Wanderer
2013 was the start.
In Singapore, there is an assumption.
You grow up.
You work.
You get an HDB flat.
I did not.
For a decade, I rented.
There is such a thing as being homeless in Singapore.
Not sleeping on void decks. Not on park benches. But paycheck to paycheck, room to room. No fixed ground.
I did not dislike renting because of the money.
I disliked the assumptions.
Landlords:
No minorities.
State your occupation.
No work from home.
No cooking.
Once, my rent was raised because electricity had “increased.”
I was barely home. I returned only to sleep.
The increase came from the landlord’s mother, who left an old LED television running day and night.
That was the logic.
Agents were more curious than hostile.
“Why is a Singaporean renting? You should have a house.”
As if deviation required explanation.
I was not going to unpack personal reasons to a stranger whose only stake was a commission.
So I gave them a clean story.
Consultant. Overseas posting. Back temporarily. Waiting for a BTO flat.
It satisfied the script.
The wandering ended in 2024.
Things settled.
I am not bitter.
But that decade stripped illusions.
Ownership is not just about property.
Stability is not guaranteed by geography.
And dignity does not require disclosure.
I learned to live lightly.
To carry only what mattered.
To endure quiet judgments without correcting them.
Those were formative years.
I am grateful for them.