Impressions

Two weeks ago we went out to dinner at an outdoor Thai restaurant in a convent-turned-shopping center called Chijmes with Alan (another MIT ChemE professor and good friend who was in town for the Singapore MIT Alliance 10th Anniversary Symposium--the same conference for which Pat traveled to Singapore last January) and a National University of Singapore (NUS) professor and his wife. The NUS couple are actually Indian but met during grad school at MIT (he studied in Pat's department; she's an architect and happens to work in one of the old converted shophouses in Chinatown that we walked by in our recent visit--see photos on Phanfare). They've been in Singapore for two and a half years.

They asked me how I was finding S'pore (the abbreviation used by the media), but I couldn't really say. Aside from the fact that my sightseeing is limited to the attention span of a two-year-old, I didn't feel like I had any sense of S'pore culture yet. Most people speak some form of English, and if they didn't speak English, I hadn't been able to discern what Asian language they were speaking, not even if it was the local dialect referred to as Singlish. Pat expressed it well with his impression that everyone here is an expat. Ethnically, the country is about 75% Chinese, 14% Malay, 8% Indian, and a few percent Other. There is also an ethnicity called Peranakan, which includes descendants of Chinese immigrants who married local Malay women a few centuries ago. But what does it mean to be Singaporean? I had no idea.

Here's another example. There's a family here at Fraser Place with two boys close in age to Sam and Finn. I first met the boys one afternoon by the outdoor play area and kiddie pool. They were accompanied by an Indian babysitter, Raji, who quickly chatted me up trying to drum up more business. In the course of our conversation, she more than once mentioned that she is 100% Singaporean, even though she spoke English with a Hindu accent, had an Indian name, and clearly looked Indian. I've since become friends with the boys' mother and have met Raji on a few more occasions, during which I asked her about her family history. Her family is from Madras (now Chennai, but she referred to it as Madras), but she was born here. I should've asked her more about what languages she speaks--her English was excellent--because I find it curious that she doesn't have a discernible Singaporean accent, if such a thing exists.

That night at Chijmes, after the server brought the check, standing a few feet behind us, she immediately whipped out a mini-flashlight so that Alan could read the bill in the dimly lit courtyard. The way she did this struck everyone as funny, and the NUS couple chuckled, "That is so Singaporean!"

While I agreed with the humor of the moment, I had to ask, what makes such an act Singaporean. They explained that it's in line with the service-oriented mentality. Everything is about making the experience, down to every little detail, more enjoyable, more pleasant, more courteous. Okay, I could see that (see Aggravations in Any Language). They went on to hypothesize that the Singaporeans take it to such a level that there was probably a staff meeting among all the servers to implement the flashlight policy, and indeed, as we looked around, we saw the other servers wielding their torches.

It's true that most people here are extremely courteous. People are always running to help me with a door when they see me with the stroller. Taxi drivers always try to figure out how to unfold the stroller for me rather than just plunking it on the curb. Once, while crossing the street, Sam's hat blew off, and a man ran out to grab it for me.

Okay, so there's a national characteristic I can identify. But wait--I have yet to see a single driver yield to a pedestrian (me) with a stroller. On the contrary, they practically run me down. There are no crosswalks at the intersection between Fraser Place and UE Square (where Cold Storage is located), and for a small street, it's surprisingly busy. Not only do cars not yield, but if I'm already crossing and a car begins to turn, they stop scarily close to us. All courtesy and consideration seems to end behind the wheel. (At least with regard to pedestrians. When I've been inside taxis, drivers seem to stay within the lines and obey the rules of the road quite pleasantly--nothing like Vietnam or India.)

Another trait we've observed is a national obsession with Finn. We can't go anywhere without somebody stopping to admire the chubby white baby. Our double stroller is what first catches people's eyes; they're surprised to see a second child underneath. (Despite the fact that I see Phil & Ted strollers everywhere, more often than any other western brand.) And then they see Finn and they point and smile and giggle. And then he smiles and giggles right back, and so it goes. I've caught countless people snapping pictures of him with their mobiles (so much for my desire to control who sees pictures of my kids over the Internet). If I happen to be wearing Finn in the carrier, people often reach out to pinch his cheek.  

During our last visit to Chinatown with the kids (Pat and I have since gone out to dinner there by ourselves), we stopped in the square between the Chinatown Complex (a three-story market) and a temple (again, see Phanfare photos). Sam played around with the white plastic chairs while I nursed Finn. When he was finished, I stood him on my lap to play with him, and a crowd swooped in. A good half a dozen people encircled us, taking pictures and making faces at Finn. One lady held out her arms as if I might actually let a perfect stranger hold my child. Once I put him back in the stroller, the telephoto lenses came out for close-ups, and before I knew it, the same lady stooped down to kiss him on the cheek! I politely grimaced, and, feeling like a PR handler, wheeled the stroller away after I'd decided they'd had enough opportunity to take their pictures.

Later I was kicking myself that I wasn't more defensive. Still unfamiliar with the cultural mores, and a general desire not to seem rude, I put up with a lot more than I would back home. I am convinced that next year Finn's face will be plastered all over the advertisements for canned abalone that seem to pop up everywhere for Chinese New Year. When we come back for our long stay in 2011, we'll probably be greeted by a billboard reading, "Welcome!" next to his cheeky, toothless smile.

At the same time, there seems to be a national concern with Sam's skin. Because he is so drooly and spends most of the night sucking on his bears, Sam has patches of eczema on his chin and cheeks, which were exacerbated by Boston's cold winds. It's gotten better here, but is still noticeable and people often comment on it. But not in a friendly, concerned way. No, in a nosy, accusatory way.

The first time this happened, I was standing outside with the boys in the stroller while Pat ran into a 7Eleven (they're everywhere) to get some drinks. The shopkeeper from the neighboring store started quizzing me. What's on his face? Does he have sensitive skin? Do you put anything on it? Did you take him to a doctor? Yes; yes; of course. Mind your own business, lady!

When I told Pat, he suggested that her terse, accusatory tone was probably just a translation/cultural difference and that nothing was meant by it. Sure, that was fair. I had read that Singlish can make S'poreans come across as terse. But then it happened to Pat, and continued to happen. Did you take him to a doctor? Did the doctor give you anything? Do you use it? Yes; yes; of course! Do you think we're such neglectful parents that we would not bother to use the cream prescribed by the doctor? 

One incident occurred when Pat took Sam downstairs to Robertson Walk to pick up dinner at what has otherwise become one of our favorite take-out places (it describes itself as a Japanese-style Taiwanese restaurant; we have no idea what that means). Apparently the people were pointing at Sam and commenting in such a way as to make even Sam aware of their negative attention. He self-consciously buried his head into Pat while they waited for our food.

The behavior is incongruous: courtesy to a flaw, except toward pedestrians; adoration of children, except those with flawed skin. After being here a month, we still have much to figure out.