APPLYING FOR RANDOM JOBS ONLINE

I treated myself to a day at the salon today – my first Singaporean hair appointment. If you are not a girl, you should know that most girls are very particular when it comes to hair salons and stylists. After two years in Jersey, I did not find a single hair dresser who was worth a repeat visit. It took me ages to find the perfect stylist in Columbus, mostly because I had to make enough money to afford her. Finding a stylist in Singapore who can deal with American hair and knows his or her way around shades of blonde and bleach solutions is like finding a diamond in the rough. So, when I saw an ad for a Western stylist who is Vidal Sassoon certified and knows her blondes in Expat Magazine, I immediately, though somewhat skeptically, called to make an appointment.

My cut-and-foil appointment turned into color-only appointment, lasted three hours and cost me more than my Marc Jacobs wallet. However, the salon owner was absolutely fantastic, I had the best shampoo experience of my life and I learned more about living in Singapore than I have to date. I had a great time – I just need a really good job to justify returning on a regular basis.

Speaking of a really good job – it’s about that time. Today marks the end of May, the last day of my personal vacation. When I left my job in corporate communications in March, I wanted to experience life without work for two straight months before launching into the next chapter of my career. Now that my two months has concluded, I am beginning to seriously research my options. Paul’s employment pass finally came through last night, so now my dependent pass is in the paperwork stage. Once I have the dependent pass, I will be able to begin working.

Searching the more than 8,500 jobs available on one of Singapore’s leading jobs search websites, I found a few that were intriguing. I considered applying but I am currently lacking one vital communications skill – to ability to speak Mandarin. Right now, thanks to Ryan Courson, I can say, “hello,” “thank you” and “Where is the toilet?” While better than not knowing any Mandarin, this is not enough to make me a desirable candidate, so I have some learning to do.

When I find the right job, it has to meet my flexible schedule requirement. We have one set of friends coming for a week in September, another set of friends who are talking about visiting at some point, an offer out to brothers and sister and we have a set of parents trying to fit us into their schedule. All of these people will be coming for a week at a time. I also intend to spend six weeks in the States for the winter holidays. Ergo, I will need the ability to either not work or to work very few hours while friends and family are in town as well as the ability to perform my duties from the United States in the winter. I would have to be really good at my job to convince anyone to hire me under these conditions, so I think it may be best to just work for myself.

My hair stylist nearly convinced me to continue the Singapore expat wife tradition and start my own company. And so begins the researching as I consider this option… 

A VALID EXCUSE

If life is about being happy, then how come so many of us are unhappy about things that just are what they are? I am talking about the “grass is always greener” mentality. While many of us, myself included, may be happy a lot of the time, I have not met a person who is truly, madly, deeply happy. One of my biggest struggles has been looking into my past and reliving all of my regrets from a decade or more ago. While I was certainly not the cause of my parents’ divorce when I was 12 and could not do anything to change it, ever since that time I have wondered what life would have been like for me if they would have stayed together. In my mind, I would have continued to be in the A crowd all through school, I would have dated Ben Peppers or Connor Maloney or both, I would have had a car in high school since my dad was one of the top guys at the dealership and I would have likely gone to the University of Tennessee because I slowly became a Vols fan over the years.

Instead, I moved to Ohio right before I turned 13, started a new school with no friends and fought my way up the social ladder. After falling to parental pressure, I started college as a pharmacy student even though I hated science from the time I first had to take the subject in elementary school. I ended up dropping out of the program my sophomore year and enrolling in the school of communications. I should have gone to art school to become an interior designer like I wanted. I should have looked more into that Ivy League college that sent me information. I should have visited a ton of colleges and applied to more than one school to see how many options I would have had. If I did, maybe I wouldn’t still be paying off college loans. But I didn’t. And, as much as American society and therapists tell us to do the obvious and blame our mother, I know that I own these regrets.

I recently read a book by C.S. Lewis called The Screwtape Letters, a fictional book from the point of view of a demon providing guidance on winning souls for the devil. A chapter in that book talks about how the devil tries to break us by bringing up the past and diverting our attention and our emotions to things that we cannot change. I completely agree that focusing on the past can cause false thoughts and false hopes relating to what we could have been. I also believe that there is also a bit of devilish affinity when we look at ourselves in the present and find displeasure in any part of ourselves.

When I lived in the States, a person’s appearance was always under scrutiny. People in the U.S. have to be thinner, tanner and taller, and not many women have a head full of naturally-colored hair. For one week in college I was a bit anorexic even though I weighed 110 lbs. because I didn’t think I was thin enough. Luckily, I also had commitment issues and a brain so that didn’t last long and I never had a thought to do it again. To be tanner, I spent some time in a tanning bed so that I wouldn’t look so pasty. I even tried the spray tan for a February wedding, which was totally worth the money. To be taller, I simply needed to buy shoes. I was so accustomed to wearing three- and four-inch heels that my boss and the company executives were baffled to see me in my 5’1” stature on the occasion that I wore flats. And no, I don’t quite know my natural hair color because the grey came at age 24 so it gets a bit lighter and darker every six to eight weeks. This is a trait I get from my mother. When I was around the age of 10, my mother bounced into the room, proudly showing off her new red hair. I remember telling her I did not know her natural color anymore, and that her hair was certainly red.

In the U.S., flat abs and a firm butt became an unattainable goal that we all strived to see on ourselves. Too bad we lacked the motivation and the time to realize that dream, though we often tried. In came the manufacturers who provided stupid ploy after stupid ploy. We can now buy shoes that tone our legs and butt while we walk, though we may look a bit ridiculous. I read that Europeans think Americans are odd for working out so much. In Europe, people walk, ride bikes and eat portion-sized, balanced meals. They have absolutely no desire to walk 10 miles in place on a machine.

My friends and I often joked over the years about how the American men had a thing for the Asian girls who were, of course, thinner and had a natural tan. They were exotic looking, not Midwestern pale with blonde or brown hair. Now that I am in Asia, I can tell you that it seems that nearly everyone here wants to be more American looking. I have not seen a single hair salon advertise pictures of Asian-looking people – the signs all show Western-looking men and women with blonde, brunette and red hair on top of their pale head. In the two weeks that we had a TV, I saw numerous television ads for products to bleach skin. Whitening agents are added to antiperspirants (do not ask why – I am still mystified). Even some of the men want to look like American women. Since Asians, particularly the Thai, have higher cheekbones, some men have a desire to grow out their hair, lighten it to more American colors and style themselves in the American clothes, shoes and accessories. One has to be careful here – women you think are women are not always women…

In America, plastic surgery has become so common that people are hosting parties at their home and inviting all of their friends to partake in the body-altering procedures. Though Americans are focused on looking younger, diminishing wrinkles, lifting faces and breasts, Asians focus on their appearance for a different reason – they want to look more like us. I saw a story on CNN the other day about a 14-year-old girl who underwent plastic surgery to lift her eyelids so that they appeared more rounded like an American instead of slit like the common Chinese person. The mother actually encouraged the surgery at her daughter’s barely-teen age. After studying the before and after pictures and watching the video, I could not see a significant difference, but the girl was thrilled.

