Why paying $40 a day for silence was my best investment this year

SINGAPORE – “You are from Singapore? We get many Singaporeans here. Most of them spend a lot of time looking at trees. You have many trees in Singapore. But you don’t have the time to look at them.”

I was at a silent retreat in Chiang Mai, Thailand, when I met Father David Townsend, a Catholic priest in his 80s.

Father Townsend is British, but he has been living in Asia for decades.

Among other things, he spoke enthusiastically about a tiny weed that had flowered, before encouraging me to admire the many plants and creatures in the compound during my three-day stay in July.

It struck me that the only trees I vividly remember were the manicured columns of greenery lining the roads to and from Changi Airport.

The retreat had its rules. We were to observe silence, which meant not interacting with anyone, even if we were sitting at the same table during meals.

We also had to switch off our mobile phones or put them in flight mode.

This was a struggle. Living in densely populated Singapore means the adrenaline from social interactions is always within reach.

Beyond that, I enjoy talking to my family and friends. I also relate to accounts of excessive screen use, as I am almost constantly on a device when I’m alone.

My mobile phone hosts a persistent stream of personal and work messages, as well as alerts from news platforms. I write on a laptop and unwind by reading articles and watching social media reels.

I have even paid for Wi-Fi on a short cruise getaway, which cost more than three times my monthly phone bill.

Unwilling to quit the retreat, I steeled myself. After telling my loved ones that I had arrived safely, I was completely disconnected from the outside world.

My social habits quickly crept in. I found myself nodding to acknowledge a fellow retreatant, who did not return the gesture. I also interacted with a cat which, appearing well-versed in the art of being silent, paid me no attention.

I could not help but wonder how I got here. For one thing, I am not naturally contemplative. At the handful of yoga classes I’ve attended, my mind constantly wandered to the other things I needed to do.

The idea of meditating – a practice increasingly adopted by my peers – makes me want to pull an extra shift at work.

Still, in the months leading to my 35th birthday, I couldn’t shake off the need to take stock of the years that had passed, and plot a path forward. I felt plunged into the pits of what seemed like a midlife crisis.

Experts say midlife crises can now hit earlier than the typical 40s to 60s.

Instead of buying a luxury car or yacht, which most millennials like myself can’t afford anyway, I view our version of the crisis as a desperation to savour the final trickles of freedom and mobility that come with youth.

I floated this thought to friends who have been picking up intense sports like surfing, skateboarding and skiing, or joining fitness competitions.

Is this what the pressure of midlife looks like? There were several constrained nods, before a friend gently said: “Maybe you just need a break.”

So, I checked into the Seven Fountains retreat centre. It is run by the Jesuits, a religious order of the Catholic Church, a faith I subscribe to.

The suggested contribution of 1,000 baht (S$38.40) a night, covering an en-suite room and three meals, was affordable.

To top it off, I had enough miles for a flight to Chiang Mai, leaving me with no excuses. I was in for a complete social and digital detox.

My time freed up instantly once I was led to my room. After a shower, I counted down to dinner served in the communal dining hall. During the meal, I focused on savouring every morsel of food to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

Later that night, I had my first creature encounter – two large lizards perched on a window that appeared to be communicating under the moonlight.

I woke up early the next day to walk a labyrinth, a single winding path leading to a centre and back out, which is an ancient form of meditation.

Combined with the physical act of walking, I felt at peace and even liberated being alone with my thoughts.

Without the haste that comes with being socially and digitally connected, I felt like I had more than 24 hours in a day.

I journalled, exercised and sketched (badly). I spent time in an enclosure with rabbits and watched them going about their existence.

Remembering what Father Townsend told me about the experiences of other Singaporean retreatants, I decided to start observing trees.

Looking up at the canopy felt incredibly kooky. How trippy, I thought, while squinting as rays of sunlight seeped through the gaps in the bountiful foliage.

I slowly saw the appeal. Listening to the rustling leaves, I closed my eyes and felt like I had finally caught a breather. It was as if time stood still.

Now that I am back to my regular life, it is hard to find the kind of silence I had within the boundaries of the retreat.

I am by no means free from my mobile phone or laptop, but I have started a routine of taking solo walks outdoors. To ensure I get a genuine break, I will be leaving my devices at home.