From Towns to Cities, Cities to Towns
Transitioning into Different Settlements
While giving my friends directions to where I lived in Muscat, a province in Oman, I used to tell them to look for the tall, yellow building that was near this well known pharmacy. But last winter break, when I went back home after spending a semester in Singapore, I found myself thinking twice before calling the building “tall”.
After Singapore, no building in Muscat felt worthy of that adjective. The apartment that I stayed in had just eight stories — less than half of what my residential college in Singapore had. Yet it was the tallest building in the district and one of the tallest in Muscat. Legend goes that the government has restrictions on the height of buildings so that the majesticity of the mountains within and surrounding Oman wouldn’t get overshadowed by that of the buildings. As a result buildings tend to be quite bland with similar square-ish shapes.
The lack of sophisticated, tall buildings in Muscat had me marvelling at those in Singapore the first time I set foot there.
“It’s a resort but from afar it looks like a deck of cards or something.”
This was how I tried to explain the structure of Marina Bay Sands to my parents, something that I still haven’t been able to accomplish. Then there was this 35-storied building right across the residential college where I stay which looks like the Christian cross when seen from a certain angle. But the one that had me goggling the most was the strikingly flat, cleaver-like skyscraper in Bugis. I remember meandering around the skyscraper, to the amusement of my Singaporean friends, to crack the mystery behind it, eventually gawking at the realisation that it was actually a thin, trapezoid shaped structure that provided the optical illusion of being flat. All these buildings were architectural spectacles for me compared to the ones in Muscat, Oman.
True, Singapore lacks natural landscapes like the mountains and waterfalls. But for me, in terms of awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping majesticity, the concrete jungle of Singapore does belong up there with them.
Wei Da Lim and Kanako Sugawara also share their experience transitioning into a settlement that was different from what they were used to:
Living in Yangon is an experience like no other. It feels like another world hidden within a book — dusty, forgotten — where every day, every corner feels like an undiscovered page.
Life here is what you make of it.
I was pretty hesitant when I was first informed that I would be going to Yangon for my mystery internship. It was a country which I knew absolutely nothing about. However, after spending a few days in Yangon, I was falling in love with the city and its culture. There were exciting jazz bars and cute little cafes. Everything was terribly exciting at first, until two weeks later, where I found myself at the top of a rooftop bar overlooking the Sule Pagoda, feeling awfully alone in the world.
You see, Myanmar is still relatively undeveloped, having opened up to the world in 2011. In Yangon, I am unable to hold a single conversation with anyone except for perhaps wealthy Burmese who studied abroad. Even conversations with my colleagues are limited to simple, short phrases. Though the people in front of me are as real as I am, and experience the same hopes for the future, an invisible wall separates us. When I see poverty in the streets of Yangon — where young children drop out of school to collect garbage for a living — I am unable to express the discontent that I feel about people around me. Though I stand before them, I am only a visitor, a stranger, peeking into their world momentarily.
This is not my life to live.
Though this loneliness is terribly isolating, I know that this feeling means that I am alive, that I exist.
Introspection allowed me to discover the sort of world I live in, and what I want to craft out of it. At the bar overlooking the streets of Yangon, snuggled comfortably in my seat, I wondered how else life could be. My thoughts and gaze drifted towards the edge of the horizon, over midnight’s shimmering sea.
Wei Da is excited to see where tomorrow’s winds will take him. He is currently living in Yangon, Myanmar, as part of the Mystery Internship Programme
In Psychology, one of the first things we learn is the diathesis-stress model, a theory that attempts to explain that psychological disorders occur as a result of interaction between predispositional vulnerability and stress caused by life experiences.
***
I had always had emetophobic tendencies. For those who don’t know what emetophobia is, it is a crippling fear of vomit.
Too much information, I know, but the last time I’d puked was when I was seven and ate day-old pizza when I was down with a fever. In school, whenever the stomach flu went around and some classmate would inadvertently hurl in class, instead of feeling grossed out, I would feel afraid. Whenever T.V. shows or movies would use vomit for a punch line or have one of their characters get food poisoning, I would have to hit the pause button. I can’t really explain the logic behind my fears (but I mean, what mental condition is logical, right?) but some thoughts that run in my head are: “What if I puke in public and embarrassed myself?” or “What if I get food poisoning and puke on live T.V.?” (That’s from that one How I Met Your Mother episode).
Now, at this point, you’re probably wondering…what the heck does this do with getting used to a different environment while traveling?
Well, here we go.
During the summer after my freshman year of college, I took up a mystery internship in Yangon, Myanmar. My summer was not pretty, it wasn’t Instagram-worthy, and honestly, a lot of it was spent indoors in a tiny, stuffy office that had daily blackouts.
But it was a summer of growth — quiet, lonely, plain growth. Personal growth.
