TLDR;
- I ramble about my early life and how it has confused / shaped my identity;
In my last post, I had a notion about whether patriotism can exist in metropolises.
The obvious counterpoint is Hong Kong. A raw demonstration of fighting for one’s survival.
Were these for individual reasons? A manifestation of youth unrest? Those seeking to protect what is familiar and the current way of life? I am not sure.
In any case, it did set the scene for a contemplation about my own identity. Not the most straightforward of journeys..
A Rocky Start
Born to two first-gen immigrants to Singapore, all was somewhat on track in the beginning. Not much of a community stemming from family or relatives. But nothing particularly stood out. Managed to fit in with the crowd.
But life takes you in different directions. I lived in Australia for a few years before returning back to Singapore. Attending an international school this time.
As a result, much of my Singaporean identity had faded. If anything I initially identified as “the guy who used to live in Australia”. I was perhaps one of maybe 2 or 3 Singaporeans out of a cohort of 200 in my school.
Third Country Central
It makes sense to describe Third Culture Kids as being in a world of their own. A privileged exposure to a diverse range of cultures but unified by the common hobbies at that age. Video games do not discriminate.
My accent evolved from an Aussie one to a blended one. A hint of Aussie remained, but with an infusion of American, with a sprinkling of British pronunciation (To-mah-toes. Please). Looking back to the cultural smorgasbord that were my peers, I would struggle to pin down any consistent accent.
As the tepid teenage dance with identity faded away, I think many of my peers adapted in different ways.
Some doubled down on their cultural heritage, reconnecting through family. Some reassimilated themselves in the cultures they left far behind. Some adapted quickly and anchored themselves on their adopted locations post-university.
Others are perhaps more free spirited. Culturally fluid.
As for myself?
It was still a puzzle when I went abroad to study. My “western” accent returned quickly during university in the UK. Many had trouble pinning down my accent as well.
More important was the social impact. National societies and interest groups were commonplace. I flirted with the Singapore Society looking for a taste of home. But I never really identified with it. Perhaps more so as the Singaporean community studying abroad tended to be a little….insular.
The best and the brightest, straight from the mould of Singapore’s education system (and its top five institutions). The future well-connected elites of our nation.
I didn’t want to pursue it. It felt a little contrived.
Instead, I embraced the confusion of cultures. The multicultural and lost. The ones waging war on their own identities.
The Pursuit of Identity
Along the way, two major milestones paved the way for me to comfortably identify as Singaporean.
I joined the Army. Fitting in was an absolute necessity. I certainly remember that my parents were petrified of me, a scrawny kid with a mixed accent entering - ironically - such a foreign land.
Having made it through successfully (and thrived even?), the experiment was a success and I gravitated closer to the embrace of my country. If that was an objective of the National Service - I suppose it worked. It was a testament to a core value of mine: that actions speak far louder than foreign-accented words.
Then after university, I joined the Government. It is impactful work. But being in an environment with (some) zealous high-fliers does rub off on you a little. Their energy can be a little extreme at times, but I only have respect and admiration for such individuals. True patriotism is a unicorn in a battlefield of bipolar news. Or maybe my expectations have been set by reading too much military history. How is modern patriotism defined these days?
Some fuzziness has been left on the edges of my identity.
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National and patriotic feelings are foreign. Polling booths do not provoke an ounce of sensation in me.
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I am still self-conscious of my accent. I constantly flip depending on the situation. Some call it fake. But I try to embrace it. Being adaptable is a critical tool in one’s survival kit. Queen’s English can only get you so far.
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I still am uncomfortable over my inability to speak Mandarin well. There is nothing more terrifying than ordering food in Mandarin. It is a missing block of my Chinese heritage that should, in my view, unquestionably be filled.
Do I still feel fully at home? Perhaps not. But this is as good a home as it gets.
What has emerged is a longing for community. I may not find it in king and country so to speak. But there are other ways. After all, video games (and other hobbies) do not discriminate.