Tête-à-Tête with Singapore

There are many ways to be a sailor’s wife. Some stay on land, holding down the fort, paying the bills and pretending they know how to fix the Wi-Fi. Others, like me, decide that if you can’t beat the waves, you might as well ride them. So I packed a bag, waved goodbye to stable internet, and climbed aboard for a few months at sea — not as part of the crew (trust me, no one wants me near anything with buttons or ropes), but as a supernumerary, which is just a very fancy way of saying I was basically a passenger. I joined my husband on the Ocean Sapphire, a cargo ship built for work, not wanderlust. It wasn't a cruise, and I quickly learned that cargo ships don’t just linger in postcard-worthy ports. They dock, load or unload and leave — sometimes before you’ve finished brushing your hair. 

Life onboard had its charms — and its quirks. One day, you’re spotting dolphins riding the wake. The next, your big thrill is choosing between instant coffee or green tea. There were stretches of glorious sunsets, and others of endless grey. But the constant, the silver lining, was being close to my husband in a world that often felt distant and disconnected.

It was during one of those quieter evenings that something unexpected happened — a small moment that turned into something unforgettable.

We were crossing the Singapore Strait. I crept up to the bridge wing after dinner with a mug of green tea in hand, looking for a bit of quiet. The crew was busy below — adjusting radars, heaving anchors, doing all the things that keep ships moving. I wasn’t expecting much — just some peace, maybe a breeze.

But what I saw quite literally stopped me in my tracks.

The sky had turned into a painting — orange melting into pink, brushed with strokes of grey and silver. The wind played through my hair like it had waited all day for this cue. And there it was: Singapore. Not the bustling city of malls and lights I had always imagined, but a distant silhouette, glowing softly like a bride on her wedding day. 

Skyscrapers shimmered in the fading light, their reflections dancing on the water, rippled by passing ships. There were no cafés, no chattering crowds. Just me, my tea and dozens of vessels gliding by quietly — each one minding its own business in this floating city of sorts. I stood there, completely still, wrapped in the hush and hum of the sea.

Below, a few of the crew were taking photos. Some were nearing the end of their contracts, heading home to India — our next port. Singapore was just a refueling stop, so no one would set foot ashore. But they didn’t mind. They posed and laughed, the skyline glowing behind them, capturing the kind of memory you can’t buy in a duty-free store. No souvenirs, no airport chocolates — just a beautiful memory to show their families — proof that even work can come with a view.

As the sky darkened and the lights slowly faded behind us, I stood there until my tea turned cold. One by one, the ships peeled away into the distance, each bound for its own destination. And just like that, we left Singapore behind, sailing into the hush of another ocean night.

Being a sailor’s wife at sea isn’t glamorous. Sometimes, there are no tourist stops or Instagram backdrops. But every now and then, the universe hands you a moment — quiet, fleeting and impossibly beautiful. And in that moment, you're reminded that distance doesn’t always dull things. Sometimes, it’s what allows you to truly see.