The grass is greener in America when you are somewhere like Asia, even when you are unable to see the green on the ground buried by the snow. For me, whether or not all my dreams would have come true if my parents had stayed together is irrelevant. Let’s face it, if my parents had not divorced when I was 12, it would have likely happened later. Since my parents are still my parents, the same things that have happened in my life would likely have happened in my perfect scenario world, just with different people. When I graduated from my actual high school, I had never considered a career in communications because I had never known there was a field called public relations. When I become overwhelmed with all of the “what ifs” in life and visions of my past that spool up feelings of regret and wonder, I simply remind myself that I am here today. I am married to a guy with a wonderful family, I have a relationship with my mom’s family that I likely would not have had several states away and, oh yeah, I am living in Singapore. And I would not be in Singapore if I had not married a guy whose hobby is applying for random jobs online. 

PAUL'S EMPLOYMENT PASS

Well, we are still waiting. Paul’s entire life history, his birth certificate, first pair of booties, a picture of him on his first day of kindergarten, a photo of him at his senior prom, his high school and college diplomas, medical certificates, pilot certificates, job vouchers, personal references and his to-be-published memoir were all submitted to the Singaporean government in March, a few weeks before we made the big move. OK, not all of that was included, but most of the items were. Paul was assured a few times that the process would be quick and easy and that all pilots get approved. No one is aware of a pilot who has been denied an employment pass to date.

We ran into the first hitch our second week in Singapore. The government advised one of Paul’s employers that they did not have enough information to grant him the pass. The only information they had on file for him was documentation validating that he was a certified ground instructor; there was no documentation supporting Paul’s career as a pilot. He sent the additional information – college diploma, medical certificates, Certified Flight Instructor certificates – anything and everything he could think to send, even though he already sent the information while we were back in the States.

We were assured over and over again that the government had all of the paperwork and that Paul’s case was simply “pending.” Paul requested additional information regarding the status of his approval and was told that the government needed more time. Paul’s corporate employer started directly contacting Paul’s aviation employer, who was responsible for overseeing the approval process. The aviation employer visited the Ministry of Manpower (agency responsible for visitor, employment and permanent resident passes) on more than one occasion to obtain more information on the status of Paul’s approval. Two weeks ago on a Wednesday, someone found the problem.

The Ministry of Manpower had accidentally opened two files for Paul and neither file was complete on its own. With a complete file, we were advised through the grapevine that a senior case worker was in the process of fixing the issue and that all would be resolved by Friday. Again, that was two weeks ago.

A few days ago, we were advised that Paul’s case is still pending because his college diploma is under investigation. Ohio University, the first college to open its doors in the state of Ohio and one of the first public institutions in the country, is not on the Singapore government’s list of colleges and universities. Let me just say that if OU failed to make the list, there is no way that they will be approving my application for an employment pass in any less time. My tiny private college in a village cornfield (not even a town) with a population of 5,000 when school is in session will certainly not be on their list.

Paul and I are convinced that the employment pass does not exist. We are no more or less excited about the process and just laugh and roll our eyes when we receive the latest status update. We are pretty convinced that we are never going to see the employment pass. Paul knows a man who has been living in Singapore on a visitor’s pass for nine years, or so the man says, so I suppose we still have options. However, without a valid employment pass, an actual green card with a Foreign Identification Number, we are just visiting. As a visitor to Singapore, there are many limitations. We could simply continue to do all of the touristy things like Duck and Hippo tours, visit museums, eat at a variety of restaurants, explore areas of the city, go to the mall. We cannot, however, function in society.

Without an FIN, we are unable to obtain cell phones under standard mobile service. We are unable to subscribe to cable TV or Internet services. We are unable to open a bank account, join organizations or receive a library card. Oh how I long for a library card. And Internet. We really miss the Internet.

Singaporean citizens recently became very vocal about their feelings on expatriates, and they are not too happy, which could delay our processing even further. I read that in Singapore, one-third of the available jobs offered are reserved for non-citizens in order to increase the population and diversity as well as bring in strong minds from other parts of the world. Don’t quote me on that, but that is what I remember from the article I cannot find to fact check. Locals are outraged that they could lose out on jobs to non-citizens, mostly Malaysians and Indonesians who, like Mexicans in America, come from across the border to do simple jobs for low pay.

If the worst comes and we do not have valid passes by the end of next month, I will simply need to take a trip out of the country for a week or so. Since Paul leaves the country every week, his visitor’s pass is renewed for 90 days each time he lands. At least I have a valid excuse to go to some exotic location for our anniversary!

AGAIN

Last month I read an article in my very first Expat Magazine about a musical opening in May. The show, which previously sold out in a prior run, was about a British woman who moved to Singapore with her husband and two children and who experienced a whirl wind of issues once she arrived. The Expat Wife, a tale of a woman assimilating to Singapore social life and culture, sounded like a hysterical show for a girl like myself who recently moved to the island with its hotter and much more humid climate, who experienced “humidity hair,” as I and one of the characters in the show called it and who was having a difficult time communicating with some of the locals due to the differing accents.

Monday Paul and I made plans to see the Thursday night showing but, when Thursday night came, Paul decided he did not really want to go. Totally fine. Friday morning I awoke after a terrible night’s sleep and headed to the beach for a walk/run while watching the sun rise. It was a glorious start to the day as I watched the sun break over the tree tops and through the clouds as I sat on the pier. I had some quiet time to myself to just sit and think. I had a great workout as well. When I got home, I purchased my single ticket to that evening’s show and opted not to select the S$3 insurance option to hold my ticket for the next evening’s showing, just in case something came up last minute. What would change my plans in the next 10 hours?

Paul and I ran some errands mid-morning and, by the time we returned home, I was feeling very ill. Paul was kind enough to put away all of the groceries and accept that I would not be making lunch as I decrepitly went into the spare bedroom to take a nap. Ugh.

Since I opted out of the ticket insurance, and I did not completely feel like death after my nap, I decided to just take my time getting ready and take a cab to the theater. I was cute yet casual in some jeggings and a yellow, flowered strapless dress that I don’t think I would ever wear as a strapless dress because the fabric is rather thin and the skirt is a little short for my prudent taste. I waved my hair using a triple-barrel iron and popped in a headband with little ribbons on one side. I painted my face with the rarely seen Friday night going out makeup, semi-smokey eyes and all. I looked so cute but I felt like crap.

I was able to snag a cab from across the street, which is amazing because cabs are not so easy to come by, especially on a Friday at 7. I told the cab driver where I needed to go and I got a familiar, “Eh?” as a response. We sat in the cab for four minutes while the guy pulled out a map and the two of us tried to map out my final destination. I was completely frustrated as this was not the first time a cab driver did not know my destination. The best part, though, is that the show was at a theater on the National University of Singapore campus. He needed a map to find the biggest university on the island – it’s like me saying “Take me to Ohio State,” in Columbus. If I don’t know the exact address but I have the building name, at least the cab driver would start heading in the right direction until we called someone for verification. This guy just didn’t know. I hate it when the cab drivers ask me how to get places or verify exits or parkway routes. Do you see that I am white? I just moved here. I don’t know! Isn’t Singapore small enough that you, as a professional chauffer of sorts, should know all of the streets?

The cab driver ended up driving passed the main entrance of the campus and dropping me off at a bus stop. If he had gone into the main entrance, the building would have been the first one and I would have made it to the show on time. Instead, I was left standing on the other side of a bus stop staring at a giant lighted campus map behind plexiglass where not all of the building names appeared. Four ignorant passing students and two unwitting security guards later, it was passed 8 and I was officially late to the show. My four-inch heels were doing wonders on my feet after I walked and ran up and down stairs and brick sidewalks. A bit after 8, I received a call from a girl at the theater asking if I would be attending the show. I told her I was on campus but that no one seemed to know where the theater was, so it was not looking promising. I told her I would likely see about coming the next day when two shows were scheduled.

