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| Enjoying tea with my hosts Alexius and Isabel Yeo. Pictured here are Singaporean delicacies, which represent the Chinese and Malay cultural mix in the country: Chinese buns with kaya, Chinese sweet potatoes and green bean soup with coconut milk. |
Before I post numerous accounts of all of the sights and
sounds of Singapore, I would be remiss if I did not explain what I am doing
here. And what I mean by that, is that unlike the other 25 students of the
Carolina Southeast Asia (SEAS) program, I am not a first-year student, and I
even traveled to Singapore just last year. You see, I completed the SEAS program
last summer and liked it so much that I decided to apply again to return as the
research fellow.
What could
I be researching in Singapore that I couldn’t research in North Carolina, you
might ask. Well, many things. Singapore is a tiny, efficient, cosmopolitan country,
more closely resembling New York City than the quiet neighborhoods of Chapel
Hill. Singapore also has a bustling business industry, best described by the
Singaporean word kiasu, which infers
a fear of losing and a fiercely competitive edge. And anyone interested in
studying the culinary arts would certainly do well to take a few lessons from
the cooks behind the Hawker food stalls, creating such delicacies as chicken
rice, nasi lemak and laksa. But I am not studying city
planning, business, nor cooking in Singapore.
Rather, as
a Global Studies and Multimedia Journalism double major, I’m more interested in
the very people passing me by in the Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) station, at the Hawker
centers, and at Marina Bay Sands. And what better way to learn more about
Singaporeans than to construct a research project in which I get the
opportunity to ask them personal questions – questions I might not be able to
ask without a reporter’s notebook and a recorder.
I rather
enjoy meeting new people, and I’ve been known to meet some of my best friends
while waiting in line or sitting in a packed auditorium. And since we began our
study abroad, I’ve pulled the “I’m new, what’s cool around here?” card, as an
excuse to introduce myself, a few too many times. But my research project tops
all excuses to get the nitty-gritty details of what makes each person to whom I
talk unique.
I’m
studying how gender, ethnicity, age and socio-economic status shape and inform
Singaporean identity. For my first interview, I spoke with the mother of my
friend, Alexius, who earned a joint degree program from the National University
of Singapore and our very own UNC. His mother, Isabel Yeo, is a
Chinese-Singaporean in her 60s with a knack for being able to talk about
everything. She invited me to her home – the first home in Singapore I’d ever
visited – for tea.
Upon
entering, I was mesmerized by shelf-upon-shelf of Chinese teapots, each of
which appeared to hold no more than a cup of tea. Alexius told me that his
father enjoys a three-cup tea ceremony from those tiny teapots twice a day. He
and his mother then went on to explain the four-part Chinese tea-brewing ceremony.
According to tradition, you don’t drink the first brew, as it’s too potent;
instead, you just wash your tea utensils and cups with them so that they assume
the tea’s essence. The second brew, which tastes wild and gamy, reminds you of
your youth. The third brew is perfect, so you drink it and think of your prime.
And by the fourth brew the tea is bitter and alkaline, serving to remind you of
your old age and all of the things you want to do before you die.
We also
drank tea – the first brew – as Isabel prefers strong tea and so do I – while I
interviewed her. What connects the multi-cultural, multi-ethnic society of
Singapore? I asked her. The country, which is comprised of over 70 percent Chinese,
also has a large minority of Indians and Malays, but according to Isabel, all
the ethnicities bond over food and language.
Isabel had invited
me for tea, but I hadn’t expected a beautiful spread of Singaporean dishes along
with it. She’d fixed an array of uniquely Singaporean dishes, many a fusion
between Chinese and Malay culture, which she felt expressed Singaporean
identity to a T: steaming Chinese buns filled with a thick green custard called
kaya, Chinese sweet potatoes (which
were cooked in their purple jackets) and a green pea soup in coconut milk. After
just a few bites, I understood how the different ethnicities could so easily
come together over food.
And then
Isabel told me a story, which demonstrated that bond perfectly. She told me
that in the summer of 2011, an immigrant family from China, living in a Housing
and Development Board (HDB) flat, had complained about the potent smell of
curry wafting into their apartment when their neighbors, Indian-Singaporeans, cooked
dinner. The Chinese family took their complaint to the mediation court to ban
the Indian-Singaporeans from cooking curry. Fellow Singaporeans were outraged!
And many bloggers took to the net to host a nation-wide Cook Curry Day on
August 21, in which family and friends got together at each other’s houses to
do just that – cook curry – in protest.
“I think it
was a very interesting event,” Isabel said, adding that Singaporeans had
learned to live in racial harmony. “Because that showed … you don’t complain
about peoples’ cooking next door.”
And why
should you complain? One of the aspects I missed most when I left Singapore last
summer was the variety of dishes available for such inexpensive prices at the
Hawker Center – prawn noodle soup for $S2, tempura udon for $S3.50, chicken biryani
for $S4. So what if that variety comes at the expense of strong aromas? Some of
our favorite dishes back in the South have distinct smells as well – fried
chicken, jambalaya, barbeque … And you don’t hear many people complaining about
those!
Isabel also
mentioned language as a unifying factor when it comes to Singaporean identity. With
four national languages – English, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil – all spoken in
Singapore, the country houses a cacophony of lingoes and dialects. But you can
tell true Singaporeans by their use of Singlish – a mixture of English and
uniquely Singaporean words – inspired by Chinese and Malay.
“The way we speak in English to our
own people can be quite different from the British English, or the, you know,
Queen’s English, you see,” Isabel said. “It is injected with lots of local
terms, which really gives the accurate feeling or meaning to the word you want
to say, the idea you want to express.”
A few examples? Lah, which used as a full stop at the
end of the sentence, is one of the most common terms. (For example: “The food
here is good, lah.”) And another word
you’ll quickly become familiar with in Singapore – or if you’re not familiar
with the word, you’ll at least become familiar with the consequences – is chope. It means “to reserve,” and is often
demonstrated by the vast number of tissue packs and umbrellas you’ll see on
Hawker Center tables meaning “this seat is taken, proceed at your own risk.”
I couldn’t
have asked for a better first interview to jumpstart my project. But more even
than the interview, I’ll always remember the hospitality Isabel’s family showed
me. Over tea, we talked about her travels to the United States and Australia,
as well as stories about her family. She not only opened the door to her home
and gave me an inside peak into her everyday life, but she so seamlessly
integrated me into her afternoon – I stayed at her house for over four hours! –
that I felt as if I were a part of that
life, instead of a mere observer.
Isabel wasn’t the only person to
mention food and language as two of the key factors that unite all Singaporeans
– Malay and Chinese women of all ages, from 15 to mid 60s and from low- and
middle-income families all talked about food and Singlish. But they forgot to
mention their hospitality and willingness to share their culture and stories. I
guess I should add those commonalities to the list, too, lah.
