Rating 1/5 stars
Since becoming an expat in 2010, I have enjoyed reading expat memoirs. They’ve helped me feel less alone when I feel isolated. Culture shock and confusion are a common experience, not something that makes me a “bad expat.” Seeing them come to terms with and part of their new home culture is encouraging. Considering that, “Diary of an Expat in Singapore,” by Jennifer Gargiulo should be a natural addition to my bookcase. It isn’t.
We are both expat mothers of two children. Neither of us expected to stay in Singapore long. As I approach my 4th anniversary, Gargiulo is approaching her 7th. We both write about our experiences in Singapore, but we do so in very different ways.
I was hoping for an exploration of the transition to expatriate, acclimation to Singapore, and the difficulties one can have reconciling your culture with that of Singapore’s. I got oversimplified top ten lists and casual racism.
The racism was particularly problematic for me. I learn that Swedes are most likely to be training for a triathelete (pg 21), Japanese stick together (pg 89), and that it’s surprising that there are so many skin whitening products on sale in Singapore since Singaporean kids are always inside studying (pg 91). As the mother of half-Indian daughters and the wife of an Indian American, I was unamused to find out that she thinks
“The Indian expat launches websites, compares ways to best store a sari in Singapore…[and] lengthy discussions on where to buy gold.” (pg 24)
and that everyone loves India except Indians because they want to get PR in Signapore(pg 157). All of these are brushed off as “humor” and “political incorrectness.” They’re not—they are white privilege at its worst—and blatantly racist.
It takes white privilege to be blissfully unaware that many apartment vacancies specifically say “no Indians.” Gargiulo is blissfully unaware that my biracial family is carefully billed as “American” when we’ve apartment hunted because our agent would never have gotten to American if she had started with Indian.
Screen shot from Property Guru in a Wall Street Journal article about discrimination in the Singapore housing market
White privilege and class privilege combine to take potshots at a certain type of expatriate—the foreign domestic worker (FDW–aka maid/helper).
“For example, revealing one’s maid’s nickname is Slow Mo (as in slow motion) because she washes salad so slowly she gets to know the leaves on a first-name basis” (pg 38).
Here, even the maids have maids. Seriously.” (pg 59)
How domestic workers manage to have not only better phones than the rest of the population but better phone plans as well. They must be working for SingTel. This is the only possible explanation for the amount of time cleaners spend talking on the phone.” (pg 179)
From the descriptions, you would think that FDW’s have it made here. The truth is that they work for pennies (the average salary range is 400-600 sgd a month), that many are on call 24 hours a day, and that the government isn’t particularly interested in their rights. An FDW must get a pregnancy and AIDS screening twice a year, and will be sent home if she tests positive for either (Gargiulo and myself have access to hormonal birth control and abortion by contrast). An FDW may not marry a Singaporean. An FDW may be fired and deported without cause.
None of these rules apply to an expat like Gargiulo or myself because we’re wealthy enough to be the employer as opposed to the employee.
The complex dance of cross-cultural expectations and understandings are missing, as is the awkwardness of having a stranger live inside your home. The only thing she discusses about cultural issues is what nationality of maid you might hire
Filipina, Indonesian, or from Myanmar (in other words: speaks English, acts like she speaks English, or really has no idea what you are saying) (pg 38)
Construction workers are another invisible expat. In fact, she doesn’t mention them directly at all, rather she only discusses that construction noise inconveniences her (pg. 7) without any thought to the men who work at that site. She’s thrilled to share that “unemployed immigrants are nonexistent” (pg 65) but doesn’t seem to know or care about the construction workers who get hurt on the job and are summarily fired and deported without compensation. Although the book was published in late 2013, late enough to include jokes about the hazardous haze in June of that year, there is no mention that construction workers had to continue working outside when the PSI was over 400 (hazardous).
There is also no mention of how over 150 bus drivers went on strike in 2012. Four drivers were jailed and then deported, 29 were deported without jail time, and 150 others were given notices by the police—most of them expatriate foreign workers from the People’s Republic of China.
For Gargiulo, expats aren’t maids, construction workers, or bus drivers. They’re Wealthy, White, and Western (except for the occasional reference to Japanese, Koreans and Indians—the presumption is that they are white). They have non-black hair. Expat children go to international schools. Expat husbands work all the time, and travel even more.
