Ashes in the Light

Before every long trip, I always tell myself the same thing:

“I should eat all the local food I’ll miss before leaving.”

And somehow, I actually take it quite seriously.

Before flying off for our honeymoon, there was this quiet little mission between my husband and I to squeeze in as much Singapore food as possible before being away for almost two weeks. Though honestly, maybe not so much for him – he isn’t quite the foodie that I am.

Maybe it’s a Singaporean thing.
Or maybe food is just one of the ways home follows us.

There’s something oddly comforting about eating familiar flavours before stepping into somewhere unfamiliar – the chilli, the soup, the rice, the taste of something you’ve known your whole life without really thinking about it.

Even at the airport, we found ourselves still choosing local food.

And then suddenly, just like that, we were on the plane.

Airplane meals have always felt strangely nostalgic to me. Not necessarily because they’re good (though sometimes they surprise you), but because they mark the beginning of something.

This time, I didn’t even get a window seat, but somewhow the feeling was the same – opening the tiny tray table and realising:
we’re really leaving.

And in true Singaporean fashion, my airplane meal were still local food.

I ordered Fried Hor Fun for supper and a Fried Carrot Cake for breakfast – because, event at 30,000 feet in the air, I still wanted a taste of home.

There’s always a strange in-between feeling during flights.

Not quite home anymore, but not quite at the destination yet either.

Just somewhere above the clouds, suspended between routines and unfamiliar places.

And maybe that’s why I wanted to write about this small moment first — because every trip begins long before arrival.

Sometimes, it begins with one last taste of home.