No photos in this post because they are all in the camera, undownloaded, and I don't know how to download them onto this laptop we're using. But wanted to check in and say we've arrived, and we've made headway in our (OK, my) massive list of Things To Eat, and I've practised my traditional few foreign language sentences with the hawker vendors ("Ada mee rebus? Dua riggit, satu bungkus, terimah kasih*" and the usual smattering of random chinese words with English, Hokkien, Teochew and Malay added in when my memory failed). Already I've been insulted twice with regards to being Chinese - the first by one of my favorite hawker food vendors - the food is my favorite, not the vendor - who asked me if E, J and K spoke Chinese, to which I said, "no", to which she replied that I should teach them, even though I explained that there was no one to speak Chinese with back in MN, to which she still insisted that I should teach them. It is stunning how people so easily assume that because I am Chinese, the language is part of my culture. There are so many aspects of me that are Chinese, but the language isn't one of them, simply because we never spoke it in our family - only in school as as an academic subject. I feel as much affiliated with the Chinese language as a typical American person would, learning it as a foreign language "for interest". Sure, I speak it and write it, but with unnaturalness. I think of it as a skill I am glad I have, but which I did not enjoy the learning of, and of which I'm not especially proud, and that I wish people wouldn't make a big deal of. Like being licensed to drive a powered pleasure boat according to nautical rules, another bizarre skill I picked up while living in Singapore.
Interestingly, when I first arrived in the US years ago and patronized my favorite oriental grocery store, I asked for some herbal thingy and the store clerk asked me why I was speaking English and not Chinese. "Because I'm in the US?" I wanted to reply, but instead I got all haughty and told her, with my nose in the air, "Because I. Do. Not. Speak. Chinese." I no longer retaliate in such a juvenile manner now - or lie about my inability to speak the language- but I still do roll my eyes when other Chinese folks make assumptions about how much value I place on the Chinese language as part of my personal culture.
The second insult was by one of our favorite stationery store vendors (again, the store is our favorite, not the vendor) who asked Emily to stay in Singapore and not return to the US because Singapore was better. Emily stared at her and didn't know what to say. Neither did I. How does one even respond without just passing on the insult? All very odd. Have the people of my country always been like this?
Anyway, we're here, and the weather has been lovely. We've been to Changi Beach, Parkway Parade to meet a friend, swimming at the pool, on bus rides (which Kate, especially, loved, and said so loudly to everyone), and to the market and playgrounds countless times. I've eaten prata, roti tisu, mee hoon goreng, mee rebus, mee siam, vegetarian bee hook, chwee kueh, chee cheong fun, you tiaos, Mum's a char and I don't remember what else. Tonight, Mum is cooking her excellent beef rending for dinner. Tomorrow we're venturing out to get some administrative matters dealt with, and then some sightseeing. The worst of our jet lag is over, as is my cold. Hurrah!
*Translation = Got mee rebus? $2, 1 packet. Thank you.