Be nice, lah!

Talk of the town: An Ang Moh (foreigner, literally redhead) has been negative about Singapore in the press. Again. Singaporeans would be uncompassionate and uncourteous. The attack is not coming from an arrogant British banker this time, but from a British lady. A pregnant lady. 

In a column on the BBC website, freelance writer Charlotte Ashton writes about her experiences in Singapore. She loves it, initially. Until one day, a couple of months pregnant, she feels unwell in the MRT. Nauseous and weak. Does someone offer her a seat? No. 

Charlotte describes how, for the fifteen minutes of her journey, she crouches on the floor, head in hands. It makes her very unhappy. Singapore, she writes, has let me down.

My thoughts immediately go back to myself, pregnant and sick, in the London underground. Did people offer me a seat in this country that is supposedly so polite? Often not. I too, have spent an uncomfortable journey on the wobbly floor of the tube, my piercing eyes trying to force someone of their seat.

Did I blame Great Britain? Did I feel the country had let me down? Or was I just mad at that car full of commuters too busy with their phones and e-readers to notice me?

A friend who commuted daily on the underground had a good trick, a button: Baby on Board. It did help, she said, most of the time. I was never pregnant in the Netherlands, nor in Singapore, but I think not giving up seats for fellow passengers, pregnant or not, is a universal problem. Like many expats, Charlotte Ashton sees her home country through homesick stained pink glasses.

Singaporeans fight back. Netizens throw generalist platitudes as bad as Charlottes. In online comments, they wish her back home, together with the rest of the complaining bunch. Prime minister Lee Tsien Loong comments the article is a good reminder for everyone to be more gracious and kind to others.

Yes, customs are different in every country. Everyone should value that, guests and hosts alike. I propose a button, in good Singlish: Everyone be nice, lah!

To the other side of the world

We are going on a journey, to the other side of the world. It is far to the other side of the world. We load the car with: nappies, scooters, a buggy, a pink blanket, peanut butter sandwiches, baby food, wipes, rice crackers, nappy bags, clementines, a camera, clean pants, hats, scarves, mittens, crayons, colouring books, a dummy, another dummy and a final spare dummy. We stuff it all in rucksacks. It is far to the other side of the world. We park the car at the station. In the train we jump on benches, stare out the window at cranes, and passing trains. We wobble through the rattling and rumbling train, further and further south. We get off, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world. We get in a different train, an underground one. We tear through dark tunnels, our noses flat against the window so we can see the black. We get out, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world.
We cross a bridge, onto a pier. We board a boat. Through the window we look at the giant wheel we pass. The Big Ben, the London Bridge and the Tower. The museum in the electricity plant. The shard and the gherkin. The highest building with the triangle on top. We eat our peanut butter sandwiches and drink hot tea with milk. We disembark, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world.

We walk, scoot and ride on. We puff and toil up the hill, until we reach our destination. There, across that line, the other side of the world starts. The line, the meridian that separates east from west, is the middle of the world. We dodge the Japanese queuing for a picture on the line and, a little bit further on, we stand, with one foot in the east and one in the west. We rest a bit. We see the museum. We peel a clementine. Then we start our journey home.

We race, rush and zoom down the hill. We walk past the pubs to the station and climb the docklands train. One station on, we alight, under construction, closed. We roll up, on escalators, and in a lift, up to the bus. We stuff in the bus, us, and many more, till it is more than full. Between piercing elbows we shake asleep, on laps and in buggies, until the flow takes us out, into a new, underground, train. Sleeping, dreaming, and staring at the dark we let the train take us north. We get off but we aren’t there yet. Home is far away.

A new train takes us to our car, and then, finally we are home and in our beds. It was a long journey to the other side of the world, and back. It was a beautiful day.

Life’s a journey, not a destination. You'd better enjoy the trip!