“Like the legend of the phoenix, all ends with beginnings.” I’m writing this on New Year’s Day and these sage words from poet-philosopher-songwriter-producer-couturier Pharrell Williams—gently emanating from my B&O Bluetooth speaker—seem especially apt. The new year marks the close of one chapter and the start of another. For me, that couldn’t be more true, as I’ve recently returned to my birthplace of Australia after nearly 20 years of living in Singapore.

Regretfully, this will be my final column for Esquire Singapore. In a few days, I’ll be starting a new full-time job as editorial director of a half-dozen magazines, a workload that rules out freelance writing for the foreseeable future. Besides this, it’s only right that the article opening each issue of Esquire SG should be written by someone who calls Singapore home. And sadly, that’s no longer me.

I’ll miss the Little Red Dot immensely. The food, obviously. The ability to lunch daily on a delicious plate of chicken rice or seafood mee goreng, a steaming bowl of wonton noodles (not ‘wanton’ please; they aren’t promiscuous) or rich, creamy laksa, with a kopi or a cheeky can of Tiger, all for well under SGD10? Yeah, I’ll miss that a lot.

I’ll miss my friends, a properly multicultural, multinational bunch of bon viveurs and raconteurs. I’ll miss Changi, the best airport on the planet, a model of Singaporean efficiency. I’ll dearly miss having household help. Ironing, I’ve rediscovered, is a thankless task. My old two-shirt-a-day habit is officially a thing of the past.

I will miss Singapore’s ultra-safe streets. Apart from perhaps Tokyo, every other city I’ve visited or lived in around the world, you’ve had to watch yourself, staying vigilant, wary of thieves or random psychos. I’ve been mugged in Milan (arrivederci, Rolex!) and menaced in Geneva. Last time I was in Melbourne, some dude threatened to beat me up for the egregious crime of wearing white jeans. In London, you can’t use your handphone in the open—and sporting a nice timepiece is imprudent, even in the best neighbourhoods.

Singapore, meanwhile? Low crime may not mean no crime, but you can—as demonstrated in numerous YouTube videos—safely leave a Macbook unattended chope-ing a table for a few hours. There were a few burglaries in my old neighbourhood of Holland Road recently, but it was foreigners who did that, of course. (The local newspapers are always very quick to point out the nationality or race of wrongdoers, aren’t they? Rest assured, the culprit is “a Thai woman” or “a Chinese national” or “a Caucasian couple”—not a Singapore citizen, not ‘one of us,’ right? But I digress.)

Apart from the odd bit of shifty gifting or the occasional multi-billion-dollar money laundering scheme, skullduggery is pretty scarce in the city-state. Violent crime is very rare indeed, especially the indiscriminate sort. Did you see some madman lit a woman on fire on the New York subway recently? Horrific. Assaults, murders and massacres are commonplace Stateside. In Singapore, I’ve never worried about my physical well-being—nor, more importantly, that of my wife and kids.

Well, except when putting them in a cab or Grab. Yikes. Why-oh-why do so many drivers act like they’re in a game of Grand Theft Auto—speeding, overtaking on corners, tailgating, erratically changing lanes… even on the expressway, when the blacktop’s slippery, just after the rain? Bro, does kiasu make you want to be first on the road to perish? Is that what “die die must try” means? And that jerky accelerate-brake-accelerate-brake ad nauseam thing so many old-school taxi uncles do—what’s up with that? 

When I arrived in Singapore, two decades back, Grab didn’t exist and securing a cab ride could be a haphazard, time-consuming experience. You might spend a half-hour on the phone, trying to get a booking, or an age waiting curbside for a taxi, only to finally hop in a beat-up, pandan-scented 1980s Toyota Crown (surely the oldest cars on the road in Singapore), painstakingly guide the driver street by street to your destination, then be told they didn’t accept cards and had no change handy. “So how, uncle? How?!”

Still, I’ll miss Singapore’s cabs and Grabs. Despite recent price rises, they remain very reasonable compared to taxis and Ubers in most other First World countries. And I had some thought-provoking conversations with drivers over the years. Open and frank discussions about subjects such as politics and politicians, law and government policy, race, religion, nepotism, immigration, drugs, sex and relationships between consenting adult human beings. Subjects that in most other First World countries, one could discuss in public, and even cover in the media, without fear of censure, expulsion, fines or jail time. How woke! Or is free speech anti-woke? I’m confused. Help me, Elon. Tickle me, Elmo.

Knowing that Singaporeans don’t appreciate criticism or “meddling” from “outsiders”—even PRs who’ve lived in the country for many, many years—I’ve always bitten my tongue on certain topics. I’ll continue to do so, otherwise this column won’t get published. Suffice it to say, however, that I personally feel there are areas of present policy where Singapore will soon find itself on the wrong side of history.

Apropos of nothing, let me drop a little anecdote in here. In the 1960s, US President Lyndon B Johnson could have bowed to the significant number of Americans who believed, for reasons of ideology and religion, that some people are inferior to others. Less equal. Instead, he displayed true leadership, choosing to stand up and do what was right, enshrining equality and common civil rights for all—even if that offended the folks in the “heartlands” of the deep South.

Over my two decades in Singapore, I witnessed the country evolve immensely. The changes have been particularly marked post-2015. We’ve seen Singapore overtake Hong Kong as the region’s financial and business hub, and make real strides as a centre of tech innovation. The country has grown from a superb mid-journey stopover to a bona fide tourism destination, becoming Southeast Asia’s high-end hospitality and dining locus—despite ongoing issues with staffing, resulting from challenges in getting work permits for people who actually want the jobs, or so hoteliers and restaurateurs tell me. (NB, powers-that-be: QR codes and robots are not the solution. Hospitality is a human art.)

It will be fascinating to see where Singapore is headed in the coming decade, now the country is under new management. I’m sure this isn’t the last ink I’ll expend on the Lion City. Maybe there’s even a novel in me. Hemingway said, “Never write about a place until you’re away from it, because it gives you perspective.” Perched in Sydney, 6,000km south of Sentosa, I reckon I’m sufficiently distant to get a fresh view.

I’ve loved my time in Singapore and my tenure at Esquire SG. Immense thanks to Wayne, Wilson and Olivier at Heart Media for the opportunity to introduce each issue these past 18 months. But all things must come to an end—to ignite the spark for new beginnings. Like the legend of the phoenix…