go through the cycle of rinse and repeat, only to land on disappointment and self-doubt? I had personal goals, 30-before-30 checklists, and a career to build. There wasn’t time to indulge in fleeting moments of meet-ups and hook-ups, or being coupled-up. Love, romance and self-care took a back seat as ambition steered me into my 30s.

Years on, as exhaustion and fatigue seeped into gruelling 13-hour work days, I began to wonder if it was all worth it. In chasing tangible milestones, I had missed experiencing an intangible essence of life: the highs and lows of love and loss, as well as the vulnerability, uncertainty and the inevitable emotional growth that came with it.

Extending a friendship beyond shores

I was still thinking about him a few days after returning home from Stockholm. This time around, I wasn’t about to close the door on myself again. He was smart, funny and interesting, so why the hell not?

With renewed (or misplaced) confidence, I reached out: “This Singleporean is hoping that you might be open to continuing this conversation. But then again, this could just be the wine talking, in which case, I’m a teeny bit glad that we’re both living on different continents.”

“A continued conversation would be a friendly one, but I’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for?” he replied.

In a way, he was right. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. But the possibility of a long-distance friendship appealed to me – it’s not often that one meets a fellow writer while on holiday halfway across the world. And so we connected on Instagram.

A month later, he dropped me a DM following my post about a recent media trip overseas.

“What kind of work takes you to The Bahamas? Asking for a friend.”

Have a topic you’d like us to explore? Email your suggestions to magherworld@sph.com.sg with ‘The Singleporean’ in the header.