We were supposed to be in Singapore together for my 45th birthday.
After last year’s depressing birthday in the city, my husband Steve suggested we celebrate my special day overseas and check off a destination that had been on our bucket list for years.
Since Steve had business in Tokyo earlier in the month, our plan was to meet on Sentosa Island in Singapore a couple of days before my birthday, then eat and drink our way through the delicious city-state.
I had booked us 90-minute massages at Auriga Spa at Capella Singapore the morning of my birthday, painstakingly selected the perfect Michelin-star restaurant for dinner, and bookmarked a couple of cocktail bars to keep the festivities going. I had mapped out hawker centers and booked us a heritage tour.
We were going to have an epic few days. Then, plans changed.
Despite our plans being shaken up, I went on the trip alone
My flight to Singapore was scheduled for Sunday, January 25. By the Friday before my departure, I was already bubbling over with excitement, packed, and counting down the hours until our trip would begin.
And then Storm Fern announced itself, and Qatar Airways canceled my flight.
Distraught, I called Steve, who was just waking up in Tokyo, to deliver the news; the next available flight wasn’t until 11 p.m. Tuesday — two and a half days later than I was supposed to depart.
The updated itinerary had me landing in Singapore at 4 p.m. on my birthday, leaving Steve and me with less than 24 hours together before he was to return to the States.
We agreed it didn’t make sense to meet in Singapore for less than a day, but I was determined not to scrap the trip despite the massive upheaval.
And besides, I’d traveled alone plenty and relished the brief no-compromise zone and empowering sense of independence it provided.
Even so, I cried on our couch in Brooklyn minutes before my Lyft arrived to take me to the airport.
Suddenly, taking this big trip by myself felt daunting and maybe even a little wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and I found myself feeling nervous about the journey.
Still, I went.
After a long flight, I found myself 45 and fabulously alone on the other side of the world
In spite of my exhaustion after more than 30 hours in transit, navigating Singapore’s Changi Airport turned out to be a breeze.
I was tickled when, after swiping my passport at the immigration kiosk, the display lit up with streamers and a message: “Happy Birthday!”
“What a nice touch,” I texted Steve, who wouldn’t see it for hours once he woke up back in Brooklyn.
When I checked into my room at Capella, the first thing I saw was a small cake, an array of chocolates, and a birthday card. It was thoughtful, but having a cake and no one to share it with just reminded me of how alone I was.
Too tired to venture off the property on my first night, I freshened up and took myself to Cassia, the on-site Cantonese restaurant. I ordered a beer and learned that the chef had created a special tasting menu for me (I later learned Singaporeans really like to celebrate birthdays).
But jet lag had messed with my appetite, and I merely picked at the dishes, including the dessert, which came out with a candle.
I really just wanted to crawl into the luxurious, king-sized bed and wake up on a day that was NOT my birthday. Maybe then it would start to feel normal and nice traveling by myself.
Despite the fun, I realized some celebrations and experiences are better when shared
Waking up refreshed and ready to take on the city, I spent the day wandering around.
I ate Hainanese chicken at Maxwell Hawker Center, sipped from a giant coconut, and learned how to save a spot at a table (leaving anything from a tissue to a hair band to an empty phone case stakes your spot).
I shopped in artsy boutiques, navigated a giant shopping center, and marveled at the cleanliness of the metro station. It was clear I was capable of doing all of these things on my own, but it turned out I no longer wanted to.
At dinner at Willow, I was surrounded by close-sitting couples eating off each other’s plates. The food was fantastic, and I felt perfectly welcomed as a solo diner, but I wished Steve had been there to encourage me to order the wagyu supplement and tell me not to worry about the cost.
On my first night in Singapore, I ate outside and was inundated with birdsong. I held my phone out, trying to capture the gorgeous cacophony of sounds, unlike anything I’d ever heard before.
I told Steve about it later, but it was hard to fully explain the unexpected concert. “You had to be there, I guess,” I said.
I wish he had been.
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