56 Days

                                                      Hello! Long time no see folks  :')

I thought I was coming to Lisbon for two months (Well 56 days to be precise). I didn’t expect it to change how I leave it. Before coming to Lisbon, I wrote about stepping out of my comfort zone.

I wrote about trembling steps, unfamiliar streets, new rooms that had not learned my name yet, and the strange fear of walking into a life that could reshape me. At the time, I was standing on the edge of change. Now, somehow, I am standing on the edge again. Except this time, the fear feels different. Just two weeks left for me to fly back to Singapore and honestly, I don’t know what to feel.




When I first came here, I thought this part would be simple. I imagined that as the days passed, I would feel lighter, happier, maybe even on top of the world knowing that I was getting closer to going back. Back to familiarity. Back to people I know. Back to a place where I had already built routines, memories, and a version of myself I understood.

But now that the countdown has actually begun, I feel strangely conflicted.

Part of me is happy. Of course I am. There is comfort in returning to something familiar. There is excitement in going back to a life that already has a place for me. But another part of me feels unexpectedly heavy. Because this stint did something to me. It evolved me in ways I did not fully realise while I was living through it. 

When I first came here, I was scared in ways I didn’t fully admit at the time. I did not know anyone that well. I was not sure how different the culture would feel, or how easily I would fit into a new team. I was not sure how I would cope with a new country, a new rhythm,  and a new way of working, all within such a short span of time.

More than anything, I kept wondering whether 56 days was enough time for me to really matter here at all. And of course, there were moments when I was not even sure if everything was going right. There were days when I questioned myself. Days when I felt unsure. Days when I was just trying to understand where I stood. But I kept going. Not because I became fearless, but because the days kept moving, and I had to move with them. 

But slowly, things that once felt unfamiliar started becoming part of my routine. The new streets perhaps started recognising me. The new rooms stopped feeling so silent. The new faces became people I saw almost every day. The work that once felt overwhelming started becoming something I could hold, question, explain, and shape.

And somewhere between the uncertainty, the deadlines, the questions, and the small moments of figuring things out, I think I found a way to contribute too. Not loudly. Not perfectly. But sincerely. I came here wondering whether I would be able to leave any real mark in such a short span of time. And now, as I look back, I think maybe I did, in my own small way. But what I did not expect was that this place would leave a much bigger mark on me.

And maybe that is what makes leaving feel confusing now.

Because I was not just passing through. I was trying, learning, building, adapting, and quietly becoming part of something.

The place I was once trying so hard to adjust to has somehow become a place I will miss. Now that there are only two weeks left, the feeling has become harder to ignore. There are people, routines, streets, and small moments that became part of my everyday life, and a strange part of me already knows I will miss them. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way that means I do not want to go back. But in the quiet way you miss something once you realise it will no longer be part of your everyday rhythm.

Also got a chance to witness the 25 April march! It was for sure a transformational experience

And that thought torments my heart a little. Because some part of me quietly says, I wish I could have stayed longer.

Which is strange, because I always knew this was temporary. I came here knowing there was a return date. I knew this chapter had an expiry date before it even began.

So what exactly changed?
What made me so attached?
Was it the city?
Was it the people?
Was it the work?
Was it the routine?
Or was it the version of myself this place brought out?



Maybe I am not only sad to leave Lisbon. Maybe I am sad to leave the version of me who existed here.

      

The version who learned to navigate a new country.
The version who entered a new environment and slowly found her voice.
The version who was unsure, but still showed up.
The version who realised that growth does not always feel like confidence while it is happening.

Sometimes it just feels like getting through one day, then another, until one day you look back and realise you are not exactly the same person who arrived.

And maybe this is where the word love becomes complicated. Not romantic love. Not the kind that belongs to one person. But the quieter kind. The kind that attaches itself to places, routines, people, impromptu conversations and versions of ourselves we are not ready to leave behind. Maybe love is not always about wanting something forever. Maybe sometimes love is the ache of realising that something temporary changed you permanently.

    

Before coming here, I thought the brave part would be arriving. Now I think maybe the brave part is also leaving. Leaving without pretending it did not matter. Leaving without trying to make the goodbye smaller than it feels. Leaving with gratitude for the version of yourself that a place helped you become, even if that version only existed there for a little while.





Because I am not only going back. I am also carrying something with me.

A city.
A chapter.
A few people.
A few lessons.
A version of myself I had not met before.

So maybe I do know what I feel. I feel grateful. I feel sad. I feel happy. I feel changed.

And maybe that is what makes this goodbye feel so full.

Grateful. Sad. Happy. Changed.
And somehow, the streets that once didn't know me will carry me for a little longer.