There is nothing the expat spouse likes less than having the working spouse out of town on the weekend. During the week, it’s fine, almost routine. Early dinners with the kids, late-night snacks in front of the TV, no fighting over the remote… but Sunday, that’s another story. (pg 11)
Let’s not joke about solo control of the remote, Jennifer. Instead, let’s have an honest discussion about how isolating it can be to be the trailing spouse and the effect that can have on a relationship. Expats have a higher than average divorce rate, and according to my husband’s company the trailing spouse is the most frequent reason an expat employee will leave Singapore. We spouses (most often wives) are the ones who interact with Singapore the most—we grocery shop, we need to figure out how to get the kids to school, where to send them for a doctor’s appointment, and so forth. We argue with the building management, with our agent to get whatever’s broken fixed, and more. Our spouses go to work and come home. It creates an odd, potentially new, power balance in a marriage, and it is one of the hardest parts of moving to a new country.
Expat spouses are the ones who interact with Singapore, and thus Singaporeans more than our working spouses (who often are in an office full of other expats.) To Garguiulo, this is like interacting with an alien species.
Singaporeans are obsessed with school; “If you do meet a mom, she is very likely carrying a heavy textbook to brush up on her math before tutoring her child. If it is the PSLE (Primary School Leaving Exam) time of year, you won’t see her for weeks.” (pg 25)
Singaporean English—legitimate dialect of English, just like American English–is mocked; “Had I not moved to Singapore, I might never have known that the word off can be used as a verb: “Would you like me to off the air con?” (p. 63)
The customs are weird; “It’s only 100 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade outside… who wouldn’t want a refreshing cup of hot water?” (p. 74)
Singaporeans are such a puzzle to Garguiulo, who wonders “Why there are so many different types of skin-whitening products at shops in Singapore is a complete mystery to me.…They can thank their kids’ exams for their unblemished skin.” (p. 91)
As someone who doesn’t live in the expat bubble I’m frustrated by these characterizations. If Gargiulo made friends with Singaporean moms instead of mocking them, she’d learn about the Singaporean school system. The PSLE exam determines the rest of the child’s life–what secondary school they can get into, the likelihood of their doing well on O level exams (british system), what Junior College they are eligible for and what A levels they’re likely to have access to, and then what universities the child is eligible to attend. If you flub the PSLE, there’s no fixing it. Further, she talks about how some Singaporeans moved into a condo because of schools–yes, they did move there because of the rules about who gets priority to apply into a primary school and those rules are incredibly complex (something I’m dealing with this year).
It’s not that you shouldn’t point out cultural differences or share that you’re baffled by something. But there’s a difference between doing that and belittling–and too frequently it feels like the latter, not the former.
Living in Singapore, and interacting with Singaporeans (when you can find them, apparently) have an effect our your children. Sure you wanted them to have an experience and learn Mandarin, but then they cross that line and become too Singaporean.
“When someone asks the kids where they’re from, they answer Singapore” (pg 48),
The kids’ preference for rice over pasta. (pg 50)
The answer to “What sign are you?” is not Sagittarius. It’s Snake (pg 56).
Rather than discuss the very real ambivalence and concern over whether you’re giving a child “enough” access to their home culture, Garguiulo jokes that they’ve been in Singapore too long because “When asked how they are in Italian, they answer in Chinese” (pg 56).
Raising a third culture kid is hard, so let’s talk about what makes it hard. I struggle with my children’s identity-my elder will tell you “I’m a little bit Indian, a little bit American, and a little bit Singaporean,” which is a step in the right direction–when she was three she insisted she was Singaporean.
I’ve barely introduced the idea of the US and American history to Elanor (5). We went to the Museum of Natural History in NYC, and when walking through the “Plains Indians” exhibit, I tried to explain early colonization–and as a historian I’m not willing to lie about the realities of European/Native interaction. We have also read age appropriate books about Martin Luther King for Martin Luther King Day. Elanor’s takeaway from these two pieces of history is that White People are mean–which shows how far over her head my explanations went. Yes, but…. It’s really hard to introduce her to American History and culture when we’re so divorced from it (and given that I’m not a particularly flag waving type to begin with).
It’s a really touchy subject with me when I get crap from other Americans about sending my kids to local schools because they won’t be “American.” While I do have the fury of a thousand suns over that, it’s also true that I have some ambivalence and worry over it too.
Sure, I laughed at some of her observations and jokes. But that doesn’t mean I think that they balanced out the racism and cheap stereotypes. Being an expat is hard, and I prefer a far more honest and contemplative narrative. Without serious content to balance the jokes, and a removal of the racism, this just isn’t my kind of book. I wasn’t familiar with her blog going in–if I were, I probably would’ve passed on the book.