Diary of an Expat in Singapore (10 page)

Like almost all stereotypes this one is both true and annoying all at once, especially for Singaporeans. I’m sure that just hearing it makes them want to reach for a can of mace and spray it in your face. In fact, though incredibly grateful to live in a safe city, the expat mom will never say this to a local resident. It’s because she fears that if she does they’ll want to punch her on the spot. She’s probably right. The thing she would really like to know is why she never sees any police around or hears any sirens. But she doesn’t ask… just in case she’s talking to a plainclothes cop.

“Where do your kids go to school? Is that fee per year or… life?”

Expat moms allegedly ask this question to know if their children know each other. The truth is that misery loves company. Sure, the school is amazing, has a state-of-the-art theatre, an Olympic swimming pool, the whole deal; she just wasn’t aware that her child’s education would cost as much as a second mortgage on the house.

“My kids have mycoplasma.”

If you are an expat in Singapore, chances are you’re going to be treated for mycoplasma. Whether you actually have it, that’s another story. Mycoplasma is a word the expat mom never even heard of before coming to Singapore. Now it’s mycoplasma this, mycoplasma that. Whenever a kid coughs, sneezes, or looks drowsy, somebody will say: “He may have mycoplasma.” Elsewhere, it’s just a common cold that requires hot soup, fluids, and rest. Not here. The doctor dangles the word in front of the expat mom. “There is a test for it but the results take a while, so why don’t we go ahead and treat it as though it were mycoplasma?” The doctor will then hand her a prescription for Klacid (a special $150 antibiotic), and may even absentmindedly point to the cash machine as he says this. In honour of the Ponzi scheme, I like to call this the Mycoplasma scheme. In other countries they steal your wallet, here they diagnose you with mycoplasma. Seriously, how many people could possibly have walking pneumonia at the same time?

When the expat mom’s child, back home in Verona for the summer, gets pneumonia, the expat mom is flabbergasted when she buys the antibiotic from her pharmacist: $5. “But it’s Klacid. This costs more than gold in Singapore.” Lesson to be learned: (1) It’s better to be a pharmacist in Singapore? (2) Only get pneumonia in Italy? Or: (3) When the diagnosis is mycoplasma, get a second opinion? The correct answer? All of the above.

Fun fact: When the expat mom also gets pneumonia in Italy and hers is the bad, bacterial kind which requires a three-day hospitalization, the entire bill will add up to the cost of one box of Klacid back in Singapore. She may have to share her room with four octogenarians, and go without a TV and air con, but who cares? Forget writing… she should be selling Klacid instead.

“My kids need more Mandarin.”

The expat mom knows her kids need more Mandarin. The reason she knows this is that they still sing the same two songs they learned three years ago in kindergarten and look completely baffled when taxi drivers ask them questions. The issue is
how much more
?

Normally understanding and sympathetic, the expat mom will be unusually heartless when it comes to tracking her child’s progress in Mandarin. She has been known to threaten: “That’s it, only cartoons in Mandarin from now on.”

Forget good looks and fast cars, the one who knows the phone number of a good Mandarin tutor holds the key to the expat mom’s heart.

“If I lived in a house I would definitely get a dog.”

Right. And, since all kids want a dog, the expat mom has no choice but to remove any possibility of that actually happening, however remote. For example, renouncing PR, which is the only way she could buy a landed house. She will say the renunciation is so her son doesn’t one day have to do National Service duty (two-year military obligation which would actually be good for him), but really it is to eliminate the possibility of getting landed property, hence a dog. Even though expats can’t buy landed houses they can rent them. Sure, it might be a more pleasant environment for a dog but the Ferraris and Porsches parked outside are a good indicator of what bank account you’ll need to live in one.

“When did you get back?”

The expat mom is generally in a state of flux. Most likely she has just returned from a trip home, a holiday, or a ‘go see’ for her next location. Trips involve different time zones. All involve jet lag. Descartes claimed: “I think, therefore I am.” The expat mom would change that to: “I travel, therefore I am… jet-lagged.” Those who have chosen to not travel during the holidays find comfort in the uncomely sight of their terribly, almost clinically, jet-lagged friends. This inevitably makes them feel better about their decision to stay put.

“My husband is learning Mandarin… Please, let this not mean we are moving to China.”

This is a red flag – do not ignore it. Short of leaving a huge sign on the dining table with the words, “We are moving to China,” the fact that your husband is studying Chinese (and not complaining about it) is as clear a sign as any you are going to get. Statements like “Shanghai is such a vibrant city” and “Beijing has so much to offer” should also set off warning bells.

When someone asks the kids where they’re from, they answer Singapore.

Sometimes, I’m afraid we’ve stayed too long in Southeast Asia and that the kids won’t know their roots. What those roots are I’m not exactly sure. Alexander and Eliot were both born in Verona, but their father (a Veronese) claims they will never be true
Veronesi
– he’s basing this on the fact that they don’t swear, play soccer, or eat horse meat. So, I guess this means, for better or worse, Singapore is their home. But sometimes I get nervous. What if they never fit in when we do return to live in Italy (whenever that may be)? The traits they’ve recently acquired do nothing to assuage my fears.

The craving to eat hot, spicy chicken at 10 am.

Singaporeans used to openly stare at my young daughter dipping flat prata bread nonchalantly in hot fishhead curry sauce. Roti prata remains her favourite meal to this day along with curry noodles, but spicy chicken is a close second. If we were still in Verona, they might be eating a croissant at 10 am. But after growing up in Singapore… it’s spicy food.