One lesson that encompasses everything I learned during the summer is that being able to consume (safe) food is a great privilege. Before you go “Oh it must be nice to not have realized this before, living in a first-world country”, let me explain.
Admittedly, I always took food and eating for granted. Water from the tap, raw fish, shaved ice, medium-rare steak — I consumed them all regularly without a thought. Eating was an integral, but ordinary part of life. Never once did I avoid food because it might potentially sicken me, and as much as I am ashamed to admit it, I was very much used to having three delicious meals a day, courtesy of my mother and the dining hall in college.
It was only after I arrived in Yangon that I realized that I needed to make some adjustments — both to my attitude and approach to my culinary pleasures. I knew that most of the local restaurants were not suited for a foreigner’s weak stomach, but I didn’t have a clue where the Yangonite expats went. Eating out also meant travelling nearly an hour to downtown after nightfall, something I was reluctant to do as a single girl living alone. Despite those obstacles, however, I had no choice but to eat out — unlike other expats, I didn’t have a kitchen in my hotel room.
Now, that might be a dream for some, but it was a nightmare for me. I knew I had to eat healthy and balanced meals in order to keep up my energy, but how? Where should I eat? What should I eat? Moreover, according to the blogs I read online, even the most expat-friendly places occasionally had problems with food poisoning and/or poor hygiene. I was at a loss as to what to do, and I guess this is where my emetophobia really kicked in. ”What if I puked at the workplace?” “What if I puked in the taxi ride to work?”
Day by day, my meals became my biggest fear and obstacle, and eating became a chore. Every time I put something in my mouth, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
I ate the minimal amount needed to get by, but it always wasn’t enough. I was always so, so hungry. Every night, I would obsessively go through Reddit threads to see what meals or foods caused people to come down with food poisoning. Sandwiches. Salads. Meatballs. Ramen. And every time I would read these posts, something new would make it onto my imaginary “unsafe food” list. They say that food can taste like sawdust, and for the first time in my life, I found that to be true.
Drastic times called for drastic measures, and I went and bought myself a rice cooker and an induction cooker, and I adapted into what I self-deprecatingly called “the married housewife lifestyle”. Every day, after an exhausting nine-to-five job, I would go to the local supermarket, get groceries, and cook dinner for myself.
There were some silver linings in these stormy clouds, however. For example, I cannot describe in words the joy I felt when I found an expat-friendly supermarket right near my hotel. The night I was able to make perfectly cooked noodles. The afternoon when I found frozen dim sum at the supermarket. I had immense support from the people around me as well — my boss’ family agreed to make me homemade Burmese lunch every day, while the hotel I was staying at agreed to let me borrow the fridge in their restaurant because I did not have one in my room. It was these little victories that kept me going, even through my anxiety and fears.
***
My story actually doesn’t end here.
Remember that word I introduced in the beginning, the diathesis-stress model? Well, once a mental disorder (in my case, a phobia) has been triggered or stressed, they don’t disappear overnight, even if you are able to put yourself out of the situation causing the trigger). The semester after I returned to Yale-NUS, I realized the symptoms of my phobia had gotten far worse than it had been before — I was still afraid to eat out (even though Singapore is one of the safest countries when it comes to food safety) and of leaving campus because I was so fearful that something would happen to me while I was out of campus. Every time I would even feel a tinge of nausea, I would feel overwhelming anxiety and would find myself going into panic-mode: sweating, panting, and feeling like I was going to die.
I was constantly on edge, always so fearful of my own mind and body.
And finally, this is where I come full circle. You see, right when I was facing this turmoil of fear of my own body and mind, I was taking the introduction course to psychology (Understanding Behavior and Cognition). And by taking this class, for the first time, I was able to put a name onto the scary, overwhelming feelings I was experiencing and why I was experiencing them. Emetophobia. Agoraphobia. Panic disorder. OCD compulsions. And I also realized that hey, I wasn’t alone in this battle.
Because of this, I made the big decision of becoming a Psychology major. And after that, I made another big decision to undergo EMDR trauma treatment to tackle my phobia.
And I haven’t looked back since.
And through this came my final takeaway…now, after undergoing treatment, for the second time in my life, I have begun adjusting to living life in Singapore. Hawker centres, cafes, and restaurants — feel so excited to visit these places and enjoy everything that they have to offer. Food makes me excited, happy, and comfortable again. Food is a significant part of Singaporean culture, and I can finally, finally start being able to start appreciating it for what it is.
No more dining hall Hor Fun for me!
Kanako is a third-year psychology major at Yale-NUS College. She does Zumba and Pilates in her free time and is looking into starting aerial yoga soon! Contrary to what her photo might imply, she is a proud homebody and loves nothing more than to chill with her girlfriends in her suite with some nice wine and a classic rom-com.
