The main reason is that I had been diagnosed by Chinese doctors with skin allergy, or more specifically, allergy to 1) eggs and 2) the air in Beijing.

The first is puzzling and bewildering. I have been eating eggs all my life, and now I am told that I am allergic to eggs??! The thought of not being able to consume any egg-related products is a depressing one. While I do not consume eggs by the gallon, I love my sunny-side ups, omelettes, not to mention egg custards and a million other egg-related products such as noodles, cakes and desserts.

And two days after my diagnosis, I promptly forgot the doctor’s advice and thoughtlessly popped a Hong Kong pastry into my mouth, only to end up scratching for the rest of the day. And prior to my diagnosis, I had no idea that almost every kind of Chinese fried rice uses eggs “so that the rice does not stick to the pan.” So even fried rice is something that I have to eliminate from my diet.

The second is even more baffling and perplexing. Beginning in 1999, I spent six years in the Chinese capital, where the air quality and the level of pollution were arguably much worse than the months leading up to August 2008. And I was fine then. But now with much better air quality I am allergic to the air in Beijing?

Worse, the doctor suggested that I should avoid leaving the house if I can help it. I did not have the heart to tell him that I am a journalist and sitting at home watching television and counting my toes is simply not an option that my bosses will find amusing. Friends joked that I should either go out wrapped in a plastic bubble, or pray that the air in Beijing deteriorates after the Olympics.

Jokes aside, there is nothing much I can do, except dutifully take my allergy medication.

As for the visit to Chaoyang Hospital for the diagnosis, the experience was much better than I had expected. The queuing was orderly, and the hospital had a clear system in place - for instance, a queue number was needed before the consultation, and payment was required before medication could be issued.

My only complaint was having found out belatedly that I could have paid a bit more and seen a specialist, an option that I imagine will allow me more privacy. I do not know about other departments within the hospital, but my sense is that patients consulting a doctor for skin allergies are not entitled to any privacy. During my two visits to the skin department of the hospital, I have people hovering behind me waiting for their turns while listening to my medical woes.

Looking back, I can hardly remember what I did over the past ten national days. There was one year where I sang Count On Me Singapore in the bathtub on the morning of August 9th. That was in Beijing, probably in 1999 or 2000. There was another year where I tried visiting the Singapore Embassy, only to realize that it was national day and the Embassy was closed for the day. Jeez. That was in 2005 where I was studying in Seoul. I actually forgot it was national day when I left home that day.

But national days over the past decade were mainly about attending the occasional national day gatherings/receptions, mostly in Beijing, and twice in Washington DC, where I was pursuing my masters in international affairs.

Living in four different cities over the past decade has enabled me to see Singapore through the eyes of the many - often interesting, intelligent and discerning - people I have met, though admittedly many harbor fairly stereotypical views of the island.

Mainland Chinese I have met often praise Singapore for its efficiency, good governance, lack of corruption and cleanliness. But they would also lament about how small, hot and humid the country is. 

South Koreans generally have a high regard for Singapore. They give top marks to the island for its efficiency and good economic performance.  As Koreans took pains to remind me, Singapore companies own some of the most prestigious addresses in downtown Seoul, such as Seoul Finance Center in downtown Gwanghwa-mun. And oh yes, they love Yakun kaya toast!

Hongkongers, on the other hand, generally view Singapore as the territory’s competitor. Many Hongkongers describe Singapore as sterile, uninteresting and too restrictive on personal freedoms, unlike their (still fairly) laissez-faire territory. The only redeeming quality about the island, in the minds of these food-conscious Hongkongers, is Hainanese chicken rice and a whole array of other delectable hawker fare.

As for Americans, well, at least ordinary Americans, I am usually the only Singaporean they have ever met in their lives. In 9 cases out of 10, when I say I am from Singapore, the name Michael Fay would inevitably be brought up. Never mind that it has been almost 14 years since the American teenager was caned in Singapore for vandalism. Then of course there were questions ranging from whether “is it true that you cannot chew gum in Singapore”, to “is it true that you can get jailed if you do not flush the toilet after use?”

My American classmates would usually try to engage me in discussions about why political liberalizations in Singapore had not kept pace with economic development. As for my professors, I would invariably be asked during class discussions to “speak from a Singaporean viewpoint” on issues ranging from regional security, the island’s zeal in embracing FTAs (Free Trade Areas), to the influence and legacy of Confucianism in Singapore (huh?).

