Different Prices to Pay

My fascination with Singapore finally landed me a summer job there in 1994. A couple of days before I left Singapore, one of my housemates, a student at NUS (National University of Singapore), asked me to write something about my experience there. I had a draft written soon, but it wasn't until summer 1995 that I finally finished the final version. So here it is. All people mentioned in this article are real, but the names have been changed to protect their privacy.

Terrence Ho
Summer 1995

Jump to subsections:

Arrival
House
Cars
Language
P.S.

(Arrival)

After spending five weeks traveling through Hong Kong, China, Taiwan, Thailand, Malaysia, etc., visiting a number of relatives and friends, attending an international conference, and sightseeing all the way, I finally arrived in Singapore, the last stop on my journey. My SIA (Singapore Airlines) flight touched down at Changi without a glitch. I was impressed that the airport was so ultra- modern, but it struck me as to be too quiet and under-utilized with few people around -- a startling contrast to the confusingly complex, busy, and noisy JFK airport in New York that had been so familiar to me. While I had to battle taxi drivers and treat them as necessary evil at many other places, getting to a taxi at Changi was easy and pleasant. The taxis were parked at clearly marked spots and we were directed by the attendants to one specific car. So much for the bargaining techniques I had been refining from dealing with Thai taxi drivers. The afternoon shower had just stopped, and the sun started to peek through the clouds. Lined with palm trees on both sides and divided by banks of purple flowers in the middle, the stretch of highway from the airport, for a second there, strangely, reminded me of the immaculate garden city of Norrkoping, Sweden. I had never seen highways so well kept and decorated, even the clouds seemed prettier. Then I said to myself, "this is not Sweden, is this?" Things may not be what they seem.

While my parents, who accompanied me for parts of the journey and would be returning to New York shortly, were eager to see the city, I was more preoccupied with the details of finding an apartment and starting my summer job. Frankly, I was a little sick and tired of sightseeing after five weeks of continuous traveling. Sorry, but Sentosa pales in comparison with Disney. In all fairness, I didn't arrive in Singapore with the adventurous attitude and the can-do spirit that the backpacker in me had had when I visited the other places on my journey. Consequently, I had a lot more to complain about Singapore than about the other places, where pickpockets tried to steal my Dad's wallet, where taxi drivers tried to con us, and where things were in fact a lot worse. That mindset persisted, and the frustrating experience of finding an apartment did not exactly help.

(House)

I was put up at my relative's place for a few days, but I didn't want to trouble them for too long. I was surprised that for a city this big, there were so few rental ads for single rooms in the papers. So I figured that instead of looking for a place myself, I would rather pay the extra by using an agent to find a place fast. Besides, it seemed that the papers carried more agent ads than owner ads. Yet I was even more surprised that most of the agents didn't have anything on hand, claimed that they would contact me later, and simply never returned the calls. I doubt that it was because they didn't want to make the handsome commission. It was probably because of my particularly stringent demands -- single male Chinese American wants an air-conditioned room, and possibly for only two months -- that made it so difficult. I got the feeling from talking to these agents that I was of the right race, but the wrong sex. Few of the calls I made resulted in much. I went to see a few places. They were all priced the same; all were HDB (Housing Development Board) flats; all were ... The uniformity bored me, and frustration set in. If I don't find a place fast, I might as well stay at my relative's for the rest of the summer and commute the hour-and-half journey to work!

Serendipitously, just as I was about to give up and rent that damn room the last agent showed me, I found this one room rental ad in the Straits Times looking for students. I called and went to see the place. It's a nice two-story terrace house in a pretty exclusive neighborhood. Mrs. Qin, the landlady, didn't mind that I only needed it for two months. She's running the place like a hostel since it's very close to NUS (National University of Singapore). I liked the fact that it's not one of those dreadfully uniform HDB flats, that the landlady didn't live in the house, and that I would be sharing the place with other students. In short, I liked the place. I paid the rent right there and then, and three hours later I moved in.