After wandering the campus for a total of 40 minutes, I gave up and took off my shoes. I continued walking as I desperately waited for a cab. My cuteness had turned into something that made me look more like a girl in a bar at 1 in the morning – my strapless dress did not like to stay up (this was the first I had worn it), my hair was gross due to the sweat from walking and running, I was all sweaty from all of the walking and running and, of course, I was barefoot. I finally hailed an empty cab and made my way home, disappointed that I would not see the show I had just paid S$62 to see. So much for my night out.

The theater offered to comp my ticket to the Saturday matinée since I experienced difficulties the night before, so I carefully studied Google Maps and tried again. This time I got to the theater in half the time at half the cost (stupid Friday night peak hour pricing and tolls). I still looked really cute in a black top with thick straps and a bow and a khaki skirt. Instead of wearing my four-inch black heels, I covered my feet with Neosporin and Band-Aids and wore flip flops. Since I did not want all of the Band-Aids to be seen, I brought the four-inch heels with me to wear only at the theater. When I went to put on my heels, I noticed their appearance. The heels themselves were severely scraped and the tips were gone – I literally had screws coming out the bottom of my shoes. I threw them in a trash can at a bus stop on my way home.

The show started out OK but it got very cheesy very quickly. It was worse than a small town community theater. There was no orchestra, just a soundtrack of synthesizer music. The opening song was a montage of satirical lyrics to songs like “Viva, Las Vegas,” which became “Viva, Singapura.” When the cast sang, they sang with hand mics. When the cast spoke, there were no mics; one woman, who was sometimes Australian and sometime southern, just shouted through all of her lines. Certain shows will feature an over-the-top character for comedic value. In this show, everyone but the main character was completely over the top, which only made it annoying. Some parts of the show were funny but the over acting, the strange soundtracks and the horrid choreography made me want to leave at halftime. So I did.

I called Paul as I was contemplating my move and, since he was back from Indonesia, I decided to hop on a bus and head home. I had a sunny, relaxing bus ride back east and I got to see a new part of the island. It really is apparent that they just built a city in the middle of a jungle. I love looking at the trees on this island. They are all different but most of them seem to share a winding of the branches that I find very interesting. I do wish that it weren’t so humid all the time, I wish there were not a million people in one place everywhere I go, I wish the cab drivers could go to cab driver school in Manhattan so the New Yorkers could show these guys how it’s done (in Singapore, the cab drivers go for coffee when it rains because none of them know how to or want to drive in the rain). But, all in all, I really like this place. If only they would approve Paul’s employment pass…

PARADISE

Paradise to me is three little words – three little words that fill my life with so much joy. On two occasions in the last couple weeks, I nearly lost them – for good. These incidences made my breath escape my body, my heart drop from my chest to my stomach, made fear of Paul’s disappointment overwhelm me and made tears nearly well up in my eyes.

When we left the United States, we did the best we could to sell as many of our non-essential belongings as possible. The people at Goodwill loved us because we took an entire car full of household goods to the local donation center (and by we, I mean Paul). We sold or donated furniture, clothes and appliances that we either did not want or did not need to take with us. I even threw away a curling iron and a straightener that had likely outlived their good life because I did not want to deal with the plug-in-outlet situation.

On May 6 when our shipping container arrived in our parking area and the shirpas, as I fondly call them, began unloading, Paul and I took inventory as we directed the men with boxes to the appropriate areas of the house. For the record, we had way more than I thought we did. Over the next few days we were able to unpack everything and organize the house to the point where it was actually livable. We furnished the condo so that each room had the essentials and a few things just to make them a bit homier.

I was truly excited to put away all of my kitchen gadgets with the hopes of using them one day soon. However, before we could use any of our American appliances, we knew we had to go in search of a converter. So Paul found a handyman and went off on his white horse to find a suitable device. He returned with not only a converter, but a power strip so that all of the kitchen appliances could be plugged into one unit constantly plugged into the converter to add convenience and save my sanity.

I remember the first time I used the converter. I woke up one morning, thrilled to make some breakfast and my first Singapore cup of coffee in the Keurig single-cup coffee maker I traded my aunt for Christmas (she agreed to buy me the Keurig and I agreed to buy her a leather Coach purse – it was such a great idea, I think we should play this game every year). I watched with much anticipation and glee as the Keurig lit up its bright blue color. I stood there and continued to watch it for the next 30 seconds as I waited to hear the sound of bubbling water bellowing from the back, but I heard nothing. Then, I watched as the blue light rapidly flickered, much faster than the Blue Light Special, and then…darkness. All that was left was an odd smell in the air and I was heartbroken at the thought of the tragic death of my Keurig. Another expat couple had warned me not to trust the converters with the good machines.

Dr. Paul came to the rescue and laughed as he diagnosed the problem and reported the prognosis. The coffee machine would be fine, he said, but the converter would need to be replaced. The converter, with a limit of 200 watts, could not handle to 1,500-watt power of the mighty Keurig, so I went on a holy coffee crusade to find a super converter.

Paul sent me to the handyman responsible for selling him the small converter, so I stopped in with my list: a hygrometer to see just how humid it is in our house at any given point in the day, a dryer hose clamp that did not end up fitting the back of our dryer and the super converter. And yes, I asked for it by name – super converter. The handyman and his wife had wide eyes when I responded to their question of how many watts with the joyful response. “2,000 watts,” I exclaimed excitedly. I figured since the Keurig was 1,500, I would add in some cushioning, just in case. I watched the handyman take 35 minutes to affix the wiring and the outlets on each end of the converter. The handyman’s wife asked how I was going to transport the converter and I simply replied that I would catch a cab. I admit that I did not realize how heavy this thing was until she handed it over and I began my four-story decent. I was amazed by my strength as I carried the converter, likely weighing as much as I do, four blocks until I found a taxi stand without an obscenely long line.

The next morning as I awoke to the joyous thought of an iced mocha to complement the end of my book about Starbucks, I nervously hooked up the converter to the wall and to the power strip. Nothing happened. I checked the plugs on both ends of the converter, I checked to ensure that the outlet was on. There was no switch on the converter and no light to indicate power like the last one so…what was wrong? Oh yeah, the coffee machine should probably be plugged in to the power strip. All was right in the world again when I saw the machine light up and heard the beginnings of the coffee-making process. Then, I saw three blissful words pop up on the screen: “READY TO BREW.” Paradise. I was so excited I made myself some toast to go with my coffee.

And then, I lost it again.

Last Sunday, Paul and I decided to go to the Late Late Church with Pastor Prince (who was actually off for his birthday), and I awoke with a desire for waffles. Since I had time – and a waffle machine brought to me by the shirpas – I began prepping. As I was just about ready to put the first round of batter into the waffle iron, I thought I would go ahead and start the Keurig so that my iced mocha would be ready with my breakfast. And then it happened again. And all three died – the waffle maker, the Keurig and the super converter. My heart sank and I was nearly ready to cry as I dragged my feet into the study to confess to Paul that I forgot to check the wattage on the waffle iron and that I may have killed the S$200+ super converter. Dr. Paul went into the kitchen for the evaluation and, once again, saved everything. He explained to me the two types of converters and how there are fuses that blew. All three of the machines were reset and working again, and so we had our waffles. I made my coffee once the waffles were done, all was right in the world again. 

