I’d like to say that my three-month absence from posting was because I was focused on my efforts on being famous. The bar here isn’t particularly high: I just had to be Singaporean and happen to walk along the Yaesu side of Tokyo Station at noon in the sauna that is summer here and agree to come for a Singaporean-themed dinner. If you know how good Singapore food is, you would know that there isn’t a lick of sarcasm at all here.

The fame though does come with an unintended consequence. People whom I have had not kept in contact for a long time found an opportunity to reach out to me. And some of these people include my ex-students who have blossomed into fine, young women. That is how we found ourselves trying to bridge the gulf of 7 years since they graduated from my Chemistry cram school classes, bonding that is neither ionic or covalent.

I fielded their questions as I had all those years before, patiently and honestly. The key difference now though is that I had just as many questions for them and how their lives have turned out to date. One of them is now an engineer at a top-tier semiconductor firm, and the other is an air stewardess with the airline that sponsored the production above. Life always has a way of coming full circle.

In turn, I surpised them with the fact that I am now working as an IT consultant. That’s not exactly the occupation that they thought I would be in; perhaps something in finance given that I was working towards an accounting degree then. Perhaps a surer bet would have been full-time cram school teacher. Truth be told, I might really have become one given how much freedom and enjoyment I was getting from that side gig. But at the end of the day, the heart of that job involved rehashing content I had learnt 7 years prior and there was very little room for my own growth. Consulting promised a little bit more and then some. Especially if it’s in a language that you could not speak and in a country which you do not come from.

And grow I did in so many different capacities. Not least of which is being a Singaporean overseas. There is something to be said about this community, of which a certain dose of intrepidity appears to be a common trait. Singapore is as comfortable as it gets for a home country, with the government looking out for just about every material need of its people. Rules are clear (and plenty), taxes are low (happy to pay Singaporean tax anytime now) and administration is transparent and efficient. You would need courage to want to go anywhere else. That or blindness and ignorance to the privilege that comes from Singaporean.

It’s a privilege that is especially immense in jobs. The strict quota on companies for hiring foreigners (8% for services firm, and 25% for manufacturing firms) means that Singaporeans are essentially competing in a different, more lenient labour market as hiring Singaporeans becomes the horse that comes before the cart. Companies accept this because the higher cost of labour, as opposed to having no restrictions on who and in what order to hire, is offset by the favourable business climate here. But with jobs becoming less defined by geography, there is only so much that regulation can do to continue protecting these jobs. This is not to say that Singaporeans are not deserving of what we have. We do work hard and compete and strive to be world-class, all while preserving the social compact with our government. But would my peers be able to earn what they are earning if the labour market were absolutely free from fetters?

This privilege is also evident in public housing. I am of the age where half my peers are homeowners (well, even one of the aforementioned ex-students will be one) and the other half are figuring out their lives (this is where yours truly is). Discussions inadvertently turn to how much one has paid for housing and many bemoan how expensive even a BTO (Built-to-Order flats, typically seen as new entry-level public housing) is. But they haven’t seen how much a shoebox in Tokyo is going for these days even with the pummelled yen. Boon Lay is considered the Wild West back in Singapore, but in Tokyo, that distance from the city center is normal, if not close. And that’s before we get to the quality of public housing from the Housing Development Board (HDB). I have shown my colleagues images of the Pinnacle at Duxton and just about everyone finds it hard to recover from their shock that this is public housing in Singapore; this would have been a top-tier “Tower Mansion” in Tokyo in stature, amenities and location.

As a foreigner amongst other foreigners in Tokyo, there is no explicit privilege that we are accorded for holding the most powerful passport in the world. Perhaps some people might be able to discern where we come from our accent and the relative sloppiness of the dressing. That, and an understated drive for competence and relevance. It was a passing comment from my German manager here, and a tip of the hat to our efforts and reputation. The point sinks in further in an environment where I get to work with people from different cultural backgrounds and realized that these are not qualities to be taken for granted.

Then there is our obsession about money. Specifically, more of its acquision, storage and proliferation than its expenditure. At a Singaporean gathering here, the undercurrents begin tugging at you from a range of benign angles on current affairs. The weakening yen. A declining working population and its ramifications on the Japanese pension system. One feels the pull and inadvertently surrenders to the maelstrom out of equal parts habit and curiosity about our compatriots. Before we know it, we find ourselves drowning in discussions about our financial beliefs and tactics.

Help.

Thankfully, food is the other favourite focus apart from finances. I listen with relish whenever someone shares about their haunts when hunger for Hokkien mee hits. There are enough Hainanese chicken rice outlets now to drive a debate on which is the absolute best one, and which has the best value-for-money (there is no escaping this huh). When someone from home comes over, they inadvertently bring a savoury souvenir with them. Vacuum-packed slices of bak kwa (smoky pork jerky). A bottle of hae bee hiam (spicy dried shrimp) rolls. The mouth waters.

So at The Smart Local-organized National Day Celebration event at a Singapore entity-owned hotel a stone’s throw away from the Imperial Palace, we dug into the local favourites. Not just food, but also songs as the de facto national anthem streams throughout the entire dining room. Conversations dribble to a pause and everyone was soon singing along to the 1998 hit.

This is home, truly. Where I know I must be. Where my dreams wait for me, where the river always flows.

Home, Kit Chan

Home is where the heart is. And the heart bleeds red and white, in the silhoutte of a new moon and five stars arising out of the stormy sea.

Happy birthday Singapore. You’ll always be home.