What 12 Years in Canada Taught Me About Belonging and Identity
I left Singapore with a suitcase full of questions, and came back with more than just answers. I came back changed.
I left the familiar comfort of Singapore at 19 with a suitcase full of winter clothes and a heart full of questions. I was going to Canada to study. That was the plan. A few years, a degree, and then back home. However, life had other ideas. What started as a temporary move became a 12-year chapter. I stayed. I became a permanent resident. I learned to navigate winter storms, credit scores, rental agreements, and grocery store small talk. Most of all, I learned what it meant to build a life from scratch.
I could not escape the quizzical stares when I said I was from Singapore.
“Wait. There are brown people in Singapore?” It was a question that always triggered something deep and defensive in me.
“Yes, there are.” I hated having to validate my Singaporean-ness.
I braved the storms. No pun intended. I built a life. I missed home, but I kept going. Whenever I returned to Singapore, my birth country, something felt off. I was home, but I didn’t quite fit anymore.
Assimilation Phase
In my early days in Canada, I felt an unspoken pressure to blend in. I became conscious of what made me seem foreign. My Singaporean accent and my way of being. I overexplained my identity.
“Yes, I’m Indian. Yes, I’m from Singapore. Yes, really. Yes, we do exist.”
I lived in an Italian homestay in Vancouver, and the warmth of a nonna who fed me pasta and asked if I was warm enough became my first emotional anchor. I had no family in Canada and she was my home away from home.
I observed and imitated. The Canadian way of being. Imitation is said to be flattery, so I did it. I mimed the polite smiles, the “sorry” culture and the please-and-thank-yous. I believed that if I could master these, I’d eventually belong.
Sadly, “belonging” became the invisible milestone I found myself chasing and never quite reaching.
Building a Life and New Identity
With time, my foreignness softened. I found people, places and routine that felt familiar. I celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving, tolerated snow with grace, and watched the occasional hockey game. Poutine? Yes. Maple syrup? Not quite.
However, identity is a tricky subject. During my visits back to Singapore, I started to notice subtle disconnects. My views had shifted. I still laughed at Singaporean jokes. Loved the food and was proud of the Singaporean culture.
But, I wasn’t quite Singaporean anymore. I wasn’t quite Canadian either. It was hard to pinpoint, but impossible to ignore.
Returning Home, Feeling Foreign
Today, I’m back in Singapore. I’m surrounded by hawker centres, Singlish, and the humid familiarity of it all. On paper, this is home. My family is here. The streets are second nature.
Something’s changed. The Singapore I left is not the Singapore I returned to. I’m not the same person either.
I walk through familiar lanes with a ghost version of myself accompanying me. I mourn the past, not out of regret, but recognition. I see now how living abroad changes you in ways no one prepares you for.
I know the customs. I speak the language. However, something is undeniably different.
What Belonging Really Means
I realized that identity isn’t static. It isn’t a one-size-fits-all box. It stretches and reshapes, much like dough in a mould. Without the mould, it drifts, reforms, and takes on new shapes. In the same way, I will never fit neatly into a single place. I am a human being. One that is always learning, unlearning, and evolving.
Living abroad didn’t erase my Singaporean identity. It deepened it. It forced me to confront it, question it, and stretch it. Canada didn’t make me less Singaporean. It made me more conscious of what that meant.
Canada shaped me. It gave me space to grow, to become more human, and to empathize more deeply. For that, I will be forever thankful.
Conclusion
Maybe identity does not seek refuge in passports and accents. Maybe we belong to nostalgia, to routines, to familial ties. Most importantly, we belong to previous versions of ourselves that existed in that time and place.
Have you ever returned somewhere and felt like a stranger? I’d love to hear what that experience was like for you, and what it taught you about belonging.
