I Earn $5,800 a Month, But My Life Still Feels Temporary

On paper, I am doing well.

I am a software engineer in Singapore, earning $5,800 a month. Back in Chennai, that number becomes something else when you convert it to rupees. My parents tell people, “He is settled overseas.” My cousins message me asking if I can help with a down payment, or sponsor a course.

I don’t correct them.

Because the math sounds impressive.

But at night, I go back to half a room in a condo. My side is a bed, a small desk, and one IKEA rack for my clothes. My “overseas life” fits into a 10 by 10 space. The math adds up. The life doesn’t always.

I came here after failing the H1B twice. This was not the dream. This was what was available.

My company arranged my Employment Pass, but moving here cost me almost $6,000 upfront. Deposit, rent, basic things. The first few months felt like I was just trying to recover from arriving.

Work is… quiet.

One day, it was a colleague’s birthday. In Chennai, there would be cake, noise, someone forcing you to eat sweets. Here, there was a Slack message. “Happy birthday.” A few emojis. Then everyone went back to coding.

At lunch, we sit together, but not really together. Everyone scrolls their phone. Conversations are short, polite, finished quickly.

In Chennai, silence is a luxury you can't find. Here, silence is the default. I stand in a packed MRT train at 6:30 PM, surrounded by a hundred people, yet the only sound is the automated voice announcing 'Expo.' It’s a polite, efficient kind of loneliness.

I miss the noise of Chennai, where the chaos makes you feel alive. Here, the silence makes you feel invisible.

Some nights, I walk back after work and feel it more.

That is when I tell myself, “seri da… this is part of growing up.”

But even that line feels rehearsed after a while.

The truth is, I am always a little careful here.

My Employment Pass is tied to my job. When renewal season comes, I start checking things I never used to care about. MOM updates, industry news, LinkedIn posts about tightening policies. Sometimes late at night, I scroll through forums, reading what might change, what might affect people like me.

In India, home is a place.

Here, home is a document with an expiry date.

My life is packed in a suitcase, ready to be moved if a policy changes or a contract ends.

So I save. I send about $2,000 home every month. I do everything right.

And still, there is that quiet question.

Where do I belong?

I am not struggling. I am not suffering.

But I am not settled either.

I am a success story when people talk about me.

But in my own life,

I am still waiting for it to feel like mine.

PS This is a work of fiction inspired by real experiences. It reflects the shared realities of many individuals, but does not represent any specific person.