Diary of an Expat in Singapore Read online

  You could be playing golf or relaxing by the pool but you’re not doing much of either.

  Expat dads dream of playing golf in Malaysia and lounging by the pool. In reality, they’re either recovering from jet lag, going to the chiropractor for their backs, or trying to re-negotiate the 100% rental increase on their condo lease. The latter being the most stressful as there is rarely an upgrade or maintenance done to justify the raise. The fun bit comes when the agent inspects the apartment before you hand it back to your landlord. You realize the things you never complained about when you got the apartment because you didn’t want to be an annoying tenant (the broken closet shelf, the faulty stove burner…) are now all your fault. And, you need to pay for them. Remember that deposit? Good luck with that. If one were paranoid, it would be legitimate to suspect apartments in Singapore are rented out with the sole purpose of renovating them with the tenants’ forfeited deposit once the tenants have left. Luckily the expat dad is too tired to be paranoid.

  Your wife no longer asks who the best-looking women are but she has noticed you whistle when you pack for Tokyo.

  This may be just a consequence of the many stylish Japanese women the expat wife sees around the condo. More likely, it’s from hearing them protest: “Us… beautiful and stylish? Noooo – you should see the women in Tokyo.” Before each trip, the expat dad should expect to be reminded how bossy Japanese wives are.

  Signs you’re an expat kid in Singapore

  Your parents don’t ground you. They threaten to turn off the air conditioning.

  When I first arrived in Singapore, I had a friend who used this method of discipline. No yelling or caning necessary. When her two sons were mucking about at bedtime, the simple threat of turning off the air con would apparently strike the fear of God in them. I knew I had a true expat kid when threatening to turn off the air conditioning had a more immediate effect than not allowing him to go out and play with friends. A true expat kid will always place air con above friendships.

  When you meet a friend for the first time, you ask them: “How big is your pool?”

  Also known as the expat kid ice-breaker, this question can be a great conversation-opener. All over the world, kids meeting for the first time ask each other what grade they are in. Not in Singapore. The expat kid cuts straight to the chase. This may or may not be intended as a way to gauge the true size of a pool. After all, we are in a country where most condos boast their own pool (an extravagant, unheard-of luxury in cities such as New York or Verona, Italy, where I come from). If you still haven’t broken it to your expat kid that in most places people don’t really discuss the size of their pools (any more than they would the size of their bank accounts), don’t worry, you have time. The departure lounge at Changi Airport might be a good place. In the meantime, let him relish being in hot and tropical Singapore, where most play dates involve a pool, and where a bathing suit is casually tossed inside mom’s handbag. Clearly there is truth to the claim that a pool is an extension of the expat kid. Now, about those swimming lessons.

  You complain that there is something you don’t like about the kindergarten class. (It’s the Mandarin.)

  This one is dear to my heart. When we first arrived in Singapore, like all expats I had just two priorities: not dying of heat stroke and having my kids become fluent in Chinese. Just kidding (about the heat stroke part).

  In my supreme ignorance, I assumed I would sign my son up for soccer or basketball and he would just naturally pick up the local language. Wrong. Singaporean kids do not speak Chinese. Or let me rephrase that: they may indeed speak Chinese with their parents at home, but they don’t speak it amongst themselves. And, even if they do, they most certainly won’t speak it with you, an angmoh (literally this term means ‘redhead’, but is used to indicate all expats). After all, they speak English, so why make the extra effort?

  Luckily for the Mandarin-hungry expat parent, most schools offer Chinese. The Montessori school that Alexander was accepted to when we first arrived had an unusual session: 12:30 to 3:30 pm. At first, I thought it was a joke since for most Italian mothers of a three-year-old that time is reserved for lunch followed by a nap. Now it meant heading out in the midday heat (no joke in Singapore, where the sun is beating down so hard at that hour you could fry an egg on your head). Two of these days were dedicated to Chinese. The laoshi didn’t speak any English, which was amazing… for me. For Alexander, not so much. Unable to articulate at first what was wrong (maybe the jet lag hadn’t passed yet), Alexander would merely say: “I know it’s the same classroom and the same kids… but there’s just something I don’t like about it.” Hmm, the Chinese? I wondered guiltily to myself.

  It must be said that learning Chinese is the bane of all expat kids’ existence. Well, it couldn’t be all fun and games now, could it?

  A plane ride any shorter than ten hours leaves you disappointed. “That’s all?”

  Unlike most children, the expat kid is used to travelling at least yearly to a very faraway place referred to as home. The expat kid is not sure why this faraway place is referred to as home, since everything commonly denoting a home – his bed, teddy bear, comic book collection – is, as far as he is concerned, already at home in Singapore. However, he is not only used to the long plane rides, he craves them. After all, it’s the only place where he can watch six movies back to back, uninterrupted. And, if his mother dozes off, one of those movies can be ‘Runaways’, a rock-and-roll bio of Joan Jett. Appropriate for an eight-year-old? Not really.

