Swimming to the Deep End

Let us talk a little about my background. Maybe with this, it will somewhat help you understand the tone and style that I write with.

Firstly, my heritage:

I was born and bred in a small sunny little island city, Singapore, an island city that boasts harmony among her people, who come from different races and religions. It was not always harmonious, but over the years, the people learned to live together, happily.

My family are, racially, Arabs. Hadhrami Arabs, to be precise. My maternal grandparents came over to Singapore in the late 20s, early 30s, to build a family in a new land, while my paternal grandparents were already 3rd generation Singaporeans (although, that term did not exist as yet, then). It really is far more complicated than this, but I am trying to simplify it by providing general information.

Arabs, they are proud people. Lineage was a big thing, then, especially so after the “great” migration back in the day.  The elders were afraid that moving out of their motherland, their children may lose touch of their heritage. Hence, my parents were match made, to keep the blood lines as strong as if we were back in Hadhramaut, and not in a little South East Asian island. They both share the same surname, hence, making my blood, pure BenTalib.

The Growing Up Years:

I was raised as any other Singaporean child. My parents adhered to the “Stop at Two” propaganda of the 80s, to curb over population (the irony today!). Plus, they were blessed with me, a daughter, after the birth of their crown prince, my brother. This, undeniably, made us the perfect family during the turn of the century.

I never could concentrate for long periods of time. But, I did survive education in Singapore. The end of my high school life, I realised, if I were to do well in life, my education must not be limited to Singapore. My creative mind, my rebellious trains of thoughts, were all far from the desired cookie cutter mind set that we were equipped with in school, here.

I knew.

I knew for certain, I had to leave my little island, my home, and, as cliché as it is, I had to spread my wings.

My Own Great Migration:

It was not the fairy tale I was lead to believe. Thanks to shows like Felicity, I thought living away from home, was going to be all rainbows and butterflies. One word,


No one ever really talks about the perils of living on your own. No one tells you that when you are sick, sometimes all you need, is to just know that Ummi (READ: Mother) is within a 5 metre radius away from you, at all times.


I lived in Wellington, New Zealand, 6 years of my adult life.


Yes, it was not all rainbows and butterflies, but by God! It was 6 years of learning about what I am truly capable of. It was 6 years of finding out, what will truly break me.

Things changed. I changed.

I left New Zealand, with a stronger sense of knowing what I wanted in this life. I also learned what my “Kryptonite” was. This, inevitably, made me a stronger person, too.

Oh, and I also got my Bachelors there.



Well, that is the gist of my being. It still borders on being a tad too long (You Don’t Say!) but I feel that it is sufficient enough to equip you, as my reader, to understand my writing.

With that, it ties up my two part introduction. I know, I am abrupt like that.

I guess, the blogging will start now. I must admit, I am a little nervous. This would be the first time that I will be baring my inner most thoughts, on such a public platform.

But, I am hoping that my future readers, would be forgiving on my writing. I am all up for constructive criticisms, but be nice, ok?

Till the next time.


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