IN MY KITCHEN

“In my own little corner, in my own little chair, I can be whoever I want to be.” Cinderella sang that song about her favorite chair by the fireplace off the kitchen in one of my favorite childhood movies depicted with actual people, not the cartoon. I don’t know why that song came to me yesterday, but it did. I started to imagine how I got to take a little bit from the chefs in my life and modify their recipes to make wonderful breakfasts, lunches and dinners to make whatever I wanted to make. A lot of Rachael Ray, a little Bobby Flay, a little Emeril Lagasse – all inspirational to me when it comes to making kitchen creations. There seems to be just one thing standing in my way.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate my stove/oven? We had someone take a look at the oven and confirm it was broken as I suspected. Since the oven has been fixed and I now understand how to use it – Celsius degrees and all – I have overcome my hatred and have begun to accept my tiny little oven. The stove, however, is still on my hate list. Saturday afternoon, I started to prepare a pork roast for dinner. Instead of baking it in the oven like the last time, I decided to cook it on the stove top in my ceramic Dutch oven. I lightly seared the outsides of the pork, seasoned it nicely and poured in half a bottle of apple juice, lowering the temperature on the gas burner to the lowest setting before closing the lid.

After some time had passed, I decided to take a peek at the pork to see how it was coming along. As I made my way to the kitchen, I started to be carried into the room by an unpleasant odor that only got stronger as I moved closer. When I met my dinner at the stove and took off the lid, my jaw dropped at the sight of bubbling tar surrounding the pork. I immediately grabbed an oven pan, rescued the pork and poured in some water before continuing to cook the pork in the oven. I have known that even the lowest gas setting on the large burner would boil water so I should have listened to Mr. Cricket inside my head telling me that I should have just put the thing in the oven in the first place. But alas, I wanted to use my pretty new present that had come to Singapore on a boat. So I sadly stared at my beautiful light blue ceramic Dutch oven and wondered what to do with the mess that oozed inside.

Since the pot was obviously very hot, I decided to be stupid and let the thing cool before picking it up and trying to clean the tar that eventually settled into concrete in the bottom of the pan. After three days of soaking, scrubbing, contemplating my cleaning plan, praying, quoting scripture to the mess inside the pan, reflecting on this tar that stuck so hard to the pot like sin on a person and thinking about how God was going to make the pot – like the person – clean with ease (and yes, it came off with ease on the third day), resting and scrubbing some more, the miracle occurred as it always does on the third day and my wonderful Dutch oven was saved and washed clean…except for a few minor smudges that I like to consider battle wounds for show and tell later. It was amazing. I have never in my life had so much joy doing the dishes, especially while cleaning a difficult-to-clean, caked-on, crusted pot.

The kitchen has become one of my favorite rooms in our tiny condo. I probably spend as much time in there as I do in bed. Inside the kitchen is a little room formally known to Singaporeans as the bomb shelter or maid’s room. To me and Paul, and anyone else who comes to visit, it is auspiciously known as Williams Sonoma. The 34-square-foot room has become partly storage for the few items and floor cleaning supplies we have, while boasting nearly all of my cooking and baking equipment on what used to be five bookshelves. The room is nearly perfect.

This morning I decided to take a break from the kitchen so I ventured outside for a walk along the beach to give myself a free pedicure and suntan. I prepped myself well with cheap flip flops, a spaghetti strap top to minimize tan lines and SFP 30 so I would not fry. Every inch of the park was covered with people as today was Vesak Day, one of Singapore’s national holidays. We have not yet learned what Vesak Day is or why it is celebrated here (we think it's Buddha's birthday but without Internet or native friends we are unable to confirm).

I watched with amazement as hundreds of bikers from toddlers to old men crammed together on the bike paths, the faster bicyclers weaving in and around the slower ones. I thought there were already too many people biking so I would not have even considered renting a bike for a little while. However, I am not a Singaporean. These people are used to a million people crammed into a single space like clowns in a Volkswagen.

Since I had gone right at the edge of the park a few times before, I decided to go left today and see what was toward the northeast. I found a pier, known here as a jetty, and walked all the way to the end, which was much farther than any pier on which I had been in my lifetime. Both sides of the jetty were lined with men and families hoping to catch the fish of the day, though I did not see a single arched line. The farther down the jetty I walked, the stronger the fish odor became, so I did not stay long once I arrived at the end. The number of ships in the water today was fewer than typical, so I could actually see a bit of land in the distance.

The air was hot but standing in the water made it seem much cooler. I walked along the beach in the water line for a while and, for a few minutes, I decided to just stand in one spot, dig my feet into the sand beneath and feel. I felt the cooling water rushing in and raising higher up my short legs. I felt my toes curling under in the sand to grasp the ground so as to not sway or lose my stance. I felt a bit of roughness amidst the soft sand and hoped that the bottoms of my feet were getting scrubbed in the process. It was a great feeling. The only thing better was the view – minus the ships in the way, the construction area on the beach and the shipyard on the edge of the downtown cityscape. The blue sky was amazing; the palm trees everywhere made it feel like paradise. I smiled for a while as it was made clear that I was living in paradise. 

LOOK FORWARD

I always joked that Paul and I would have real issues when we retired and had to see each other every day. Though we grew up (mostly) in the same town, graduated from the same high school and hung out with the same friends, we did not begin dating until midway through college. We each went to school three hours from home, I directly west and Paul southwest; our schools were also three hours apart. We saw each other probably a weekend every month or two and then at home on school breaks when they aligned.

Right after we were engaged, I received a job offer in New Jersey, so we spent about a year and a half living in separate states. Paul joined me in New Jersey after the wedding and by that time my role had changed. While his job as a pilot required him to travel quite frequently, mine also had a great deal of travel involved and, at one point, I was commuting to work in Ohio for a week or two at a time and then returning to Jersey for whatever I had left of a weekend. We moved back to Ohio in late 2009 and things finally started to settle. In the last year, Paul made an effort to bid for schedules that would allow him to have weekends off so that we could actually see each other two to three days a week. It was nice. Now we see each other a lot.

We are continually learning things about one another and about marriage in general now that we spend so much time together. We have been without Internet for nearly a week. At first Paul was frustrated because a great deal of his work is accomplished at home over the Internet. After a day or so, he started to find other things to occupy his free time – like a book I was in the middle of reading. We are learning to share.

Paul was sick and since we now have a spare bedroom, he decided to sleep by himself the last few nights. That’s right, after less than two years of marriage and less than two months together, we have become the old married couple that sleeps in separate bedrooms. We are learning individualism.

When one of us wants attention from the other, we have no problem jumping on the other person, putting our head on the other person’s neck or poking the other person. We are learning the importance of quality time.

We found out this evening that we have each been e-mailing Paul’s mom the same thing for the last few days. We are learning communication.

We are also learning the games we tend to play when we each have downtime. I come from a long line of Solitaire players so, whether I have a deck in my hand or a game up on the computer, I will be occupied. Paul has also found time to play new games with his wedding ring, which was no big deal until his ring got lost in our recliner. After a few minutes, I think he was genuinely concerned. He picked up the chair from various angles and checked the rug underneath numerous times. He even got on the ground, on his back like a man going to work under a car and finally found where the ring was lodged and popped it out. Of course, I did nothing to help him.

I thought he was done playing wedding ring games until he approached me this morning as soon as I got out of the shower.

“Hey….I have a problem…”

“OK?” I responded.

He walked into the bedroom with the guilty face of a 4-year-old boy who knew he did something wrong and was about to tell his mother to seek forgiveness. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, partially frowning and holding out the draw string to his shorts, completely knotted, his wedding ring hanging on the end. I couldn’t help but laugh. And ask if he had learned his lesson.

