Far From Home, Close at Heart: Understanding Nostalgia and Belonging Among Migrant Workers in Singapore

Written by: Goyal Naina (24-A2), Andrea (24-A2), Joel Keng (24-A2), Chan Kar Teng (24-I2), Kyra Koh (24-O3)

Designed by: Hung Jia Xuan (24-I6)

When we think of “nostalgia”, we often recall childhood memories, old songs or the aroma of food from our family kitchen. For Singapore’s migrant workers, however, nostalgia is not just a distant memory, it’s a part of their everyday life. It’s the feeling of missing a daughter’s birthday, a mother’s cooking, or the warmth of a familiar festival celebrated thousands of kilometres away. This quiet ache sits alongside long working hours, demanding conditions, and the pressure of providing for loved ones back home.

As part of our Values in Action (VIA) initiative with ItsRainingRaincoats (IRR), Eunoia Junior College Press had the privilege of interviewing several migrant workers across different industries in Singapore. We set out to better understand their stories, and in doing so, we found a shared thread: a deep longing for home, and a simultaneous effort to build a sense of belonging here.

We decided to work with migrant workers as they form the backbone of Singapore’s development. From construction and sanitation to logistics and driving, their labour powers the city’s daily operations. Yet, they often remain unseen or misunderstood. We chose to spotlight their stories not only to honour their contributions, but to also explore how themes of nostalgia, identity, and belonging resonate within their lives.

Most of the workers we spoke to came to Singapore to support their families. “I come to Singapore to make money, to make my family happy,” said one worker from Bangladesh who has spent over 17 years here. His words echoed across many of our interviews. Their sacrifices are immense, leaving behind spouses, children, and parents, often seeing them only once every few years. “When I left, my children were very young. I missed a lot of their growth,” shared another worker from India who has been here for eight years. “During Covid, I could not go back. I felt very sad and lonely. But I call them every day. Video call.”

Despite 12-hour shifts that stretch from 7:30am to 7:30pm, many workers still make time to connect with their families, often calling more than once a day. “After work, after makan time, I call my mother, my wife, many times,” one worker told us. Another added with a smile, “My mother very old already. Everyday, one time I call my mother.” These calls are a lifeline. They help ease the pain of separation, though they can never fully replace physical presence. As another worker simply put it, “Must miss lah. My father, my mother. Must miss.” So, how do these workers cope with overwhelming nostalgia?

Many turn to the community. In the dormitories where 10 to 12 men share a room, they find comfort in the camaraderie and familiarity of their shared living space, creating a bond that transcends the challenges of their environment. “One room 12 people, very good, communication very good,” said one worker. “We cook together, eat together. We celebrate with mutton, beef, vegetable . I cook myself, then makan.” In many ways, these dorms are not just places to sleep, but places where culture, laughter, and friendship can bring comfort in a foreign land.

On their precious off-days which are usually only once a week, they gather to rest, eat, or unwind. “Sunday…sleep, watch movie, game. With friends from India,” said one. Another told us, “ evening I go outside, play cricket. We have a field at our recreation centre.” The friendships they form are crucial. With few having family in Singapore, their friends become their support system, providing company when they feel alone in a foreign country. As one man said, “ have friends, no family.” These bonds cultivate a sense of belonging, offering a temporary but comforting semblance of home amidst their challenging surroundings. 

While some might assume migrant workers feel unwelcome in Singapore, many expressed their gratitude for how they are treated. “Singaporeans are good,” one man said. Another shared, “Sometimes they give cold drinks, fruits to me. I like your country.” 

However, there were nuances as many hoped for some empathy. “The items we buy are the same , but our salaries are lower,” one worker pointed out. Like many others, he sends most of his income home, keeping very little for himself. Despite these challenges, most workers said they felt safe in Singapore and appreciated the sense of order and opportunity. “Singapore is good, very safe,” one said. “Here I’m happy. My company treat me very good.”

One IRR volunteer reflected on his experiences helping distribute food packs during festivals: “We can keep giving stuff, but it’s just a drop in the bucket. No amount of free pizzas can compensate for what they’ve given up.” This insight reminded us that kindness should not stop at charity, it must be rooted in respect, listening, and shared humanity. Beyond donations, we can offer friendship, inclusion, and most importantly, recognition. Small gestures such as saying hello, offering a drink, or asking how someone’s day went can go a long way in making them feel seen. As students, we can also use our platforms to amplify voices that often go unheard, and create safe, welcoming spaces for all.

At the heart of every story we heard was love. Love for family, love for children they haven’t held in years, love expressed through sacrifice, through routine, through hope. “I want to open a workshop back home,” said one worker. “Everything I earn, I send to India. For my sisters’ studies.” Their dreams, like ours, are filled with hope for a better tomorrow— if not for themselves, then for their loved ones. In a world that grows increasingly connected yet emotionally distant, the stories of migrant workers remind us that belonging isn’t defined by borders, it’s built through bonds. Let us not just acknowledge and tolerate their presence, but honour their journey. After all, we may come from different homes, but we all long for the same thing: to be remembered, respected, and loved.