Chapter 19: Chop Chop Curry Pok
Every winter holiday, I would visit family in Australia or Singapore. This year's trip had been planned before meeting Colette, and with her six-week tango session in full swing, we were facing our longest separation yet - almost three weeks.
Singapore's "chop chop" pace became my partner in distraction - feasting at lively hawker centers where even Michelin-starred food comes fast, racing from one family gathering to the next, letting the city's constant motion fill the spaces where Colette should be. Even the afternoon's tropical downpours couldn't slow Singapore's rhythm - as sudden sheets of rain sent crowds rushing to the sheltered walkways and MRT stations, I found myself moving with them, grateful for the city's perpetual forward motion.
Our daily email tradition continued, those warm exchanges that had been our constant connection since the very beginning. Each morning began with the same ritual - ordering my kopi ping siu dai (iced coffee, less sweet, a phrase I'd practiced until it felt natural on my tongue) before finding a quiet spot to write. My emails became food diaries, attempting to capture impossible flavors - the flaky, buttery layers of roti prata, the complex spices of laksa, and the notoriously controversial smell of durian that demanded either devotion or distance.
After my mornings with kopi and emails, I would take walks through the Botanic Gardens where, as others practiced their tai chi, I found quiet corners to practice my tango repertoire alone, attempting to keep the muscle memory going and our connection alive across the miles.
Before Colette, I'd been the perfect solo traveler - content with my own observations, needing no one to validate a sunset or share a meal. Now, every experience felt like half a conversation. Temple walls that once inspired quiet contemplation now seemed to wait for our stolen kisses. Street food that would have satisfied me completely left me reaching for my phone to text her about flavors she'd never taste. Even the sophisticated cocktail bars I'd once savored felt hollow without her laugh cutting through the background jazz.
Between family gatherings and social obligations, time zones consumed my thoughts. While I listened to my relatives' updates about family news and nodded through conversations about Singapore's property market my heart remained 8,000 miles away. We were both honoring our established family traditions, but I felt incomplete.
That feeling of waiting, of being split between two worlds, stayed with me through my final days in Singapore. Colette's final email arrived just before my departure:
“Safe trips my Katerina! I'm also sooooooooso ready to see you! I need your kisses. It's getting to be an emergency!"