Paul does a very good job of expressing his thanks when he comes home to an organized house, which I sincerely appreciate, and he is very grateful to have a wife who knows her way around a kitchen. “I don’t know what I would do if you couldn’t cook,” he has said on multiple occasions. I only hope that I showed as much thanks to Paul when he was doing the majority of the housework.

And, though I am no longer bringing an income into the household, he has decided to keep me around. You see, we have a rule in this house that gets implemented every time I mention puppies or babies: Nothing will be allowed in the house that does not pay for itself. Then why is there a lizard in my kitchen?

THE PERSON I AM TODAY

I just read a book called, How Starbucks Saved My Life. I saw the book on a table in a Barnes and Noble a couple years ago and thought my mom would enjoy the inspiring story of one man’s perspective on work, happiness and life, so I bought it for her for Christmas. Along with the book came a sticky note that said: “I want to read this when you finish.” My mom kept her end of the deal, but it took me until this morning for me to complete mine (sorry Mom – I can mail it back now).

I have never been much of a reader from what I remember, which is why my mom would be so proud to know that I read nearly an entire book in one day, finished it this morning and will be finishing a second book before bedtime tonight. This is what I do without television or Internet access.

My parents told me stories about how much I loved to read as a child; I also loved to be read to. I fondly remember a story I heard several times about how my parents were reading me a story one night before bed. Though I was not old enough to read, I had heard the story many times and I completely understood the story in its entirety. At one point, I knew something was not right and I immediately interrupted my mother and sternly advised her that she had skipped a page. Realizing her mistake, my mother flipped back and continued on as all became right in the world again.

In elementary school I excelled at reading and was placed in advanced courses with fourth graders when I was in first grade. As I got older I was a fan of the Babysitters Club and the Goosebumps books. Once in high school, I think I got too busy and too lazy for books. I lost interest.

My interest in books peaked again a couple years ago. I liked reading on airplanes and, while commuting between New Jersey and Ohio for months on end, I found reading non-fiction books an enjoyable pastime.

This book was about a man who grew up in an elitist society on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. His family had a sort of celebrity status, he went to Yale and was handed things, including his first job, his entire life. Then he lost everything – his job, his clients, his status, his friends, his money, his family, his health and his self-respect. Accepting a “random act of kindness,” as he called it, joining the Starbucks empire helped him experience life on the other side – the other side of the City, the other side of employment, the other side of diversity and the other side of life – as he discovered what true happiness really was. He found that being happy was ultimately better than holding any corporate title, something I am starting to learn.

When I graduated from college, I had a goal of working in corporate communications for a global company. While working for that company in that role, I had a goal of becoming a vice president by the age of 30. While I am not quite 30 and still have time to accomplish that goal if I so desire, I am also finding joy in just living every day. For instance, Tuesday I met a friend for lunch and we spent the afternoon shopping. Once we parted ways, I ran some errands and then rushed home to meet a delivery man. I cleaned the house, made dinner and went to bed.

On my way home that day, the cab driver started the usual line of questioning:

“You visiting?”

“No, I live here,” I replied.

“Oh! How long you be here?”

“About six weeks.”

“Oh. You work?”

“Not right now. In a little bit.”

“Oh. Housewife.”

There it was. I guess that was my new title. “Sure,” I said. “For now. I am trying it out.”

When asked in the past what it was that I did, I never replied with the same answer twice. Once I said I was on vacation and would be looking for a job once we got settled. One I said I was a freelance writer; another time I advised that I had a blog and was writing about my experiences in Singapore. I had explained that I used to work in communications on a couple of occasions but housewife was a new title for me.

I loved that my mom was a housewife for so many years and the truth is that I really enjoy not working right now. I told myself before we left Ohio that I wanted to give myself two complete months without working and then I would see what I wanted to do – I still have until the end of the month to enjoy my vacation. I am not sure how I would be able to get all of the housework and cooking and errands done if Paul and I were both working crazy hours, but I know we would figure it out.

In the meantime, I enjoy my little successes, like lunch with a friend in the middle of the week without the pressure of knowing that I need to be somewhere immediately after. We were able to enjoy each other’s conversation and company while enjoying the beautiful day outside.

Yesterday, I spent most of the evening reading a book and finished the last two chapters while finishing some coffee on my couch as the rain poured through the sun on the other side of the window. I look forward to tomorrow. 

THANKS MOM

Friday, Paul and I received a giant present – the shipping container that travelled here by boat carrying what was left of our U.S. belongings. We spent all of Friday and most of Saturday unpacking, organizing and reorganizing. Thank God Sunday is a day of rest. Today, I decided to take care of the crap that was waiting for a home, finding temporary residence on our living room furniture or leaning against a wall in the hallway.

I unpacked the last box today, which was a great feeling. In it, I found elementary school yearbooks and a couple childhood diaries. I remembered that I never committed to writing diary entries for any period of time, so I flipped through the pages to read about my life way back in the early 90s. The beginning of the first entry dated Sunday, May 27, 1991 reads:

   "Dear Diary,

    A couple of weeks ago, the most horrible thing in the whole world happend to my brother. He split his ear. It was the most worst thing that ever happened. Even though it's over, I still worry and cann't forget about it."

I laughed and I was a little sad. I also noticed that my diary entry didn't say anything about how Josh and I were fighting over a baseball or how I pushed him into the wall that split his ear. I also didn't include any of the details about my parents' reaction to the incident. Let me just say, they weren't happy. And I felt terrible. My brother was upset in the beginning but his battle scar made him feel cool.

Growing up, my brother and I fought all the time. Heck, we still fight when we are together and do not see eye to eye. I am sure my mother can attribute every grey hair on her head now colored reddish or blondeish to something my brother or I, or my brother and I, did.

Let’s see:

• My mom knew my brother was hyper active while he was in the womb
• My brother is likely the youngest kid in history to have braces – he was five months old and flipped his teeth straight out after biting down on the side of his playpen while standing and then falling to the floor
• I broke my arm one summer and the next summer broke my two front teeth just after the big ones came in; my brother broke his arm just after that
• My brother liked to do magic tricks that either nearly or actually ended with day-long visits to the ER such as shoving close to a dozen BBs from a BB gun in his ears and swallowing nails – yes, nails
• I was a teenage girl who watched her mom spend hundreds of dollars on three proms, some homecoming dances and other functions
• My brother and I never seemed to get along; even in our 20s we still yell at each other from time to time
• We all survived a bitter divorce filled with times of worry
• I went to a private college, told my mom halfway through that I shouldn’t be in college if I wanted to be a mom/housewife and I changed my major, all while racking up 10s of thousands of dollars in college loans
• My brother joined the military and went to war – twice
• I live in Singapore; my brother lives in Japan, leaving my mom to worry about her two kids on the other side of the world and wonder just when she will see them again

Every family goes through ups and downs. Every family has moments that define who we are as we react to them. I am grateful to have experienced a number of great moments, whether greatly positive or greatly negative, that have made me who I am today. And watching and learning from one person who was not only my mother, but someone who became my father, doctor, “Sam,” Hey you,” teacher, preacher, therapist, cook and chauffer has certainly made it that much better. I wouldn’t be here without you.

So thanks, Mom, for giving birth to me, teaching me, nurturing me, scolding me, disciplining me, spoiling me and for making me the person I am today.

