I’m not fond of large, tourist-packed cities. In fact, I think I might be the only person I know who shudders at the thought of planning itineraries for places like Bangkok and Tokyo. I get overstimulated and stressed out in crowded places when travelling from A to B, especially while trying to keep safe in a foreign land. On that note, I’ve always wanted to get out of our own densely-packed Garden City, at least for a while. So when I got the email that I’d be headed to medium-sized Newcastle-upon-Tyne in England for my semester abroad, I remember the waves of trepidation vividly. Truth be told, it wasn’t my first choice, and as a Chelsea Football Club fan, I had been hoping for a smaller city closer to London instead.
Grey’s Monument in Newcastle’s civic centre.
But yet, here I am, three months after my flight home from the UK, craving Greggs sausage rolls and the endearing chants that echo throughout St. James’ Park every other Saturday. After five months there, I dare say that Newcastle is the warmest city in the UK, even in the dead of winter. The friendliness of the Geordies (locals) is in a league of its own.
Grainger’s Market, where I did my weekly grocery shop.
The “Toon”, as the city is affectionately nicknamed, wasn’t as busy as London but was still well-connected and had everything an exchange student needed, airport included. While I was a fish out of water at first, it was a gradual recognition as I grew to appreciate my weekly routine. A cuppa at Neighbourhood Coffee every other morning before lectures, weekend picnics at Tynemouth Beach with picky bits from Marks & Spencer, Wednesday nights out with my flatmates. Even Mr. Mueller in Grainger’s Market knew my weekly shopping list. As I got to know Newcastle, the abundance of third spaces in the UK had also served me well, and I had a small social network of local friends. It only took some pub nights (and slightly off-tune renditions of Oasis hits) to win them over. It was just like the warmth of living in Tembusu all over again. We spent so much time together, from weekend getaways to nearby Alnwick and Bamburgh to studying together on campus when exam season rolled around. As I look back now, it’s odd to think that I hadn’t chosen to be in Newcastle. But somewhere between the grocery runs and happy hour pints, it had chosen me.
Tynemouth Beach, our favourite weekend haunt!
At the same time, my heart never fully settled. As I toured the UK, from the lush landscapes of the Isle of Skye to the countercultural and upbeat Bristol, I felt an odd sense of yearning. I think it was an overpriced plate of nasi lemak in the middle of London that triggered this restlessness. It made me notice that the “British” version of myself that I’d become had been carefully choreographed and curated. Ordering that very plate of Singaporean food was the first time in three months that I had fallen back into my natural accent and tempo. It was like releasing a Herculean load off my back. I was breathing easy again.
What I’d brushed off as situational code-switching was actually me trying my hardest to be noticed and understood. Even as I ate cinnamon rolls and drank iced oat lattes (lactose intolerance yay!), I missed my Ya Kun Kaya Toast and kopi-o kosong with soft-boiled eggs. Even as the Geordie crowd roared when William Osula scored a last-minute winner against Manchester United, it just wasn’t like Ilhan Fandi’s goal that knocked Indonesia out of the ASEAN Cup. Even as Sam Fender and Olivia Dean reined me in while I shuffled through the hustle and bustle of Northumberland Street, I was thinking about the mandopop buskers along Orchard Road and $1 ice cream street hawkers.
During my travels, I came across the Portuguese expression, saudade. It stopped me in my tracks. The Dicionário Houaiss da Língua Portuguesa defines saudade as “A somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness. It is related to thinking back on situations of privation due to the absence of someone or something, to move away from a place or thing, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived.” This sentiment had been present throughout my time in England, but I just couldn’t make sense of it till then. What England gave me was a long overdue respite from my commitments back home. What it didn’t give me, was everything that couldn’t be packed into two 23-kilogram suitcases.
With that being said, I appreciate Newcastle and the role it has played in my becoming. I had embraced every emotion and the love that flowed to me from the River Tyne. They were real, and I still sometimes check my weather app while wondering how my British friends are getting on. Starting from nothing in a foreign land quenched my thirst for new experiences and self-exploration. While I look back on exchange fondly, I found that this dissonance began to unravel between the concepts of “home” and “building a life” in the new country I found myself in. The latter carries an element of agency and capacity, where I could learn the rhythms, find my people, and get used to the routines of British life. The former comes from an established identity, an entrenched culture, and a sense of belonging, where I did not need to build anything new as everything was already integrated within me. Romanticisation and what-ifs had many answers for the potential “new life”, but none for the home that I already knew by heart.
Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island, was an important hub for Celtic Christianity in Northumbria.
After a routine run one evening, I received a greeting card from my mum in the mail. It contained a drawing of my puppy and an update from my sister about how she was doing in school. Ironically, being reminded of who I was, and where my heart still lies, is the warmest memory I have from my time on exchange. Looking back, perhaps the trees gradually regaining their green and the daffodils beginning to bloom had manifested my infatuation as spring arrived. I had fallen in love with a temporary season of my life, and Newcastle was where it happened.
The best part of going on exchange in any foreign country is the time and space that you have to discover the person that you couldn’t have been back home. However, the worst part is realising that once it’s over, you would’ve outgrown those six months, and that your life will never truly be on “pause” again. I think that’s the most bittersweet feeling: the experience of reaping the rewards of working hard to be picked to go on exchange, but also knowing that this is only but a phase of fleeting joy.
At Newcastle University Politics Society’s Summer Ball.
In poet Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, he shares my struggle as he narrates his walk through the snowy woods.
Newcastle was my snowy evening in the woods. I had gone looking for a break from the third-densest country in the world and ended up in the bestest city in England. Somewhere along the way, I found home for a season. And maybe that’s what I needed all along. Not to escape my actual home, but to find a semblance of it somewhere unexpected without the stress of what it took to get there. As I travel on the road ahead, I now know that home is where love flows seamlessly without translation, where I feel saudade the most for, and where I have miles to go before I sleep.
Our Tampines Hub during a screening of the ASEAN Championship match between Singapore and Thailand.
About the Author
Judd is a fourth-year Political Science major who argues that the North-east Line is the best MRT line. Now an ex-Tembusian, he divides his time between learning French and watching classic films. While his friends think it’s not that deep, he enjoys penning pieces on daily life as a young person in Singapore.