So, much as I wished to (occasionally) underplay my nationality, it is about as easy as erasing a permanent 10-cm mole on one’s face.

But if there is anything that had been driven home to me after being away from Singapore for over a decade, it is the sense that Singapore is small and will always be constrained by its size and geographical limitations. The best that the island state can hope to do is play a role that is incommensurate with its size, and remaining useful and relevant both regionally and globally - both of which the country had done with aplomb.  Of course, such an awareness of Singapore’s limitations should not be viewed in a pessimistic way, but pragmatically. The awareness stems from the amazement that an artificial creation like Singapore had come this far, coupled with the worry and anxiety of the long-term viability of this artificially created entity whose idea of a shared historical and cultural heritage is to draw from the heritages of our Asian neighbors in Malaysia/Indonesia, India and China.

A country that begins with a clean slate and little historical baggage (except with its closest northern neighbor) is a great recipe for nation building. But will it be an equally good recipe for nation-bonding, and nation-togetherness in the midst of turbulence and turmoil? Will all the singing of Count On Me Singapore tide us through a crisis, given that countries with longer and more deeply-entrenched historical and cultural traditions had crumbled in the face of crisis, wars and devastation?

I do not know, and honest to goodness, do not wish to see any of the above scenarios materialize. All I hope for, at least during this national day, is an authentic bowl of laksa, a plate of truly spicy and sour-rish rojak and a steaming-with-fragrance plate of Hainanese chicken rice.

I was at a Chinese fast food joint one day ordering my late lunch. The counter staff took down my orders with a megawatt smile, and after she repeated my order, she whipped out a clock.

My first instinct was that she was trying to sell me the clock, and was about to say no.

But hey, no. She was explaining to me a new promotional scheme involving apparently no effort on my part.

“If your meal does not appear within 60 seconds after I’ve keyed in your orders, you will get a free drink”, said Ms Megawatt Smile.

And before I knew what hit me, she keyed in my orders, and pressed the buzzer on the clock.

This was followed by a frantic attempt to serve me my food - consisting of seperate bowls of rice, soup, meat, vegetables and drinks - within 60 seconds.

When the meal was finally assembled before me, the clock read 1 min and 04 seconds.

Ms Megawatt Smile looked at the clock and declared somewhat sheepishly, “well, we’re sorry, looks like we owe you a drink.”

And true to her words, Ms Megawatt Smile whipped out a cup, filled it with soya bean milk, and presto, my free gift!

Since my meal already came with a drink, I brought the free drink back to the office and offered to our office manager Wang Xin.

While sipping the drink, Wang wondered with a tinge of disbelief, “天底下还有那么好的事？” (Or “are there really such good deals left in this world?”)

Perhaps there are.

Perhaps competition had driven the fast food chain to think of novel ways to keep abreast of the competition.

Or perhaps the fast food chain was trying to get rid of massive amounts of soya bean milk before they turned bad.

But whatever it is, I am quite sure I will try my luck there again very soon.

Now, this has got nothing to do with any dazzling display of intelligence on my part. Nor was the comment made at the end of an IQ test.

The comment usually comes from newsmakers, public relations types, interviewees, hotel clerks, even total strangers, when they discover that I write with my left hand.

Actually I am ambidextrous.  I write and brush my teeth with my left hand. But can only use my right hand when handling a pair of scissors or playing racket games.

Most Chinese find me a rarity. Not only would they express amazement that I am left-handed, some would add - as if watching a canine perform an amazing stunt - “wow, even with her left hand she can write so fast!”

But what I found amazing is the fact that there are so few left-handed people in a country with a population of 1.3 billion.

In 1998, a study suggested that seven to ten per cent of the adult population is left-handed. In China, this should translate to at least 100 million southpaws.

But throughout my time spent in China, I have not met even one single lefty. A few Chinese I met said they were left-handed when they were young, but had been “corrected” to use their right. One still uses his left hand when handling a pair of chopsticks. But writing with the left, it seems, is strictly a no-no. 

The Chinese aversion to the left is in line with many other cultures.

In Hebrew, the left hand symbolized the power to shame society, and was used as a metaphor for misfortune, natural evil, or punishment from the gods.

In many European languages, “right” is not only a synonym for correctness, but also stands for authority and justice.  In Portuguese, the most common word for a left-handed person canhoto was once used to identify the devil.

In Chinese, zuo (or left) means “improper” or “out of control.”

