Diary of an Expat in Singapore (17 page)

My first coffee of the day. Nothing like it. And both kids at school. Silence in the house. Heaven. I feel like skipping from room to room and playing Billie Holiday. Maybe not. I just brought one child downstairs to get the bus in a torrential downpour but by the time I had to bring my daughter it had stopped. Thank goodness for that, and for her no longer finding her pink flute, which the other day she insisted on playing the whole way to school. After all, she’s not the pied piper. And, more importantly, I’m not deaf.

Read book reviews online.

Not only a fun way to procrastinate, it is sometimes necessary to find out what’s appropriate reading material for one’s son with a voracious reading habit.

A few months ago, in fact, debating (briefly) whether ‘Hunger Games’ was a suitable book for my ten-year-old son, I remembered the fairy tales I had read him as a child. Even now I feel a little guilty. That’s some scary stuff. So, if you are just starting out as a parent, tread carefully.

First off, the Beatrix Potter series. Sure it’s a classic, the illustrations are gorgeous, and you fully intend to visit the Lake District at some point, but beware: this series is not for the faint-hearted. Examples:

a. ‘Jemima Puddle-Duck’: Innocent duck held prisoner by a crafty fox intent on cooking her… scary.

b. ‘The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies’: Farmer McGregor tying up the cute, adorable, sleeping flopsy bunnies in a sack so that the skins can line his wife’s cloak… even scarier.

c. ‘Tom Kitten’:Cute little kitty falls into the clutches of a greedy rat. The rat rolls him up in some dough with a rolling pin to enjoy some Kitten Dumpling… scariest of all.

Next, the Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Take your pick. And, unlike Beatrix Potter, you know this is some seriously scary stuff. But you just can’t help yourself. You probably read this as a child. I know I did. Why deprive your child of all those witches, evil stepmothers, and catastrophic chains of events unleashed when an unsuspecting orphan child walks alone into the woods at night?

a. ‘Sleeping Beauty’: A witch called Maleficent who holds a grudge because she wasn’t invited to the party.Seriously scary (though on the plus side can be used as a lesson on why it’s nice to include everybody).

b. ‘Rapunzel’: Probably the very last princess in your daughter’s princess phase before she moves on to fairies, unicorns, and Barbie dolls – all way less scary than a little girl getting locked up in a high tower for years by an evil witch with a high-pitched laugh.

c. ‘Hansel and Gretel’: Two little children left in a forest to starve to death by their evil stepmother but then lured into a candy house owned by a witch who wants to fatten them up so she can… eat them?!

d. ‘Little Red Riding Hood’:Where do I start? A wolf disguised as a sick grandmother… really?

And then there’s ‘Peter Pan’.Notwithstanding the double whammy of Captain Hook and a crocodile, this was hands down my daughter’s favourite. Personally I’m no longer scared the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz is hiding under my bed. I just check because I want to.

Order some of those books on Amazon.

I was walking down Bukit Timah this morning in a dismal downpour when it hit me. Not that I was going to get wet… well, maybe that too. I had an umbrella but in Singapore that’s irrelevant. If it rains, umbrella or no umbrella, you’re going to get wet.

My
aha
moment was simply this: there are not enough bookshops here like Hodges Figgis on Dawson Street in Dublin. There are a few charming ones – Littered With Books and Books Actually come to mind – but Hodges Figgis holds a special place in my heart. The bookshop was my favourite haunt when I lived there in my twenties. My Irish expat friends here in Singapore think I’m joking when I tell them I’m half-Irish. But my affinity with the poetry, literature and sense of humour can’t be a fluke. I was just born in Italy but really I’m Irish. I can vividly recall the creamy top of a Guinness with soup and soda bread in a pub on a rainy day after classes… but I digress. Not to mention that with my newfound love of dumplings and Tiger Beer I am becoming more and more Singaporean.

I sometimes worry that there just aren’t enough bookshops in Singapore. That’s what’s missing. Maybe I should just open one. My imaginary bookshop would be awesome. As cosy and inviting as Hodges Figgis. Poetry readings, free coffee, comfortable armchairs. Maybe even fresh muffins. Helpful assistants with an Irish accent… too much? Would I make a lot of money? Probably not. But I knew that from the get-go. Majoring in philosophy at Vassar was kind of a clue. On the first day of class, our professor told us: “I guess you already know there’s no money in Philosophy. If you were interested in that you’d be down the hall studying Economics.”

