I took ceiling fans for granted until Richard visited Singapore with me, and was so fascinated with them, that he admitted the temptation of sticking his head in between their rotating blades. That wasn’t the only novelty for him – noodles for breakfast, the warm sea, steamed fish and hot (his version of ‘hot’, anyway) rain were all mystical myths come true during his four-week stay in my homeland.
After the long haul from Heathrow which included an eight-hour stopover in the overcrowded Helsinki airport (see picture below), we arrived at Changi Airport in Singapore to my dear Papa's warm welcome. While I was away, he quickly learned to jump on the selfie bandwagon, and on the way to the car, stopped us outside an airport toilet to press faces together for a group picture, its blessed recipients exclusively being the Tan family's WhatsApp group. (The unspoken caption: Faye brought home that white boy we've been seeing on her Facebook photos!!!!!!11)
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| If you look closely enough you may be able to spot me eating a Magnum white in Scandinavian winter. |
The idea of being a tourist in my own country appealed to me. Living on an island-city smaller than the size of London for 16 years bored me. While I am not erratic, I revel in change. My move to London meant that I got to live in a bigger country which I'd never stop getting to know. My brother-in-law loves the fact that he can still get lost in the city after spending close to fifteen years here. However, getting-lost had to be postponed. After more than a year away, I was ready to go home and revisit the three major F's in my life: family, friends and food.
During the months leading up to the trip I often enjoyed conjuring up the image of Richard's Asia-virgin face staring at everything in child-like wonder, and true enough Asia-virgin made its appearance early on in the airport, marvelling at the shiny floors, real palm trees and hi-tech art installations. It was just what I needed to lure out the tourist in me, through the voice in my head which went, hey, there aren't actually any proper palm trees in England, so feast your eyes while you can.
One of the things Richard loved was the culture of communal dining. Large round tables with dishes in the middle meant a) you could make eye-contact with everyone b) you seldom had to pass the salt (Hell, we even have lazy Susans to help you out with that) c) you could have second servings of everything, while stocks last. There were endless plates of food at dinner with our extended family, and one thing he didn't get was why food was being placed on his plate by my parents, aunts and uncles. It's one of those cultural mannerisms which practically aren't very necessary, but done for the "good intention" more than anything else. We were probably on something like the 6th course, and what initially seemed to be a harmless act of kindness had turned into a physically impossible request for him. Such is the nature of big family dinners – perhaps I should bring him to experience the real deal next Chinese New Year.
Sea cucumber sat on the top of the small list of foods which Richard didn't like. He did like pretty much everything he ate (even the notoriously pungent Durian melon) but couldn't handle the slimy, slippery, gelatinous texture of the sea cucumber, despite its status as a Chinese delicacy. However the joke was on me when I shrieked at the hairy, soggy-towel texture of a live sea cucumber in the touch-pool of the Southeast Asian Aquarium.
The aquarium is on a recreational island South of the mainland, completely man-made from reclaimed land, no less. Sentosa is, understandably, a massive tourist trap, with Asia's only Universal Studios Attraction Park, Asia's largest aquarium, a water park, eleven hotels, an exclusive golf course flanked by some billionaire residents, a strip of beaches, pink dolphins – just to name a few – all rolled into one piece of land for your leisurely convenience, and for the sake of the native tourist-wannabe. The catch was, of course, having to spend like a tourist – tickets, locker rentals, more locker rentals, that gigantic, roasted turkey leg from the snack bar...
The night we really splurged on was the night we intended to spend nothing on, by pretending to go up to the bar for a drink on the fifty-seventh floor of the Marina Bay Sands hotel just for the view of the glittering bay and beyond. Two cocktails and a cigar was probably a month's worth of groceries, but it happened, somehow. Maybe we felt like we owed it to the view.
"A rich person's playground" is a good term to describe Singapore with, but "pretend-rich" was what we were. Throughout the holiday I used all of my ang-bao money (red, embellished envelopes containing money as gifts from older relatives) while Richard had some set aside from his autumn commissions. At every landmark and attraction he declared loudly, "We shall make this! And it shall be bigger and better than everybody else's!" as his impression of a local town-planning meeting. London had their Eye, but now Singapore has their Flyer. The Christmas tree in Takashimaya Shopping Centre was huge, but the ones in Orchard Ion shopping centre were made of mint-green Pierre Hermés macarons. Nobody else has a Night Zoo, Singapore's is the first and only. I would not be surprised if a 'Bigger Ben' sprung up before our next visit.
It was therefore a relief, and also the highlight of our trip, to spend a day exploring and kayaking around Pulau Ubin, the natural island-village (population: 30) located 10 minutes northeast of the island via bumboat. At first I was worried that Richard's first-ever experience of Asia was going to be in a modern metropolis without any of the cultural heritage and tradition he was expecting (Prior to the trip, I grew more and more nervous every time he asked about the possibility of visiting a rainforest), but everything fell into place when we reached the island. It was foresty, rustic, filled with wild dogs, and we were about to have a 4-hour kayak through the mangroves. We saw plenty of monkeys when we went to the zoo, but halfway through this kayaking expedition we found ourselves floating an arm's length under several monkeys in a tree. I had a stare-off with a monkey but I let it win because I didn't want it in my kayak.
A little way into the forest there was a small, almost makeshift temple, where we sought refuge from the rain. Chinese temples fascinated Richard in a way I couldn't relate to. Growing up tagging along with the adults in their temple drill, all I knew to do was to hold one or two lighted joss sticks, try not to get anything burnt, kneel on the inclined stool, shake the sticks in a praying motion, say hi to my ancestors and wish for something, like telling the ghosts not to come out from under my bed, or decent exam results. Then I would go home and shampoo the smell of incense away. Richard marvelled at the bold statues of deities, various smells, sounds, monks – things he'll probably never get to see again until his next visit to Asia. I was inspired by his curiosity, and the temples somehow gained more value in my eyes, through his.
Within our first few hours back in London I cried my eyes out at the shocking change of environment. Suddenly, my family was halfway around the world, and many aspects of my life existed in two very different places. Homesickness was never a hardship for me, but this trip placed Singapore in a different light from the one which I usually saw it in. On one hand, I saw its attractive charms through sharing it with Richard. On the other, I was about to graduate with a soon-to-expire visa, and all my fears of having to leave the UK were portrayed in front of me in the form of a claustrophobic country without the never-ending variety and spontaneous charm, traits of England which make me fall in love with it over and over again. As I wiped my tears (and snot) on his jumper, Richard tentatively asked if we should go to Chinatown that night. The suggestion made me laugh, but he had the right thought – I guess the best thing for me to do right now would be to learn how to make noodle-soup and rice congee to heat us up this British winter. At least that's one out of the three F's.
