Some things are sacred in Singapore. Sitting in your car in a carpark waiting for the perfect parking space to open up; queueing for hours because there are rumours that the fruit stall has the best durian; and never EVER taking an ’empty’ table which sits there beckoning you with its forlorn pack of tissues…
Two bits of background for those new to Singapore:
1. People here are so scrupulously honest, stories like this abound. And yet, they never cease to be slightly amazing– as if what you’ve just witnessed was more than just an act of kindness, but an act of magic of some kind.
2. Not many big bands make the trek to our Little Red Dot (and those that do occasionally forget to mention Singapore on their tshirts’ tour dates- we’re looking at you, Taylor Swift). So when a big show comes to Singapore, EVERYONE wants to go. Except sometimes, someone doesn’t really care about going, and actually sort of mocks the band at first, and then gets tickets anyway, and has an amazing time, and feels a little guilty….
Like most friends, we don’t always see eye to eye on everything. How to boil water for pasta, for example; or the contentious matter of whether a visit to the dentist should be precautionary or reactionary. And that one, great big festering boil in an otherwise flawless friendship complexion: are drivers in Asia unbelievably bad, or just the same as everywhere else? We guess it depends on where you’re looking at it from. (If, for example, you’re looking at it from your driver’s lap, then perhaps, yes…)
This is a touchy topic that has come up in casual conversation a few times lately, and it seems everyone we know in Singapore falls into one of two camps: Either you’re of the “OF COURSE we deworm” camp, or you’re of the bewildered and confused, non-deworming camp. But in the end (haha), we suppose there’s no real reason not to do it. And that’s the bottom line (OK we’ll stop now).
We’re beginning to notice signs that summer is coming- not in any discernible change in the weather, obviously – but by more subtle seasonal cues. The classifieds pages on Facebook are full of departing expats selling their IKEA bookcases, potted plants, and British Club memberships. Airfares are creeping up (though we wonder if that’s true for United? We’re guessing not. Really, WTF United?). And finally, it seems every expat you talk to is either looking for a helper, or looking for a new home for her current helper. But as one expat recently figured out, matchmaking for helpers can be harder than it looks. So we say, leave it to the pros. If you don’t have a weird little office in Far East Plaza, you’re not qualified.