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The Role Love Plays in Deciding Your Citizenship

US Embassy in Singapore

US Embassy in Singapore

I went to the US Embassy to add pages to my passport. While I was waiting, I overheard a young Asian lady endeavoring to renounce her citizenship. Initially I thought she meant to renounce her Singapore citizenship. After all, the majority of foreigners I’ve met in Singapore are quite resistant to embracing PR – Permanent Resident, let alone giving up their own citizenship. I’ve met two Indonesian guys in their early 20’s who’ve been living here in Singapore for 10 years, yet they refuse to acquire PR status. That is certainly understandable for a guy, taking into account of the National Service (NS) mandatory for PR. My landlord from mainland China has been in SG for over 15 years, yet she’s reluctant about becoming Singaporean. I’ve met a Scottish lady who’s been here for over 20 years and perfectly happy with her PR status and British passport.

These are not rare, but rather common cases. In view of this, I was a bit surprised when I realized it was her US citizenship that she was renouncing for the sake of acquiring Singapore citizenship.

I could only make one bold assumption: the power of love.

What confounded me was her accent – sometimes distinctively American, other times evidently Singaporean.

Again, my assumption stands: the influence of her loved one.

She fell deeply in love with a guy in Singapore. 

If she’s a vagrant like me, I suppose whichever passport she holds will be of little significance to where she resides or retires. After all, either of the two passports grants easy access to most countries in the world. So to renounce one or the other it wouldn’t make a gigantic difference.

Now coming back to my passport, I found the way they stitched the extra two set of 24 pages (48 pages in total) to my existing 27-page passport rather morbid. Instead of attaching both sets after the 27th page, they simply inserted the two sets in the middle.

That poses a problem for frequent travelers like me. Not all customs officers are smart and considerate enough to make the stamp on a page that has only been partially filled. Some of them are so vicious that they imprint a thumb-size stamp on a whole new page when other partially filled pages are begging for attention. That’s how I ended up paying $82 USD for new pages in spite of the few partially filled pages that are still available. Why? Some countries like Thailand, according to their website, request tourists to enter their territory with 2 – 3 completely blank pages.

It seems inevitable for me to mention travel. I might as well. I do have another blog dedicated to travel, but work is still…in progress.


Monologue On “I Miss You”

I miss you.

-You miss me? You miss what part of me? You miss your own sentiments for me. You miss the impression I left you. You miss my face or my body or my soul? You miss how I made you feel. You miss that you successfully persuaded me and seduced me. You miss everything that I’m not now. You miss me not because of me but because of yourself. How selfish it is to miss someone! To miss what I’m not is to impose false traits on me. You believed that I was impeccable, yet I am not. You thought I were naive and pampered, yet I am not. You thought I was a beautiful swan, when I’m just an ugly duckling. You saw me for three seconds, and the same impression that I made in the first three seconds lasted your whole lifetime. We met for merely 24 hours in total, or probably less, yet the impression that I made in half of 24 hours followed you forever. Why meet again? Why ruin the fantasy? Let the fantasy carry on forever. Why blow the bubble? Why face the reality? We’re not meant to be. Why break the perfect image? Why solve the mystery? Why keep insisting and pretending as if I were the love of your life when all you want is to relive the past glory? Time has changed and years have passed. Not that I have any wrinkle around my eyes, but that I’ve grown up and grown out of myself. I’ve seen more. I’ve experienced more. And like you, I long for the past. I long to return to the past. I wish I were the same. I wish time had frozen at that moment. It hurts to think that someone that you miss no longer exists in substance. The silhouette of yesterday has evaporated. So let’s forget it. Please go miss someone else. Yes I remember that soft kiss. I remember the first night. I remember the post-heartache as vividly as a prosecuted Jew who remembers  the Holocaust. I remember the bench. I remember the touch. I remember…I remember…I remember…but I don’t miss it. 

I don’t miss him. I dismiss him.

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