From 25 to 27 April, the Urban Art Fair took place in Paris. I'm always drawn to spaces that celebrate creativity, but this year's event held a special personal meaning. The National Arts Council of Singapore had sponsored ten street artists to represent Southeast Asia, and among them was my longtime friend, Race Krehel of Metamo Industries. Race was exhibiting a virtual recreation of Kampong Glam, a historic neighbourhood in Singapore, that is part of a digital art project he has been working on for over seven years.
Race and I met 17 years ago, in our early twenties. We were both fresh out of university, figuring out who we were and what kind of lives we wanted to build. Over the years, our lives have taken different turns. He is now an international artist and a father, while I have a therapy practice and a home in Paris. Despite the changes, our friendship has remained strong. Seeing him again reminded me of the importance of long-term connection and how deeply grounding it can be.
Over the course of the weekend, I spent a lot of time with the Singaporean delegation, often stepping in as a French translator. What stood out most to me was the spirit of generosity that filled the space. Whether the artists knew each other beforehand or not, by the end of the fair they were sharing meals, stories, and even artwork. Pieces that could have sold for hundreds of euros were given freely to new friends.
This sense of openness echoed something I've always admired in Race and his wife Zana. Their homes have always had an open-door policy. Their way of living has reminded me of what Singaporeans refer to as the "kampong spirit" — a kind of neighbourly generosity and community-mindedness that has its roots in the country's village past. It is about making room for others, without pretence or expectation.
As a therapist, I often work with clients who are navigating questions around connection, loneliness and belonging. In that context, long-term friendships are something especially worth valuing. They offer us a kind of mirror. Through them, we can see who we used to be and notice who we are becoming. When I look at my friendship with Race, I see our youthful ambition, our shared creativity, and also the ways we've both grown and changed.
Some things evolve — careers, families, physical appearances — but other things stay beautifully consistent. The warmth, humour and mutual respect we've carried through the years continue to be a steady thread. That kind of continuity is rare and deeply nourishing.
Street artists, I've come to realise, are people who honour existing spaces. They add beauty and life to what's already there, often without asking for anything in return. In a similar way, long-standing friendships quietly shape and enrich us over time. They don't always make noise, but they leave a lasting imprint.
Are there people in your life who have seen you through different seasons?
What do those long-term relationships reveal to you about who you are, and how you've grown?
Sometimes, looking back with someone who's known you a long time can be one of the most healing experiences there is.
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