It was a sweltering day in the middle of August and I couldn’t wait to get inside the cab, which I hailed from 0.5 meters away. I gave the driver my drop off location. He turned around to me and asked, “Where are you from?”
I replied, “Singapore.”
Amused by my answer, he quipped, “You don’t look like you’re from here. You look like you’re from America!”
As easy as the question looked, I explained that I went to an American school here and lived in the States despite growing up in Singapore. I wish I could say that I was from Singapore with ease, but knowing that I don’t have a local accent, people were already confused. Some would not believe me. Like a concealer to dark circles, the American accent was a superficial layer, yet part of the layers of my cosmopolitan identity.
Born in Indonesia, I only spent five years of my life in Jakarta. At that time, it was not safe to be Chinese in Jakarta as mobs broke into homes and businesses were burned down. Riots burst out on the streets. My family feared for our safety as we heard horror stories. Since Singapore was near Jakarta and we were familiar with the country as it was where we frequented for medical trips, my family made the decision to move there.
Apart from the 1998 Riots, my mom felt that Singapore offered higher quality education and life as I could have easier access to behavioural therapists at schools since I’m diagnosed with Asperger’s. My mom could have chosen a local school, but the amount of kids in one classroom and high-pressure academic environment was no good for a child with learning difficulties. One of her friends recommended that I attend Singapore American School, where it had smaller class sizes and guided learning for kids like me.
Primarily an American community, I was surrounded by classmates and teachers from the States. Though they consist of the majority, I was also surrounded by Indian, Australian, British, Indonesian, Thai, French, Greek, Danish, German, South African, Belgian, Canadian, Filipino and Korean classmates. Being surrounded by everyone from different cultures and countries was such a beautiful experience. A few Singaporean students attended, too. In spite of our cultural differences, we were all in this together.
Having an American-based education system was a check off of the expat kid box. Developing an American accent, spelling, interest in American pop culture and the desire to live in America were things that were ingrained in me. In fact, the American values of speaking up for yourself and freedom of expression were things that I still hold dear today. Because I became Americanised at a young age, my parents didn’t anticipate that I would end up running away from my own culture nor would they think that I would be so far removed from the local culture as the expat version of “America” was normal to me.
After 12 years of attending an American school, I thought that the American culture I grew up around would be the same when I moved to Los Angeles. When I moved in at my freshman dorm, I was excited to make new friends. I stayed on the third floor, where it was all girls. Me and another Indonesian student were only two international students staying there. I assumed that I would have no problem blending in, but I was Cady Heron on her first day of school in Mean Girls.
As someone who craved for new adventures, staying in a dorm was encouraged by the International Admissions office. The moment I stepped in, I felt welcomed. I was extremely shy as a kid, but being in a new environment pushed me to be more outgoing. The girls and I talked briefly; however, it was tough to find time to bond with them as I did not share the same classes with them. Though they were friendly, I felt like I also couldn’t relate to them. Most of them grew up in the West Coast — mainly from the suburbs of Los Angeles save for a few who grew up in Washington state and Illinois. Being a city kid, I was accustomed to a cosmopolitan environment and being around fellow peers from the ‘burbs was a culture shock to me as my American classmates in high school in Singapore all came from big cities.
Since I felt like an outsider, my dad encouraged me to give food to my dorm mates as a way to build friendships. A cultural trait I learned from my Indonesian parents, giving your friends food casually is normal among Indonesians. Almost every week in the first month of my stay, my dad would drop off pizza from Fresh Brothers or give me pumpkin pie from Urth Caffe. I was on a meal plan, but I appreciated my dad sending me food.
I offered my peers if they wanted the pizza, but only one or two grabbed a slice. When it came to the pumpkin pie, I was turned down. I asked Cara* (not real name), a dorm mate who stayed three doors away from my room, if I did anything wrong. She said, “I think you were trying too hard.” Though she spoke from how my American-born peers saw me, I realised that the Indonesian attitude of giving food to friends like party favours didn’t fly there. I had to return the pumpkin pie to my dad as I didn’t have space in my mini fridge to keep it.
Finding friends in class was no different from the struggles I faced in my dorm. As one of the token international students in class, having an American accent helped me to camouflage among a sea of American students. I may have a voice that’s widely accepted in the States, but adjusting to the California lifestyle was harder than it looked.
Kay* (not real name), a bubbly Long Beach native, and I sat next to each other in English class. We clicked immediately. One day, we were supposed to hang out in Venice after our classes ended. We both agreed to meet on a Friday afternoon. I called her, but no answer. I texted, but she didn’t reply either. I was hurt by her flakiness, but she made up for it by inviting me for dinner at the campus cafeteria. Only then did I learn that it was an LA thing to be flexible with plans and playing it by ear.
Given that I was taught to follow through with plans and be firm with them, the LA way of making plans brought me to see that it was best to remain spontaneous. Also, I couldn’t guarantee whether someone could really follow through because making plans only worked if it was: A) both of us could find somewhere convenient to meet (no matter how far away you live), B) if there’s no traffic and C) how late meetings end. I had to learn to be less uptight if I had to make friends in that town. Thankfully, I managed to make a few friends in LA after I adopted the LA way of flexibility and spontaneity.