THINGS WE DON'T MISS

When I worked in New Jersey, my boss and I flew into Columbus for work on occasion. On one particular trip, he informed me that he accidentally left his sunglasses at home and realized his mistake in the car on his way to the airport. He then advised me that he just kept going because he realized he was going to Columbus, so sunglasses were not going to be necessary. The sun is often hard to find in Ohio as many of the state’s major cities are victims of clouds and precipitation. Cleveland, Akron and Columbus are all relatively close to the weather data collected for Seattle, Wash. When we moved to Singapore, we found the sun.

Though some are certainly aware, others may be interested to know that Paul had been looking for work outside of the U.S. for some time. While working late one night, I received a phone call from a whispering Paul wanting to know if I could talk discretely. When I looked around and confirmed that I was the only one on that part of the floor, he advised me that I should start looking for jobs in Canada. He was looking for jobs in Canada, so it made sense that I would need one as well. After being sworn to secrecy, I immediately walked into my boss’ office and said, “Just in case something happens…Paul wants to move to Canada.”

While there are many good reasons to get out of your own country and experience an entirely new one (even if it is just across the border), the catalyst for this endeavor was the failing U.S. economy. With the value of the dollar dropping, the debt levels rising drastically and Washington’s inability to manage the government workforce, there was no doubt in my mind that we could do better. Now, we are both proud American citizens who believe in our country, but when it comes to protecting yourself, your family and future family members from another drastic economic downturn, it makes one think of other opportunities. For Paul, that meant moving on for a little while.

So we began looking at other options. I looked into the Canada visa requirements and the year-long process. Paul looked into New Zealand, where I told him we could be sheep farmers, but he could not figure out how to obtain a visa. Costa Rica was selected as the ultimate get-out-of-the-country-tomorrow-if-we-need-to location because they do not offer visas. A person may enter the country on a visitor’s pass and, as long as he or she leaves the country for four days every three months, the visitor’s pass will continually be renewed.

Then, one day in January when Paul had been sick for weeks at home, I received a message saying that he had applied for a job in Singapore. And then he got it. And here we are. Singapore’s economy is one of the strongest in the world, which says wonders for a country that started from the ground up in 1965. The population is currently around 5 million people and the government only wants to see that number soar. Currently, one-third of the jobs available in Singapore are reserved for foreign workers, which is why there are roughly 36 percent of foreigners living within the republic. The unemployment rate for people over age 15 is 2 percent and there are still nearly 11,000 available jobs posted to a popular job search website right now.

The annual report for Singapore’s postal service reflects a net profit of S$161M with increases posted in all business areas. Mail increased 4.3 percent last year. The U.S. Postal Service Annual Report shows a decrease in mail volume and a large deficit instead of a profit. I have a lot of faith the proposed changes outlined in the 10-year plan, but the Post Master General/CEO and the Chairman of the Board came right out and said, “without significant productivity improvements and changes to our current business model, the Postal Service could face a cumulative $238 billion shortfall in the coming decade.” Ouch.

Singapore’s economy is not the only sparkling area of interest – the entire island and nearly everything on it is quite clean. Singaporeans take great pride in their country and that includes its appearance. Trash is not typically seen on streets, dirt is rarely seen on cars or on buses. Paul thinks the buses are cleaned every evening because there are never a lot of fingerprints on the windows. There are large fines and sometimes caning slashes for littering, spitting and any defacing of public property.

I certainly do not miss America’s court system set up to slap the hands of most offenders when harsher punishments should be implemented. How many more times do I have to see Lindsay Lohan in court, paying fines, sent to jail for three days and then let off because there is not enough room to hold any more people? Take a note from Singapore – charge people outrageous fines, cane them and hang them for having half an ounce of marijuana and watch your crime rates go down. Take people’s iPhones away when caught talking and driving at the same time like they do in Singapore. Throw paparazzi in jail for stalking. Take out drug traffickers like you just took out Osama bin Laden. Turn the government into the loving parent protecting its children and stop worrying about birth certificates and school transcripts.

Sorry, rant over.

I like that tax and tips are included in everything. When we go to a store and see a price tag, we know we will pay that price. When we go to a restaurant and receive a bill, the tip is already included. Taxi drivers charge exact prices and give a person exact change when more than the amount is offered.

Surprisingly, I do not miss my car. There have been one or two times when I wanted to just get in my car and drive like I used to. It would be nice to have a car when shopping for large items or lots of things at the grocery store. If I had a car yesterday, we could have a TV in our living room right now. Instead, it will be delivered on Tuesday between 4 and 9 p.m. The public transportation options in Singapore are great, so I prefer taking the bus to the thought of driving anywhere on my own.

Though the level of technology is about the same as it is in the U.S., Singaporean businesses are using it more to their advantage. Taxis have lighted signs on the top of the cars that read, “HIRED” in red letters, “TAXI” in green letters if available and “BUSY” or “ON CALL” if empty but unavailable for any reason. We use one plastic card that looks and feels like a credit card for buses and trains; the card may also be used to pay for some taxi services. The card is pre-paid and we just tap it onto a machine inside the bus or train station to state our position. The machine then reports the balance on our card and, if we have fewer than S$4 on the card, a message indicating that we need to “top off” will display. We tap out on another machine when exiting so that the correct fare may be deducted from our card. At that point the screen will show the cost of our trip and our remaining balance and any indicator regarding topping off if necessary.

We can add money to our cards at MRT stations, 7Elevens and some banks and ATMs. To top off, as they call it, we simply place our card on a tray just bigger than the card itself – no swiping, no losing the card in the machine, no barcode – just set it down, put the desired amount in the machine and walk away. It is so easy!

Paul and I went to a mall earlier this week and, when we could not find the restaurant, we stopped at a directory for assistance. The directory was a giant LCD screen that allowed us to touch the category (Dining), touch the restaurant (South Coast) and then the screen showed us not only where we were, but drew a line showing us how to get where we needed to be. Amazing.

Paul is also a fan of the Asian-area airlines. He has been on quite a few flights since our first from the U.S. He is amazed by the customer service, the smiles, the professionalism, the attractiveness of the crew (Paul’s words, not mine) and the amenities. I believe we had four full meals plus snacks on our flight from New York to Singapore. We had pillows and blankets waiting for us in our seats, seat-back entertainment, free headsets, socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, hot towels three times. Paul was even offered dinner on a two-hour flight from Bali to Singapore at 10 p.m. An airline pilot himself, Paul is continuously blown away.

On a final note, I would like to sincerely apologize for any confusion while reading these blogs. From time to time, paragraphs shift or, sometimes, are deleted in entirety during the posting process. As soon as I am alerted, I find the errors and correct them, hopefully, before too many people have a chance to read the post. I am now creating and editing these posts outside of the Blogger program in hopes that the blogs I post moving forward will be error free. Please feel free to contact me if you find any errors. One of my readers sent me an e-mail when she found a typo. Thanks Mom.

WHAT WE MISS MOST FROM THE U.S.

Singapore is very much like the United States in a lot of ways. Paul often says that it could be Florida any day of the week. The city has a cityscape; some outlying areas are only referred to as feeling like suburbia, though there are no actual suburbs. There are lots of people, lots of trees; shopping seems to be the number one hobby. Cars are everywhere, even the ultra-luxurious ones like Ferraris (which blows our minds - who would buy a Ferrari to drive on an uber-restricted island that is only 14 miles by 26 miles?). There are, however, a few times that it is very clear that we are not in Kansas anymore (not that I have ever been to Kansas). One of those times was Wednesday when I took a trip to the local wet market. This place was not one to which I will return, although it was not atrocious. There was a cement floor under a pavilion and there were several rows of stands with people selling fresh meat and produce. I had no idea what these people were saying as I walked by, but I just smiled and kept walking. I wanted to get the lay of the land before I made my ever-important meat decisions.