As a landlady, Mrs. Qin was quite reasonable and accommodating, and she would bring her two Filipino maids over to clean the house on weekends. She was still looking for more people to fill the house. A couple came one Sunday afternoon. I opened the door for them. The man wore a T-shirt with two Chinese characters, Qin Hua, as in Qin Hua University, printed on it. The woman looked, well, Japanese. They went up to see the room and left a while later. Mrs. Qin came down to the living room, and said to me and Varghese, an Indian student who also lived in the house, "I didn't want to rent the room to them. So I just raised the price, and refused to negotiate." She turned to Varghese, "I am not prejudiced or anything. You know it's really hard for Indians to find rooms here." Varghese didn't say much. I didn't say much. "On the phone, she said she was Japanese, so I said okay, but she didn't say her husband was black! This is a very exclusive neighborhood. What would the neighbors say? It'll just catch too much attention." She told me that Malays and Indians were okay. Whites? Depends. Later, I discovered that there were actually quite a few whites living in the neighborhood. It wasn't so much that Mrs. Qin's refusal to rent the room to blacks that surprised me, but how she would tell me about it so openly and didn't really feel anything wrong with it. Anyway, I was quite happy about the room I had. As a landlady, Mrs. Qin was quite reasonable and accommodating. To me.

Matthew, my roommate was a Filipino student studying at NUS. Every weekend, I would wash my laundry. Matthew would have Mrs. Qin's maid wash his laundry, and have her carefully iron his shirts and trousers. I was puzzled by why Matthew would have someone else do a task so simple as laundry for him. But I didn't say anything. The maid would come to the house, and I'd be there lying on the couch watching TV or reading a book, and she'd quietly say to me, "Hello, Sir." After she finished the cleaning and the ironing, she'd quietly say to me, "Good-bye, Sir," and leave. I wasn't comfortable being addressed as sir all the time, but somehow after a couple of times I got used to it. One day, I ran into Matthew on the bus on my way home. Our conversation turned to the topic of how little a maid gets paid. I found out that the real reason Matthew let Mrs. Qin's maid do his laundry was out of generosity. He did it to give her a chance to earn some extra money. Down the street block, some Indian construction workers were building a new a wall for the house around the corner. "Ever race, every creed, has its place and its role," sings one patriotic song on SBC (Singapore Broadcasting Company).

I liked the peace and quiet of the neighborhood. Except, the dogs. In the States, dogs are mostly pets. They don't bite, or at least I don't think that they would. But these dogs here were not your average pet poodles. I was so startled the first time I walked the street at night when the dogs in one house suddenly jumped on the gate and barked ferociously at me. One early morning when I left the house just before sunrise, I saw two black hounds standing at the street corner eyeballing me. Someone let them out. I walked by slowly and quietly. Thank God, I got away in one piece. To be fair, that was just one isolated incident. Usually the dogs were kept in the yard and could only bark and jump up and down in the yard. I would often walk slowly by so as to maximize the length of their barking. I somehow derived pleasure out of hearing the whole neighborhood in an uproar. The animal-loving rich can have their dogs, the rest of us will just have to make do with steel caged windows and gates. Our house had one padlock on the front gate, one padlock on the steel cage door, and of course a lock on the door. The padlocks were so hard to reach to put on and take off. I just never bothered. In the States, surely people are very cautious in the cities where crime is rampant. But in the safer smaller towns, people still leave their doors open and park cars unlocked. Is it because people here are so vigilant that Singapore is so safe, or is it that people are so paranoid despite the fact that Singapore is so safe? I don't understand why I want to live in a safe city where I cannot feel safe. Well, in Singapore, I felt safe, and I never bothered putting the padlocks on.

(Cars)

