Fitting In

This one appeared in the Sunday Straits Times on July 7th, 2009, and was my last column for the Ex-Pat Files. Just too many other demands between parenting, professoring, and husbanding. It would be nice to come back to it some time, if ST will have me.

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I moved to Singapore in the last days of July, 2006. Nothing prepares you for living in a place except living there. And you only get to know people by working with them and, at least in the case of a professor, teaching them.

It’s been three years now. If you’ve read any of my previous columns, you’ll know that I have enjoyed much about life in Singapore. I know I complain, but that’s somewhat tongue in cheek. (Why let the facts spoil a good grouse?)

My enjoyment of Singapore comes in no small measure from a sense, however tenuous and fragile, that I have made a home here. I’m not fooling myself. No Singaporean will ever see me as “one of theirs”, regardless of citizenship. But there are areas in which I have made connections that are important to me.

I suppose most of us like to fit in. Some do this by imposing their wishes, standards and behaviours on those around them. They don’t fit in so much as force others to fit them. That’s something I was never good at, though life would be easier if I could. Instead, I naturally try to accommodate.

This motivation to accommodate is assisted -- and I would guess this is true for many ang moh. –by a feeling, close to guilt, that I must make amends. On one hand, I must atone for the injustices wrought by the white colonial imperialists who are my forbearers.

On the other, I must counter the perception that the boorish hoards of over-paid ang moh enjoy The Good Life on the backs of hard-working Singaporeans. I’ll leave it to you to decide how much of these feelings is justified and how much should be treated by a qualified professional.

I have already written about how the birth of my daughter here in Singapore has given me a personnel stake in this country. My work has also provided another couple of opportunities for true engagement.

One such opportunity involves the people in my lab, a team of technicians, post-doctoral fellows, graduate students and undergrads. They come from Singapore, China, India and Malaysia, and together make it a pleasure to come to work each day. Although they may see me as “boss”, they are the ones who have given me the gift of acceptance.

Another area is in my teaching of this country’s children (and, no less important, those from abroad). Of course, university students are young adults, and most of the Singaporean guys in my courses will have done two years of National Service, meaning they have seen more of adult life than I have. But each gal and guy is also somebody’s child.

Like mothers and fathers everywhere, Singaporean parents want the best for their children, and that includes the best education. So whether a student has freely chosen to come to NTU or has felt the heavy hand of parental authority pushing them there, I have been given a trust. That trust is one motivation to try to teach well.

The other motivation is pure terror. If you think I want to suffer the derision of a theatre full of pretty young women and cool guys, you don’t know me very well. Maybe that’s why I try to inject humour into my lectures. Better to have the students laughing at something on the projection screen rather than at me.

But the humour really does serve a purpose. Any teacher faces – or should face -- the problem of keeping their students focused on what is being taught over a grinding two-hour lecture. Very few students can do it without some help. I certainly couldn’t when I was an undergrad.

That’s what the humour provides – a bit more oxygen to the brain at the right moment so that the student is actually awake when you deliver the important stuff. The real trick is to make the humour reinforce what is being taught. When I can make that happen, it’s quite a rush.

The students have responded with great generosity and real appreciation. They have allowed me, a foreigner, to tickle their collective funny bone and, more importantly, allowed themselves to partake in my enthusiasm for science. That doesn’t make me a local, but it sure helps.

And just in case you think I’m a softy: No talking in class!