I read that these wet markets open around midnight and are often closed before lunch, so I went early. I was searching for a pork roast, some chicken breasts and some beef. I left with only one of the three. The vegetable counters were nice - overflowing with fresh produce. Signs were hung to show the varieties and the sellers were eager to make deals. The fish stalls somewhat excited me. They had a lot of variety and a guy was preparing the fish as I walked by. I found quite a few meat counters but none of the meat was red, so I was out of luck there. The chicken was not cut in a familiar way in any of the chicken stalls and the butchering quality left a lot to be desired, so I backed away. I did find one piece of pork in the entire market that matched what I was seeking. I pointed inside the refrigerated case and told the old man behind the counter which one I wanted. He picked it up with his bare hands. When I asked how much, the man placed the piece of pork onto a scale with other little pork pieces stuck to it. Once I agreed to the size and the price, he reached for a plastic bag with his pork fingers and placed the meat inside the bag. I then handed the man my money as he exchanged my dinner. Without wiping his hands at all, he took my money and presented me my change, gooey pork bills and all. I was really grossed out and didn't want to put this money into my brand new leather wristlet but I knew I had no other option. I put the pork bills away and walked across the street to the grocery store.

On the bus ride home, I sat on the upper deck so that I could see a familiar stop approaching. I looked out the windows and watched people on the streets and the sidewalks. We were in a part of the island that I was convinced could be Chinatown, anywhere, knowing full well that the real Chinatown, Singapore, was in another part of the island. At that point, I knew I was somewhere foreign. The clothes did not match what I knew as typical, the mannerisms did not match, the transportation, the style of buildings did not match. And then I saw a Pizza Hut and it made me chuckle. A block later I saw a Domino's Pizza across the street from an Italian pizzeria and figured if Singapore would have a pizza district, this could be it.

What we miss most about living in the U.S. is a list of a lot of little things: pizza and ice cream, for instance. American pizza here is hard to come by. When the pizza is found, it is often priced high. A Domino's delivery pizza is S$18; one Paul had in a restaurant last night was S$26. Ice cream is everywhere but the portions are so small and the prices are so high - a trip to Ben & Jerry's for three people could easily run S$40. In the store, the good brands like Hagen Dazs and B&J run S$14 to S$16 a pint. The normal local brand vanilla is still S$8. I have not had any ice cream since we moved. With it being so hot here, why is no one selling ice cream cones for a nickel? I'll tell you - because the local people will pay S$8 for an ice cream cone. Meanwhile, back in reality, the expats are going crazy.

The scoops of ice cream do not even compare to half a scoop at Jeni's. One scoop here is about 1/5, maybe 1/4 the size of a Jeni's ice cream scoop, which brings us to our next missed item: American-sized portions. I often complained about how American portions are so huge and I often declared that restaurants should serve actual portion sizes for many reasons. In Singapore, I am not sure we are served a full portion of anything. Paul and I ate at an outdoor cafe when we first moved here. Our sandwich, chips and drinks were somewhere around S$20. The sandwiches were normal sized, but we had maybe 10 chips beside the sandwich on our platters. We ate brunch at a bakery and had ham and cheese croissants with two thin slices of ham each. And the croissants were about half of the ones seen at any Starbucks. We hungry. We want more food.

Another thing that we miss is American banking, mostly because Singapore banking is very difficult. It took us three attempts with three separate checks to make a successful cash transaction. The first time Paul received a reimbursement check from his boss, we were advised that the markings on the check indicated that this check was for deposit only. If we had an account with the bank, we would be able to have the money placed in our account. Great, except Paul's employment pass had not yet been approved (and still hasn't been approved), so we were unable to open an account. We received a new check for the second attempt with no "deposit only" markings in the corners. We were denied again, however, because one of the two signatures on the check did not exactly match the one the bank had on file. Grr. The third time we had yet a third check with two perfect signatures and we were able to walk away with some cash. We were both astounded at these happenings. When away from the bank, Paul went on a tirade:

   "This is ridiculous. Why can't I open an account? I want to give you my money! Why won't you just take my money?"
   "In America, we can present a check written in crayon and they would cash it. I don't understand!"

I also found it odd that the bank did not carry S$100 bills. I could have a S$1000 bill but the next size down offered was a S$50. There are S$100 bills in circulation. Why can I not get them at a bank?

Cash is the most widely used form of currency in Singapore. Unlike in America, people pay for almost everything in cash. There are credit cards, but many companies charge fees for using plastic where fees do not exist when using cash. The bill system is very similar to the U.S., which is quite helpful. They use the term "dollars" and have 2, 5, 10, 50, 100 and 1000 dollar bills. There are one-dollar coins, 50-cent coins, 20-cent, 10-cent and 5-cent coins. I confuse them with the American coins very easily and often take some time to figure it out. We liked using our debit cards to pay for things in the U.S. It was very easy. And fast. Here it takes much longer to use a card than to use cash. One can actually hold up a line by using a card.

If more people used credit or debit cards in Singapore, maybe they would appreciate online shopping, another fabulous thing not offered here. Oh yes, I am serious, no online shopping. I believe one mobile phone store and one grocery store will allow you to shop online and have your items delivered, but that is all I have seen. Websites are so bad and so unhelpful here, we are not able to Google a store to see their product offerings. If websites offer products at all, there will simply be a list of brand names with "and many more" at the bottom. No links to the brands appear, no pricing appears, no option to buy anything online exists. We are not able to see which stores offer which items, let alone brands or prices. It's crazy!

Without the option of online shopping and the uncertainty of products offered, the only thing one can do is what everyone else on this island does - go to the mall and see for yourself. There are many good days to go to the mall, whether rain or shine. Most days are the same in Singapore: the sun rises around 7, the sun shines brightly overhead, the temperature is hot and humid, often in the 90s, and then, some days, the rain will come in the afternoon. There is a little variety when it comes to the rain. We will see sunshine for a few days and then rain for a few afternoons; the hot and humid are here forever. I stopped asking Paul for a weather report after day three in Singapore because I figured it out. Unless the sun is not out around 7, it will be sunny in the morning, high around 90, humid meaning sweaty and there will be a chance of rain in the afternoon. While we certainly do not miss the dark, cloudy skies of Ohio, we do miss the chance of fluctuating temperatures, warm some days and cooler others.

Other little things we miss are the American-style appliances. The Singapore oven is small and it has odd features; the gas stove will boil anything on the lowest setting. There are rarely ovens in homes, so we got lucky; dishwashers are also hard to find. We do not have one. While doing dishes regularly has not upset me yet, I think it will today as I realize that all of the dishes and silverware and containers coming over by boat will all need to be washed. I think it will take me a week to wash all of these in shifts. And garbage disposals do not exist, so we have a little grody catcher in the bottom of the sink. I call it that because it catches all of the items left on the dishes and those little leftovers get all grody and wet and I do no want to touch them. But I do and doing that completely grosses me out. I also miss American toilets but I will just leave it at that.

I could write for days about trash cans, wine and all of the American products that are different here. But, instead, I think I will focus the next entry on things we don't miss. 

THAT WOULD BE STELLAR

I am at a confusing point where I am trying to decided which I like more - working or not working. I like having a job and making money so that Paul and I have more to save and more to spend. If I had additional income, we could afford a bigger apartment closer to the city with an amazing rooftop patio like our new friends. I think I would rent an apartment just to have that rooftop patio. Or maybe we could just rent the patio and sleep in a tent.