I also liked the beautiful little park just around the corner that I walked by every morning on my way to work. I would see people washing their beloved cars every morning on my way to work. Well, they didn't. Their maids did. The way Singaporeans treasure their cars bewildered me. My idea of washing my car back home was to leave it in the rain for a night. Then again, given how much a car costs in Singapore, and given how much a maid costs, I would have my maid wash my car every day too. The concept of automobile ownership is completely different here in Singapore. Cars here are definitely a luxury item. With the current COE (Certificate of Entitlement) going at an obscene US$50,000, only the rich can afford cars. And they certainly like to show it. Six years in New York, I saw one Rolls Royce; two months in Singapore, I saw two Ferraris and a couple of Rolls. It somehow conjures up images of dark windowed siren- blasting Mercedes I often saw when I grew up in China. In a way, I would rather see Singapore become a giant parking lot like rush-hour New York than to let only the rich have cars. Singapore is in a strange situation where people are rich enough to afford cars, but the country is not big enough to hold that many cars. On the other hand, it's not like you really need a car in Singapore. If you can drive across your country in 45 minutes and you'd have to take a plane to go pretty much anywhere else, why would you want to have a car? Besides, of all the places I have been to, Singapore probably has the best mass transit system. You rarely need to take more than two buses or the MRT (Mass Rapid Transit) to get from one place to another. The government has certainly done a fantasically good job in controlling the traffic and building up a convenient public transportation system. For someone from the States who's so used to cars, I felt right at home using public transportation. One complaint that I had about mass transit was that it completely shuts down at midnight. After that, only taxis are available to you. The government have kept the cost of taxis to a very affordable level, at least compared to the rates in the States, so to make up it lets the taxis have a free reign during the night. Besides, why would you want to be out at night past twelve except to go to clubs and discos and be exposed to all the other vices of the minute traces of Westernization that have crept into the country? Again, the government has thought of everything for you and for your own good.

(Language)

While my apartment hunting was under way, I ran into trouble with the government on my first day at work. Although my employment pass should be ready by then according to what Immigration said on the application form, Dorathy at personnel told me that it was not, nevertheless. She had confirmed that a temporary one could be issued, so I went down to the Immigration Department to pick it up. There, I found further proof that bureaucrats everywhere are alike. Singapore is no exception. After getting a number and waiting for a hour or so, I handed in my documents. Another number and another two hours later, I got my passport back. But sorry, no temporary pass. I was told to go home and wait for some letter in a month or so. What! Go home?! I demanded to see an officer. Fortunately, I was allowed just that, to speak to an officer. That is, after another number and another hour. We sat down. I explained; I reasoned; I pleaded. He looked through the application without saying too much. Then he asked, "What is MIT?" I answered. He nodded, and the meeting was over. A short half hour later, I got what I came for. He handed me the passport, and said, "Don't abbreviate things too much in the future." It wasn't long before I realized how ironic his advice was for it seemed that the Singaporeans have perfected the art of acronyms.

Acronyms are not uncommon in English. Who doesn't know IRS? That is, to the Americans. The military always has a special aptitude in creating acronyms. We, in the technical fields, also have a tendency to overuse them. However, the Singaporeans seem to use acronyms rather too liberally, abbreviating everything that's suitable for abbreviation and a lot more. They also seem to have a lot of confidence in the listener's ability to figure them out. When I was flying SIA, I was given a passenger questionnaire. I couldn't be sure if I were a member of something, the exact acronym of which has escaped my mind now. It turn out to be some frequent flyer's program. But to give some random international passenger an acronym without explaining it, that was some confidence. Varghese told me that once in class, his lecturer kept saying SMLKY, and when he asked what it was, everybody laughed. I couldn't figure it out until he told me the answer. Maybe you can?

Many of the people I came into contact abbreviated their first names into two initials. I really appreciated that for I had great difficulty remembering people's names when they are romanized from I don't how many different dialects. If they told me a Christian name, I would remember; if they told me the name in Chinese, I would remember; but if they told me this Romanized and half-pronuncable name, I just couldn't remember. The country had developed so fast and changed so much that while the last generation spoke little or no English, the current generation is educated under a British system. For those who are not very proficient in English, acronyms are certainly a lot easier to use, just as it is a lot easier for me to remember initials because I am not very proficient in the many Chinese dialects and their Romanization rules.

