"Malaya was never a country stripped and raped and imprisoned upon its own soil. Singapore was a mangrove swamp, a pirates' den, when Raffles set foot upon it. The British took nothing from Malaya; instead they created opportunity here for anyone who sought it. Singapore is a transient place; it has no ancient culture; it is nobody's homeland. People come to make money, and then return home."
Meira Chand, A Different Sky
I'd never thought much about colonialism, being so far removed from those times when there were British "masters" intent on expanding the British Empire. Sure, I've done classes while pursuing my Literature degree about Post-Colonialism - but it's never been more than mostly academic for me. The Post-Colonial subject was always interesting to me, but never me.
Being away in Canada on exchange back in 2010 dredged up all those texts and essays read about living in the shadow of the white man, the perpetual coloured Other trapped in a subaltern existence. There, I was literally living that way - the yellow-skinned Chinese girl with slitty eyes who spoke English perfectly with an unplaceable, uncomfortable accent. Truth be told, I'd never been made to feel so completely inferior and strange, ever. In Singapore, I'd always been among people like myself, who looked like me and talked like me. I'd never given much thought to concepts like race or ethnicity, they'd always been argued over and discussed at a purely academic level with logical interest - I'd taken it all for granted. Perhaps it would have been different for me had I been born in a minority race in Singapore, instead of in the Chinese majority. Perhaps I wouldn't have felt so Othered, wouldn't have felt so out of place.
But being there among predominantly white people made me re-look my hitherto academic interest in the topic of Post-Colonialism and probe deeper into my own psyche about perpetually being in the Post-Colonial moment.
Coming back to the familiarity of Singapore made me put all that I had tussled over aside, and truth be told, I got lost in the whirlwind of normalcy of my life. Where all the little things matter too damn much and bigger things that probably have a greater impact on my sense of identity as a person are swept under the carpet. Life has a way of placing undue importance on the mundane and stripping the crucial to unimportance and banality.
Reading Chand's A Different Sky has brought back so many of these thoughts that have to do with my national and ethnic identity, and has given me much to chew upon. These are especially pertinent now, as I contemplate my future, both as an individual and as a potential parent.
I've never kept my desire to pursue my postgraduate education overseas a secret. While my reasons for wanting that are one-part practical, the other part of me wonders if I still naively believe that it would be my ticket to the proverbial better life. I have been wanting to go out, see the world, live, for as long as I can remember. Somewhere, along the way, my life here has become a mere pit-stop. But as to where my finish line is, I cannot say with any amount of certainty at all. Is Singapore my homeland? It has to be, since I can call no other place home. But I am torn: how can I perceive my current situation as totally transient and yet believe in my heart of hearts that this is my home?
How do I now feel about being caught in the perpetual Post-Colonial moment, seeing that I am back and safely ensconced amongst other Post-Colonial subjects much like myself instead of among the race of my forefathers' previous "masters"? Looks like I have much to think on. And, happily enough, time is not scarce for me at the present. :)
So think I shall, and I shall share my thoughts here when I've come up with a coherent line of thought.
So think I shall, and I shall share my thoughts here when I've come up with a coherent line of thought.
