I Shop Therefore I Am

Finally, I actually officially exist in some form in Singapore. I have my own Ikea store customer loyalty card. This may seem minor to you, but it’s the first thing I’ve managed to actually get my name on since we moved here. I am a shopper, here me roar.

One of the (many) weird things about living here is that because Holger is the one with the work permit, I’m seen merely as a dependent and I don't appear to have any status as an individual in my own right. Of course Singapore is a very polite society so even when they are snubbing you they do it with a smile, but everything from getting a mobile phone to opening a bank to signing on with an email provider has to be done by Holger. His permit number is sacred – mine is an afterthought to prove I’m not an illegal immigrant. As our friend Mandy said, being a white foreign woman means that you don’t really exist here. Welcome to the twilight zone.

It’s a strange feeling for someone who’s grown up and lived in western societies their whole life. I’m used to working, paying taxes, arranging everything myself. Maybe I am more acutely aware of the contrast because Holger has always travelled for his work a lot, sometimes for weeks on end, which means I have always been the one at home “holding the fort” and organising things. I’m used to getting stuff done, picking up a phone, being taken seriously. Over here, I even get called “Mrs Holger”!

When we opened our bank account – or rather Holger opened the account and I was accepted as a secondary signatory – the clerk turned to me with a polite smile (there it is again!) and asked doubtfully “and are you working in Singapore?” Of course the answer is no. So in the space for occupation she wrote in large letters “HOUSEWIFE”.

Needless to say Holger was killing himself laughing. He raised his hands in the air, looked to the sky and sighed “finally!”

Hmmmmm.