  Roti prata and seasoned seaweed are your favourite snacks.

  Pretty self-explanatory. Expat kids love roti prata – flat bread dipped into fishhead curry. You might want to omit the fishhead part when you first introduce it to them. I’ve seen Singaporeans and Indian vendors alike surprised at my kids’ tolerance for hot, spicy curry.

  The seaweed I blame on the strong Japanese influence in the snacks department here in Singapore. The wide array of rice crackers, barbecued seaweed, and cute packaging at grocery stores are just kawaii (irresistible). At least one of the reasons it’s so nice to have Japanese kids over on playdates: you never know what treat they will bring over. This holds true for kindergarten – once they start Kumon you won’t be seeing them so much.

  You think the corner on the sidewalk outside your condo is for hailing taxis.

  You mean the corner on the sidewalk in front of your condo isn’t for hailing taxis? Let’s see, if you’re an expat kid who leaves the condo (a.k.a. Mormon compound) only on a school bus, then I can see your quandary. Why else would you go there? You have never actually gone on a walk outside the condo. If your parents don’t own a car, you will indeed be taking a lot of taxis. The expat kid will take to this like a fish takes to water. It will become second nature. And, the prospect of even a five-minute walk will seem daunting and warrant the request: “Shouldn’t we take a taxi? There’s a green one coming now.” Green refers to the green light on top of the taxi’s windshield and theoretically denotes a vacant taxi. I use the term theoretically because the driver ultimately has the last word. It is not uncommon for the taxi driver to lower his window, hear where you have to go, shake his head violently no and drive off. Thus leaving you feeling only slightly less rejected than when you used to stand in your middle school cafeteria looking for a place to sit.

  The expat kid’s love of the taxi will become more controversial when you’re back ‘home’, where one only takes taxis to airports and hospitals. The fact that the taxi driver ‘home’ is wearing a Rolex should give you a clue as to why that is.

  You dream about wearing gloves and sweaters.

  The expat kid craves cold weather. At least he thinks he does, having never actually experienced it. He dreams of wind, ice, sleet, and frost. Above all else, he dreams of snow. In the expat kid’s mind, snow is the one thing missing from his life. The reason for this: snowball fights.

  When they find a cobra at your school, you reassure your mother: “It was just a little
one.”

  When you were at school, your field trip may have been to the museum to see a documentary on the rainforest in Malaysia. The expat kid’s field trip is to the actual rainforest in Malaysia. Nothing fazes him. He wears mosquito patches at the playground against dengue fever, carries a water bottle in case of a sudden drought, and he’s probably seen a cobra in the school drain. And, even if it’s a little one, we are still using the term cobra. You sometimes wonder if the expat kid is really a kid or a Navy Seal in training.

  When you don’t see your Dad at home, you wonder if he’s in China or Japan.

  Most kids who don’t see their dads (or moms, if she’s the working spouse) at the dinner table might ask: “Where is Dad/Mom?” Not the expat kid. He asks if he’s in China or Japan – hoping the latter because that’s where all the cool toys come from.

  You’ve probably travelled in business class at least once. Your parents realize this was a huge mistake.

  It usually works like this: in expat households all over Singapore, one spouse travels while the other calculates air miles. The working spouse hears “New York,” and thinks of the 24 hours he’ll be spending on planes. The air-mile spouse hears “New York,” and thinks of free trips, upgrades, and stays at the Sheraton. The expat kid hears “New York,” and asks: “Are we travelling business?”

  Politically incorrect expat profiling

  Swedes: Most likely to be training for a triathlon.

  The Swedish expat does not have a maid, swims in icy waters, builds his own house, and spends an inordinate amount of time in saunas drinking pure grain alcohol. He may or may not have invented Ikea. Swedes like spending their afternoon with the kids there (whether they need to buy something or not) and are especially proud of the meatballs sold at the canteen. If you accompany them on a fun outing to Ikea (how do you spell oxymoron?), you will be expected to eat them as well. This was before the horse meat incident. Should you bring the Swedish mom in your condo soup for her sick child, prepare to wait a bit… as she sends you home with a batch of cinnamon buns… she just cooked from scratch.

  Persians: Most likely to be marinating lamb chops in Manolo Blahniks.

  Most popular at condo barbecues and potlucks, the Persian expat knows his meat. And no pull-out sofa for their guests – they put them up at the ritziest hotel in town. For the Persian expat, Bintan is roughing it. If you are invited over for dinner: dress up. And don’t forget a sleeping bag for the kids – it’s going to be late.

  Italians: Most likely to be carrying sweaters.

  People credit the beautiful Italian scarf industry to expert craftsmanship… actually, it’s their fear of drafts. Upon entering a room, the Italian expat is prone to inquire: “Can you turn the air con off?” The Italian expat is, on the one hand, happy to find pandoro (traditional Christmas cake) here in Singapore, on the other hand, slightly aghast to discover it costs 20 times as much as at home. Unrelated, the Italian expat wonders why Singaporeans like their noodles overcooked.

