My first snowfall – Clarissa Tan’s diary

To everything there is a season, says the Bible. And, as I have been discovering, to every season there are certain things. To autumn belongs the wet shiny streets, the brollies and the macs, the brightly coloured soups, the quiet squares where both trees and grass are emblazoned with gold leaves. Then, as autumn moves to winter, there are the fleecy collars and fluffy hats, the steamy breaths, the ferrous skies. Perhaps before the season is over, I’ll get to see windowpanes with actual snow on them, instead of cotton wool.

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I have spent all my life, until now, in the tropics, where there are no seasons. Singapore is just one degree north of the equator, and you’re reminded of the fact all the time as the sun bears down and the thunderstorms whip (both usually within the space of 24 hours). Dawn and dusk arrive at the same time every day.