“So tell us about your boyfriend. How did you two meet?”
I’m sitting by a tepid river at Singapore’s only “American Style” microbrewery. Around me perch four American women, all of whom are happy to start their late-afternoons with some solid drinking. Around us, men in the universal business casual uniform - tailored black or dark blue pants and a Western-cut button-down - flash Rolexes and wedding rings, drinking sweaty glasses of dark ale and discussing one of the three topics that brings caucasians to this part of the world: banking, shipping or oil. There’s no doubt men run the show out here - ten minutes out on the street and you can pick up the dynamic. The white wives, with their linen dresses and 3-carat rings, attend museum lectures or shop in one of the 32 malls lining every downtown block and luxury highrise dotting the skyline, while the Chinese or Malaysian nannies take the children to the zoo or the bird park. The men, sequestered in their subzero offices, need only show up at night and foot the bills. It’s amazing, an entire country designed to accomodate foreign financiers and their wives.
Meanwhile, our conversation has moved from the sun-choking smog engulfing the city (runoff from Indonesian forest fires) to shopping and local restaurants, finally settling on a surefire insta-bonding topic: the story of everyone’s engagement. After going around the table, I’m the last one left.
“Uh, we met at a bar a few years ago. It’s not the best story,”
“Oh, L, I forgot to tell you, I finally found a great place to buy origami paper, over at Central Mall,” a pretty brunette with a razored pixie cut says to the blonde on my right. “It’s perfect for scrap books. And it’s like half the price of that place on Orchard Road.” She looks sheepishly around the table. “Yes, that is how I spent my afternoon. Looking for origami paper.”
We offer soothing assurances - nothing wrong with that, it sounds like a fun activity - and order another round. L, who has lived in more Asian countries than I could point out on a map, smiles broadly. “I think that’s fantastic! Thanks for letting me know. We should go down there tomorrow and buy some, if you want.”
“Sure! I’d love to,” the brunette gushes, grateful for the validation and the offer of friendship. She met her husband in college, and he was transferred to Singapore shortly after their wedding. She didn’t have a chance to finish her master’s degree before they left.
“Let me know where the store is, I’ll have to go get some too,” says S, a shy, halting women with freckles and pooling green eyes. She’s been looking for a job ever since Exxon sent her husband here, but hasn’t had any luck. I sympathize with her efforts, but secretly wonder if they’re futile - why should local employers give a position to someone who doesn’t need to work?
The table smiles at her, the naked sweetness in her voice provoking warm feelings all around. We’re all aware of the tentative dynamic - everyone looking for connections, trying to make the best of the situation, desperately wanting the comfort of friendly camaraderie. These women have woken up in their twenties to find themselves nine thousand miles away from home, with no clear-cut path, no obvious way to spend their days, knowing no one but their new husbands. They were brave enough to pick up and leave their comfort zones and move to the other side of the planet at a moment’s notice; they just aren’t quite sure what to do once they get here.