On the other hand, I really like not having a schedule, taking time each morning to wake up a bit, make breakfast, read and respond to e-mails and catch up on my Bravo shows that are playing in real time. I also have a chance to call some people in the States before they go to bed.

So what do I do? Do I look for part-time work, whether contract or consistent? Do I keep playing the housewife role? I have learned that a lot of expat wives have businesses of their own in Singapore. Wives typically buy things from their home countries at discount prices and then sell them here at fairs for higher prices to make a profit. My new friend Tiffany, who used to sell Victoria's Secret clothing, advised that it is "basically just expats ripping off other expats." The things sold at these fairs are hard to come by in Singapore, so there is quite a demand.

In order to secure a job in Singapore, I would need to apply for one of two passes. The first is an Employment Pass, which Paul is in the process of obtaining, that would allow me to work and to continue to work even if Paul is no longer employed. The second is to obtain a Letter of Consent from Paul's employer stating that I have permission to work using my Dependent's Pass. Once the Letter is received and valid, I could begin working; however, if Paul stops working for any reason or his visa is revoked, I am also out of a job and we both will likely need to vacate Singapore. I am still researching, but the point is that I am not able to just apply for a job today and start working next week. So I suppose I will continue to enjoy my time off while I try to figure out what I want to do. Although it sounds like I want to work, doesn't it?

It would be stellar if I could find a way to work flexible hours making a decent income and have the ability to work from Singapore or the U.S. without reporting into an office every day. Don't worry, I am not holding my breath. I think the most intimidating thing for me is my lack of confidence in communicating with people here. I do not speak Mandarin or Malay and I often have a difficult time understanding the broken English most Singaporeans speak. How can I work in communications if I cannot understand people and they cannot understand me? I had to speak with thee different people this morning just to have an exterminator come to our house to do an inspection.

Even obtaining a job as a writer here is a little nerve wracking for me. I read the newspaper and online website information and I notice that sentences are not quite constructed the way they are in the U.S. I am a bit confused on the local written language. Sometimes I see it written in American English and sometimes I see it written in what I will refer to as European English. Sometimes I see "centre," sometimes I see "labour," sometimes I see "Nov 10 2010." I don't get it.

Paul is getting really good at understanding and speaking Singlish. I just overheard a phone conversation that went something like this:
  "I Captain Paul..."
  "What cost overnight for small jet?"
  "I call Captain Sandy. OK. I call Captain Sandy. Good-bye."

I can't really say that I miss speaking to people who understand and respond in American English because even in America we couldn't speak to someone on the phone from our own country. But there area some things that are not found as easily here as they are in the U.S. For those items we have to either search, research or set up our own foreign trade with friends and family members. They, thankfully, can supply most of what we miss from the U.S.

AND I LIKED IT

I had a fantastic few days this past week. One day, I was the happiest that I have been in years and I could literally feel my happiness ready to explode inside of me. Paul was not home for these three days, but don't think anything of that.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love to cook, bake and eat. This past week I had the opportunity to focus nearly all of my energy on food and the results were amazing. I even thought about turning this into a food blog and sharing recipes that either I created or used successfully.

It started Tuesday night before Paul left for a three-day trip to Kuala Lumpur, followed by a single-day trip to Bali. I happened to catch an episode of the Rachael Ray show featuring some Deadliest Catch cast members in a cook off. I was watching my namesake make a Meat Lovers' Burger and it made me think about all of her great recipes. My cook books are all on the boat (which is now in Singapore, but we'll get to that later), so I needed some inspiration via Rachael Ray's website. I began looking at the Weekly Roundup, catching one or two recipes that struck my fancy, and then proceeded to dinner recipes. I flipped through 10 pages before shutting down for bed.

Wednesday morning, I woke up and had an easy, lazy morning after Paul left. I got back on Rachael's website and started looking at lunches, since it was getting to be that time. My thought process, now and in the past, starts with restaurant food. I really enjoy restaurant food because it always seems better than homemade - the presentation is better, the quality is better, you never think you can replicate this masterpiece in front of you. I used to think that if I could make restaurant-quality food at home, I would make a little extra for lunch the next day and then I would not want to spend any money eating out. That never seemed to work. I was always eating out. My team can tell you where I would be on Thursdays, I was that bad.

With Paul and me home more than usual, I know that I will be cooking a lot more. When Paul was gone and I would work crazy hours, I would typically come home around 7 or 8 and sometimes heat up a frozen pizza or make something easy so that I could just eat it and go to bed. Now I am cooking for the both of us so I feel like there is a little added dinner expectation. Only once in my two years of marriage has Paul ever said, "Wow. This is really good. I mean, really good. I could be eating this in a restaurant." That was a good feeling. I want that more often.

So I started thinking again about making restaurant-quality food. I was browsing recipes on Rachael Ray's website, Food Network's website and a couple others. I quickly became inspired by the recipes in front of me and my brain starting zooming in other directions. I may not have liked some of the ingredients, but the basic idea made me come up with something new. I started saving the web pages for the recipes I liked and started building a list of meals that I would like to prepare on my laptab's desktop (I have a Dell Convertible that is a laptop/tablet combination, so I call it my laptab). For instance, I saw a recipe for a tuna melt. I had made some tuna salad a day or so prior and had simply been toasting bread in the oven (toaster's on the boat) and placing some cheese and lettuce on the cold tuna salad. I was fine with it. But while browsing recipes, I realized that I could make a tuna melt - all I had to do was toast my bread in butter like a grilled cheese sandwich and then put the tuna and the cheese on the bread in the broiler, adding the lettuce last. My sandwich was so much better.

I continued to flag recipes for a couple hours. I started thinking of my favorite restaurant foods and something happened - I realized that I could make those things quite easily! So I made a list of all that I would need and I went shopping. Oh boy, I went grocery shopping. I even got a bottle of wine because I was feeling that good. I came home and made two types of stromboli - yes, I made the dough - one garlic, grilled chicken and spinach and one smoked ham, salami, Italian seasoning and Italian dressing. And I made a sauce of tomatoes and pesto to accompany my strombolis. They were fantastic! I ate so much.

I decided to make some breaded chicken with prosciutto and arugula over an angel hair pasta because I love that dish at the Cheesecake Factory. Tonight I am making a grilled chicken over shell pasta with spinach that I love to order at Brio. I even made pretzel bread Friday in time for Paul to make it home for lunch so that we could enjoy my favorite grilled Potbelly-inspired sandwiches. I love making great food!

Thursday, while recipe hunting and contemplating my food blog, I started thinking about Julia Child, so I Googled some of her recipes. I found an article about the movie, Julie and Julia featuring Meryl Streep's and Amy Adams' favorite Julia Child recipes. I loved it. That evening I joined a Supper Club at the Expat Kitchen in Little India. The cuisine for the evening - French cooking featuring beef bourguignon. I could not contain my excitement - my jaw dropped while simultaneously smiling. We had a great dinner of a seared tuna salad with lots of veggies, a rustic onion tart, the beef bourguignon and a gran marnier souffle for dessert. I was in heaven. I had a great time with eight ladies cooking, eating, drinking wine and talking about families and life in Singapore.

It was a great week and I continue to think of what else I can add to my list. I have to keep this interesting if I am going change Paul's response to the question, "What would you like for dinner?" Now it is, "I don't care." With any luck, it will soon be, "How about that.....you made last week with the....That was really good." That would be stellar.