  Brits: Most likely to talk about the weather.

  Not all Brits discuss the weather, go to the British Club, and watch soccer. That’s a gross exaggeration… I know at least one who prefers field hockey.

  Full disclosure: When I first arrived in Singapore, I wanted to send my children to the British School. And yes, it was just so they could get a British accent. I am that shallow. But who else can make the word butter sound so posh? A doorman in England sounds more cultivated than a professor at Harvard.

  Irish: Most likely to be playing rugby.

  Not even microsporidia (awful parasite lurking in the muddy fields after rain) will discourage the Irish expat from having his kids play rugby. Italians wouldn’t think of going near a field with that sort of potential danger. But the Irish expat is not totally unprepared… hence the eye drops.

  I have to admit to a soft spot for Ireland. Maybe it’s because I lived in Dublin years ago, as a first-time mom, above Bewley’s on Westmoreland Street. My almost pathological love for the city is probably viewed suspiciously even (especially) by my Irish expat friends. I just can’t help it. Oscar Wilde, Yeats (both brothers, the poet and the painter), James Joyce, Father Ted, Graham Norton, Guinness, the different types of rain. I love it all. Especially the sense of humour. To this day, when I think how my Irish expat friend, Therese, after being told a long and confusing story, whispered to me, “Well, there’s seven-and-a-half minutes I’m never getting back,” I can’t stop smiling.

  Japanese: Most likely to be wearing large hats.

  It took me about two years of living in my condo to realize that I was either living in downtown Tokyo or that I was in a Japanese-listed condo. It was the latter.

  One thing you notice when living with the Japanese is how seriously they take sun protection. Forget about wearing wide-brimmed hats outdoors, if you really want to be Japanese, wear long gloves on the tennis court.

  Indians: Most likely to be comparing schools.

  The Indian expat launches websites, compares ways to best store a sari in Singapore, and discusses the heat in Mumbai. Expect lengthy discussions on where to buy gold, the benefits of eating paneer, and whether or not to get PR (Permanent Residence).

  Singaporeans: Most likely to be indoors studying.

  The Singaporean, not an expat per se, since this is after all her country, is too much an integral part of the expat’s life to not be included. First of all, do not expect to see Singaporean kids around the condo. If you do meet a mom, she is very likely carrying a heavy textbook to brush up on her math before tutoring her child. If it is the PSLE (Primary School Leaving Exam) time of year, you won’t see her for weeks. Do not feel rejected. Remember when she told you she only moved to this condo because it was within the one-kilometre range of the primary school she wanted her child to attend? She wasn’t joking.

  Aussies: Most likely to be throwing shrimp on the barbie.

  Whether it’s having a glass of wine al fresco or organizing barbecues, the Aussie expat knows how to have a good time. Voted most likely to wear flip-flops at the Raffles Hotel, the expat from Down Under is the definition of informal. Just don’t try to compare the beaches in Southeast Asia with those in Australia. And never ask him if he’s been on an episode of ‘Bondi Rescue’. Steer clear of coffee as well. When in doubt, tell him Australia is your Plan B… he’ll understand.

  Stuff first-time visitors to Singapore say

  “It’s like being on vacation.”

  There is nobody more enthusiastic about Singapore than the first-time visitor. As he lays by your pool in December, the grey skies and chilly winds he left behind a distant memory, he will think he died and went to heaven. Then a jackhammer breaks the idyllic silence and the only one speaking in a normal tone of voice is you. Later, as he watches you put a mosquito patch on your child before heading to the playground, he might ask: “Dengue? What’s dengue?” His enthusiasm will noticeably wane from that moment on.

  “Is it always so hot here?”

  It is day three and severe dehydration has set in. The crippling jet lag has made the first-time visitor grouchy. Fighting a strong urge to flee to Changi Airport, he decides that he doesn’t actually care for the weather as much as he originally thought he did. It’s too darn hot. And, the fact that last night he invited you out for drinks and after graciously picking up the tab realized he wiped out his entire trip’s budget… doesn’t help.

  “It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain.”

  When the first-time visitor comes back home dripping wet because he refused to take the umbrella you offered and couldn’t find a taxi, resist the temptation to mumble: “I told you so.” According to Dante, no other words in the spoken language hurt quite as much. If you value your friendship, refrain. Gently remind the visitor that in Singapore it is advisable to carry an umbrella regardless of how the sky looks.

  “Why is the air con on all the time?”

  The first-time visitor views air con disparagingly. An unnecessar
y luxury. He secretly thinks: “I would never waste all that money on electricity. I would just keep the windows open and enjoy the breeze.” He is still blissfully unaware that any breeze that comes in feels like a scirocco from the Sahara.

  “Can you turn the air con on?!”

  It is day five and the visitor’s body has still not fully acclimatized. The street is too hot, the shade by the pool is too hot, the visitor is just too hot. He now knows there is only one thing that can take him out of his misery: air conditioning. Just pass him the remote control and point to the snowflake.

  “I love walking.”