I said goodbye to Jasmine today.

We started missing each other a couple of days earlier before the moment we parted. Has that ever happened to you?

It seems normal for Singaporeans to be wired toward the future. We tend to anticipate how things might go with every situation we take on. This time, we unconsciously took the feelings we thought we would feel in the future and started feeling it right now.

We talked through it. A stray thought came—why was I doing this when my joy, my dream was right in front of me? (Oh, how mentalities change.) Should I change my flight to join her back home instead of walking?

But we both knew that I wanted to do this. It was just the familiarity of the past three weeks in Europe being together, solving together, laughing together. These moments have been so comforting, so wonderful.

And it is normal to want to hold onto that.

We recognised that being physically apart did not diminish our togetherness. It’s definitely different, but it just means we’ll be experiencing life individually for just a bit. A month or so is something we can do. Being alone would be something we would get familiar with and learn how to be again.

When/if you do go on a thru-hike, a long journey, or perhaps the Camino de Santiago, and you’ll be leaving a dear one who is staying behind—it’s worth thinking about what that means for you. Why you’re inhabiting different physical spaces for now. How you’ll stay together while physically apart. And what you’re looking forward to upon reuniting.

It’s my last day in Barcelona, and I manage to book a ticket to go inside the Sagrada Familia. It’s helpful that they provide an audio guide with an app, because the cathedral echoes with the murmurs of the tourist crowd. I plug in my earphones, learning about the care and dedication that went into the design of the temple. Antoni Gaudí was 31 in 1883 when he took over building this church. In 2026, it will finally be finished by his disciples.

The best things take time.

When the audio guide told me all there was to learn about the interior, I find a seat closest to the middle of the pews and listen to O Magnum Mysterium, a sacred song I loved singing when I was in choir. For a moment, while surrounded by many, I find myself peacefully on my own.

The immediate loss I felt this morning has settled at the bottom of my stomach into a gentle resolve. I’m alone now, but I will carry our love with me.