But In recent years, most cultures worldwide have stopped seeing left-handed people as a social abnormality.

In Britain, a study in the 1970s found that around 11 percent of men and women aged 15-24 were left-handed, compared to just 3 percent in the 55-64 age category. The study suggested that “cultural pressures” were to be blamed for the fewer incidences of left-handedness among the older generation.

But that was then. Over the past several years, most left-handers have been “liberated” from the stigma of being one.

Yet, this “liberalization” has yet to make much of a presence felt in China. This probably has much to do with ingrained custom and habit, as it is with “cultural pressures.”

But as the Chinese are allowed greater personal freedoms, it is possible that teachers and parents might be less anxious in correcting their “wayward” charges. 

After all, I look forward to the day where writing with my left hand would no longer raise eye-brows in China - a country that has increasingly tolerated if not allowed differences and diversity among its people.

The Beijing I remember when I left in January 2005 was a city with gleaming skyscrapers and all the trappings of a modern metropolis.  But it was also harsh, gritty and a city of contrasts.  The air was bad and sand storms were frequent occurrences.  BMWs and Mercedes Benzes drove alongside pedicabs transporting recycled items ranging from cardboard boxes to empty plastic bottles.  Gleaming skyscrapers co-existed with shanty dwellings.

Taxis were shabby, and taxi rides were at best tolerated, and at worse, a nightmare.  Front seats of taxis were to be avoided, unless one has a penchant for unwashed bodies and inexplicable bad breath.

Construction sites were found everywhere, and it is almost impossible to walk anywhere without dust, sand and fumes getting into one’s face and assaulting one’s senses.

As for service in restaurants, it was at best patchy and at worse infuriating.  I remembered how a friend fumed when we asked for dessert spoons at a Chinese restaurant, only to be told by a surly waitress “why can’t you use the same spoon that you used for dinner?” 

I also remembered how put off I was when my friends and I ordered a dish in a western restaurant which we had hoped to share.  While taking down our orders, the waiter uttered loudly - “this little food and they want to share.”

And going to the bank was a test of one’s patience and endurance.  Queues were haphazard, and bank clerks would either chat while dozens of customers waited impatiently, or put up a “counter closed” sign when one reached the front of the line after queuing for close to an hour.

Traffic was also haphazard and chaotic

Spitting seemed to be a national past time, while queuing a national scourge.  

The Beijing I returned to in March 2008 was still very much a gleaming metropolis, and arguably more so.  The construction sites I used to walk past had since been transformed into spanking new office blocks.   The old hutongs and residential neighbourhoods had been replaced by new apartment blocks and shopping malls.  And street side cooked foods stalls have all been cleared away, as were a few of my favourite restaurants located in areas earmarked for development - all in the name of progress and development.

Air quality is still questionable, and the contrast between the rich and the poor is still evident.  But taxis have all been converted into mostly Hyundai Sonatas, while taxi drivers seemed to have undergone a crash course on vehicle - not to mention - personal and oral hygiene.

As for restaurants, more seemed to have sprouted, and service has markedly improved.  Most service staff are better-trained and customer-oriented.

Even going to the bank was not such an ordeal.  Waiting time has been reduced considerably, and bank clerks have stopped behaving as if they were doing their customers a favor by attending to their needs.

While traffic is still heavy and at times chaotic, queuing for taxis and buses seems to have made a quiet appearance.  During my first week in Beijing, I hopped into a taxi without realizing that there was a queue behind me.  When I looked up and saw at least seven to eight people in the queue, I did not know where to put my face or hide my embarrassment.

As for spitting, well, the act is not totally eradicated, but seemed to have reduced in frequency.

Do the changes have anything to do with the Beijing Olympics? Most certainly so.  The city is keen to project what its officials call a “civilized” image, and to host “the best Olympics ever.”

But in my case, is it simply a case of re-visiting an old friend, only to find out, with some mixed feelings, that the old friend has become more worldly and sophisticated?  Is it a case of being gratified that the old friend had moved on, yet wishing that more I used to love about the friend had remained the same?

But during the three years that I had been away from Beijing, I have also become older, mellower, and more patient.

Perhaps Beijing has changed.  But I too have not remain unchanged.  And with that changed perspective, many things about the Chinese capital also appeared different, even newer and more refreshing.

Is this the start of a brand new and more different love affair from the one I used to remember?  I most certainly hope so.