I have spent most of my life in the East — twenty-five years and counting.
I was born and raised in Singapore, and even as my family moved between homes, we always remained in the eastern part of the island. That part of the city has shaped my childhood and continues to draw me back.
When I say “home,” what I picture most clearly is the East — especially East Coast Park.
East Coast Park sits a short twenty-minute walk from my former house. On weekends it becomes a living, breathing place full of people of all ages. Families, teenagers, and friends gather there to enjoy the outdoors, and the park fills with the sounds of activity and laughter.
Weekends at the park are busy and energetic, while weekdays are quiet and restorative.
On Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays you’ll find people skating along the paths, cycling in groups or alone, paddling canoes, flying kites and firing up barbecues for shared meals. During the week the traffic thins, the roads feel freer, and even under Singapore’s intense sun the park offers pockets of shade and calm.
One hot Monday morning, I grabbed my camera and walked down to the coast anyway.
Singapore’s climate can make outdoor plans challenging, but I wanted to revisit the places that shaped me. The park felt familiar and quietly alive: the trees casting broken light on the paths, the constant wash of the sea not far off.
Walking along the coastline, I absorbed the familiar mix of trees, sand and sea and remembered growing up here.
When I was young, riding bicycles at East Coast Park was a weekend ritual. My siblings and I would hire bikes and pedal along the long stretches of path, stopping to rest beneath leafy canopies or beneath towering coconut palms. Those warm, orange coconuts seemed to hang heavy and ripe above us.
As I grew older, I didn’t cycle as often, but the habit never disappeared completely.
Occasionally I would meet my best friend, Jin Hua, for a ride. We would park our bikes and sit by the shoreline, watching the distant coastline and the occasional oil tanker making its way across the horizon. The view has always felt steady and grounding.
The turquoise blue of the water has a comforting effect on me, then and now.
I’ve visited beaches around the world — places like Cinque Terre and the Amalfi Coast remain favorites — but East Coast Park will always be uniquely mine.
The park doesn’t compete with the dramatic cliffs of the Mediterranean or the powdery white sand of other famous shores, but it holds a different value: familiarity, memory, the rhythm of everyday life. Those memories are woven into the landscape of trees, paths and sea.
My heart feels at ease at East Coast Park; it lets me slow down and breathe in the sense of home.
I love the view of the city seen from the eastern shore — even when the skyline is softened by mist.
Returning to East Coast Park reminds me of who I am and where I belong. The silhouette of the city across the water, the smell of salt and grass, and the open sky all combine into a sense of rootedness that I carry with me.
I knew it then and I know it now — I am, and always will be, a girl from the East.
This place is home for me.