Think how helpful reading those books will be for writing my own book.

All those parents stuck reading night after night bedtime stories to their children should not lose heart. There are many important life lessons to be learned from fairy tales. For example:

a. Pick up the shoe. It’s right behind you, just pick it up (‘Cinderella’).

b. When planning a party don’t leave anybody out (‘Sleeping Beauty’).

c. If you don’t feel like eating an apple, by all means do not eat one (‘Snow White’).

d. It’s okay to let your daughter’s hair grow long (‘Rapunzel’).

e. Pebbles are better than crumbs (‘Hansel and Gretel’).

f. Do not touch a spindle (again ‘Sleeping Beauty’).

g. If an old witch steals your beautiful voice, just use a pen and paper (‘The Little Mermaid’).

h. And finally, if your grandmother looks like a wolf, it’s probably time to see an optometrist (‘Little Red Riding Hood’).

Update my blog.

People often ask me why I keep a blog. I can think of a lot of reasons. It’s fun, it’s addictive, it beats jogging.

But the main one is so I don’t forget these years in Singapore when the kids were little. During the rebellious teenage years, it might help to remember that years before, on the night before Christmas, five-year-old Eliot said: “You’re the best Mommy in the world.” And that Alexander, from his bed, looked up from his book to agree: “She really is.” Genuine feeling of love for their mother or the hope that she has connections with Santa Claus… who’s to say?

In either event, better than when she asked me two years later: “Mommy, are you Santa?” At first, like all cunning parents suddenly faced with a child’s doubt about the man in red, I panicked. I guess it had to happen one day, but she was only seven. What was it that gave me away? Did she find her old
Dear Santa
letters stashed away at the bottom of my closet… was it something I said?

Why do you ask?

“Well, Mommy, it’s just that I never get what I want.”

Now, wait a minute here. You think I’m Santa because you don’t get what you want. Seriously, who needs enemies when you have kids? This could be my lowest point as a parent (no, I’m not counting the time she got lost on an island).

“Last summer I saw a heart locket in a store in Verona so I put it on my list to Santa but never got it. I know Santa would have just gotten it for me because he could fly there and then come back and put it under our tree here in Singapore. But you can’t just fly back and forth… so you’re Santa, right?”

Is this a trick question? Do you have any idea how many air miles Santa has?

Perhaps to cheer me up or because we were watching ‘101 Dalmatians’, she made the unlikely segue into: “Mommy, you’re way prettier than Cruella de Vil.”

Wow… that’s awesome.

Just so you know, kid, that’s not exactly the type of compliment I was aiming for.Nor is it going to help you get a new puppy. I don’t care how cute those dalmatians look.

But maybe I’m too sensitive. To be
way
prettier than Cruella de Vil is really not so bad.
Way
better than… give me a moment.

Change my screensaver.

My screensaver still has the spectacular view from the Singapore Flyer – a picture I took the day before I broke my foot. There is nothing like lying down with a cast on a broken foot to make you realize how underrated the joy of getting out of bed and standing on your own two feet really is. The novelty of walking around on crutches defi-nitely wears off quickly (not that I was ever that excited to begin with).

Whenever I hear a sudden rainstorm outside and water pouring in through the window, I get a little shiver remembering that afternoon weeks ago when I was running to close windows around the house and didn’t see the puddle of water on the marble floor. After flying high into the air, I came crashing down and heard a nice
crack
in my foot. I was mainly worried about being alone in the house with Eliot and when an ice bag didn’t help and I started feeling nauseous I hobbled down to the taxi with help from my friend next door. Eliot sat on my lap as I was wheeled around through the hospital corridors. Two hours later, x-rays done, visit with specialist done, I was on new crutches, with a fibreglass cast on my foot, ready to go home. The Singapore medical service was incredibly speedy and efficient. Husband was on a business trip in China, that was handy. Luckily loads of friends were on hand bearing all sorts of wonderful gifts: flowers, chocolates, and my favourite comfort food of all, books. The kids, initially sympathetic, quickly reverted to their usual requests: “Mommy, can you get us milk and cookies?” But I have a broken foot. “You can use your crutches.”