The use of acronyms reflects the unique language situation Singapore is in. With four official languages and a multitude of dialects spoken by the Chinese, it's down right impossible to speak of anything as standard. Proficiency in Chinese correlates well with age. The older folks tends to speak better Chinese. The young Singaporeans I have come to know seem to be very proud that they had bilingual education and that they can speak both Chinese and English. Sadly, I often find them to be able to do just that -- speak, in the literal sense of the word. Although they purport to have learned Chinese in school, they often do not know enough to write well. Somehow I felt that this generation has been short changed in some ways by the education system. Given that Singapore is not that big a country, I was rather astonished by the wide range of language proficiency, even among the young Singaporeans, from those who speak heavy Singlish to those who are often foreign educated and speak with a very light Singlish accent. It is actually not so surprising if you can accept that English is not really a native language for the Singaporeans per se, and that proficiency in English directly correlates with education. I had my basic education in China, but higher education in the U.S. So it took a little time for me to get used to the Singaporean flavor of both Mandarin and English. The particular accents never bothered me too much. In fact, I found them to be quite amusing and unique. What bothered me for a while was how people tend to mix languages. I thought, what good is being bilingual if you can't speak either one well? I had always believed that there is absolutely no reason to mix languages with the exception of substituting a word from another language that can describe something infinitely better. Mixing languages is only an indication of a lack of good command of both languages. What I have come to believe later on was that the goal here is good communication and whether languages are mixed or not is rather irrelevant. However, the dilemma of the bilingual education program is just one indication of the different forces that are tearing Singapore towards different directions, and in this instance, the conflicting goals of the pragmatic approach of using English as the standard and the desire to retain Chinese as a means to preserve the cultural heritages.

(P.S.)

A month and half after I got my temporary employment pass, I received a letter from Immigration along with an application form for permanent residency. I felt rather appreciated and wanted, as I had not asked for it. It reminded me of all the trouble that my family had to go through and the sacrifices my parents had made in order to immigrate to the U.S. William at work, who's a Ph.D. from China, told me that it's indeed not all that hard to get permanent residency, but one has to renew it every so many years to prove that he has remained gainfully employed. So what's so permanent about permanent residency? I wondered. On the other hand, William told me, it really helps if one's Chinese because the Chinese population has been declining over the years and immigration is one way the Government can maintain a constant racial makeup. For the fun of it, I read the whole application form. A male applicant may sponsor his wife in his application, but a female applicant may not sponsor her husband. He has to apply on his own merit -- one item on the application form states. I was taken aback a little. This almost certainly violates the constitutional guarantee of equal rights, I thought. On the Net, I was also reading discussions about medical benefits for civil servants. A male civil servant can have his children covered under his policy, but a female cannot. The reason for this practice is that it discourages single-motherhood. My complaints of Singapore ran long, but they are mostly seemingly small things. I want to chew gum. Why can't I drive to Malaysia on an empty gas tank? What do they care if I jaywalk and get run over by a truck? My complaints often don't seem to concern me, either. Why must each community have a set proportion of ethnic groups? That way, a minority member will never get elected. Why can't a women permanent resident sponsor her husband? ... I was surprised that I was asking these questions and making these complaints. After all, I considered myself to be quite pragmatic and politically conservative.

Although I have never seriously considered settling in Singapore, the idea had come across my mind. For an immigrant like me who has already left his birth place and has called another country home, no particular geographic location is special to me anymore. My allegiance to a nation and my love for a place are no longer decided by the accident of birth, but by a conscious decision based upon what that place has to offer. I pondered about the ills of America and my experience there; I pondered about my newly gained sense of familiarity with Singapore; I pondered about all the appreciation and the respect that I felt in Singapore; I pondered about the different prices that I had to pay for living in Singapore and in the U.S. For all the great things Singapore has to offer, from clean streets and convenient transportation to low crime rate and excellent social programs, they somehow still couldn't make up for the two things America has to offer -- liberty and opportunity -- two things so abstract that I didn't fully comprehend their meaning and dearness to me until they are taken away, however slightly and however briefly. Somewhere along the line in its pursuit of modernization, in the name of pragmatism, expediency, and efficiency, Singapore has neglected and lost sight of some of the ideals like liberty and egality. I am entitled to my opinion and there isn't a thing you can do about it. Singapore will be the way it will be and I have little wish to change it. But I had a choice. I can stay or I can leave. I made my choice. I wonder how many people have this choice.

My boss liked my work in the company and asked me if there was anything they could do to keep me. I jokingly replied maybe if I get married there. The truth is I don't know the answer myself. I felt right at home in Singapore, but home is in America.