I didn’t have many Indonesian friends in my childhood as the majority of them moved away by middle school and/or graduated high school with me. Since LA is the number one hub for Chinese Indonesian students, it was easy to find them everywhere from my campus, church and apartment. A small community, everyone seemed to know everyone. Although I am Indonesian by birth, I didn’t speak the native language at home much nor was I surrounded by a lot of Indonesians to keep in touch with my culture.
One day, I was approached by Natalia* (not real name) after the sermon ended at a makeshift church in a ballroom near Sawtelle Boulevard. “Hi,” said Natalia.
“Hi,” I said.
In spite of spending a fraction of my teens going to Sunday school, I felt more welcomed by Natalia. Since then, we spent our afternoons studying the Bible and had evening study seshes topped with pizza. She introduced me to her friends, who were all Indonesian international students living in LA.
We took road trips on Thanksgiving and Easter, where we drove from San Francisco to the Yosemite Mountains. In a trip that consisted of at least 10 to 15 people, I could have looked like I could blend in as everyone — myself included – were from Indonesia. But for me, I could not identify as an Indonesian as I did not speak the language fluently nor did I grow up in Jakarta like the rest of them. Compared to them, English was my first language whereas it was their second language. Peppering their speeches in Bahasa Indonesia, I could not understand most of it and had to ask Natalia to help me translate what they said.
It was embarrassing to not know the language as I was not allowed to learn it thanks to a behavioural speech therapist who said that learning two languages would be confusing for my speech skills. While I hardly spoke Bahasa Indonesia, I tried my best to throw out a phrase or two in a heavy American accent.
Going to church-based events was a lifeline for the group. Instead of hitting concerts, we headed to conferences and retreats held by our church. Accustomed to cinemas, concerts and nightclubs, going to spiritual events was an out of body experience for me. Compared to them, I was not so religious and my faith wasn’t at its strongest. But, I went along with them as I didn’t want to feel alone. Conferences and retreats were not places I would normally go; however, it pushed me out of my comfort zone to seek that cultural bond. Although we identified by nationality and language, going out to meet dozens of churchgoers brought me to accept that we could make LA our home.
After graduating college, I stayed an extra year in the States and moved to NYC due to an internship at a museum. I felt scared to move out as I didn’t like having to be far away from my friends, but I knew that it was time for me to take up a new challenge by moving out. My mum advised me to go out as much as possible so that I would not feel alone. Applying my lessons from LA to NYC, her advice paid off as moving there was one of the best decisions I ever did.
Since NYC was a place for me to start my dreams, I felt at home. For the first time in my life, I could socialise without being self-conscious as I stumbled upon a creative community where friends collaborated in media, art, music and fashion.
Reconnecting with old friends who were interested in fashion made me feel like I was less alone in a new city. It felt wonderful to meet ambitious 20-somethings who were like-minded as well. Given that NYC was full of transplants and locals, it made it easier for me to blend in without any issues. Whether it was Fashion Week, a concert or a gallery, I felt at ease to chitchat and gather. Though I just started, I was fortunate enough to meet amazing people who had the confidence to push themselves out there in a city where it’s citizens are notoriously ambitious.
But one day, out of the blue, I got an email from my parents.
Like a cord pulled out of a socket, my heart sank. It asked me to pick my dates to go back to Singapore. I should be excited to come back home, but my heart said otherwise. An ultimatum, it was the only choice for me as my student visa expired. Normally, I would be OK with coming back to Singapore as it was where I came back every summer during my uni years. However, coming back permanently was a journey I did not anticipate.
Initially, I didn’t feel at peace with being in Singapore. I longed to return to America, where I felt like I found myself. It was also where I found the majority of my adulthood friends, who made me feel at home whether I was in LA or NYC. I complained about the misery of being far from home the first two years of being in LA, but now, I miss it. What I missed more was the fact that I had easy access to travel to other states, where I visited relatives and friends. My family and I would go on road trips to Tennessee and Arizona, where we’d sightsee unconventional tourist attractions. Sometimes, I explored different cities and states alone as I wanted to soak up the culture around me.
Feeling lonelier than ever, I felt challenged to adjust to Singapore as I felt that it was too far away from everything I was used to doing within proximity in LA and NYC. Even though I spent my childhood growing up here, I didn’t feel mentally stimulated to stay in Singapore. No matter how many times I wanted to complain about the lack of fun activities in the island, I realised that I could replicate the American experience and make the +65 my home again.
From 2018 to 2021, I gradually sank into my home roots thanks to friends who moved here for work and/or family. From lunches at Dempsey, art museum visits at the CBD to Emo Night outings at Kilo, my friends made me feel less alone. Though the hotspots were where we spent the majority of our hangouts, we felt like tourists in our own home turf whenever we hit MacRitchie, Holland V, MBS, East Coast or Pasir Ris. It felt wonderful to share deep meaningful conversations as we bonded over our TCK childhoods, common interests, current events in our lives and lifestyles. Then, a pandemic hit.
With lockdown restricting our social movements, our weekly outings were replaced by FaceTime calls. As restrictions semi-loosened, we delivered food to elderly residents at the heartlands whenever we weren’t too busy working from home. In place of Emo Night, we headed to newly opened restaurants as a way to make up for the lack of travel. Much to my surprise, a chunk of restaurants that opened here were restaurants I used to go to in LA and NYC. For someone who longed to be back in the States, it made me feel less FOMO.
Moving through this pandemic together made me realise how much I needed to appreciate the comfort of home. Home didn’t have to be one place or country. No matter where I was, I could make any place my home and call it that.