A Singaporean In Australia

Stephen threw me a surprising question about Brexit the day before. I found myself struggling for an answer because I had not put in any thought in it. Apparently, Brexit is a big topic. Even the folks in the office were talking about it. Suddenly, everyone becomes an expert in world economics or international relations. Social media is flooded with shock and despair. That's perplexing for me, considering the British had reclaim some sovereignty from a cancerous union. I was expecting a small percentage of congratulatory content going around at least. 

I guess gaining independence is a sad thing. Didn't our Found Father cry on national TV when it happened to us? Or were we really kicked out by the Malaysians like the rumors go? Nah, that cannot be true. That isn't what they are saying in social studies textbooks or on the annual NDP storytelling segment. So the next time you are dumped by your girlfriend or boyfriend, tell your folks that you have gained independence and it is perfectly okay to cry.

The British are being accused to be xenophobic, racist, uneducated and foolish. Millions have been reported to regret having voting to leave. The media is flooded with negativity with Brexit for a very simple reason. The media is owned by the elites. This isn't some conspiracy theory, just common sense. Fear, lies, hate, anxiety of the unknown, uncertainty of the future impair our common sense. That is how the elites control the masses. The British cannot be commended for their unexpected decision to leave the EU. In fact, the EU will make it as hard as possible for the UK to have a smooth ride, let alone flourish, as long as they can help it. The road ahead is going to be difficult and complex for the British for sure and much of the challenges they will be facing will be from external forces. For if the British manage to forge a contrary outcome to the doomsaying media, it will prove the EU is detrimental and inspire the others to follow suit.

I hereby congratulate the British for finding their balls. Gradually they will reclaim their pride and dignity as human beings. 

Will Brexit affect Australia positively or negatively or will there be any impact at all? That was the question Stephen posed. Well, if they continue to paint this as bad an idea as allowing Rover to drag a roadkill into the house, more residents will be contemplating leaving the UK for greener pastures. Australia is one of the known favourite migration destinations of the Poms. So an increase in British migrating to Australia is a high possibility. Will we see a spike like how the Hong Kongers left in doves for Canada after the transfer of their sovereignty in 1997? That depends on how strongly the Brits believe in their decision and want a part in rebuilding their country.

Economically, separating the effects of the falling Pound, Brexit should not be any immediate impact on Australia. At the moment Australia and the EU has no free trade agreement but there have been talks of holding talks. If (When) Britain leaves, Australia will have to negotiate a separate deal with the UK. That will be of a low priority for Britain as renegotiating their trade and political links with the other 27 EU member states will be highly critical. This takes time. It will be at least 3 years before the transition is over. The outcome of these negotiations will have an impact on the eventual deal with Australia. The less favourable the outcome, the sweeter it may be for new trade partners across the globe. 

The faces of the some real estate spruikers in Australia have re-emerged, after burying their faces in sand for these couple of years, ready to clutch at any glimmer of hope. They are assuming that the Brits will be coming to grab any slice of stability in Australia to calm their tits down. It will take more than that to reverse the dire real estate situation here. They are not going to come by boat loads. Moreover, if there are not enough jobs to go by around here, any temporary reversal will eventually creates a deeper dive when recession bring forth panic selling.

That will be my casual observation from the pissed poor peasant of the north for you. Tell me if you are looking to buy an IP to rent out to the Pommy bastard.

I was contacted by a single mum who wanted to get out with her young son. She got the idea after making a visit to Perth. "This place is great for us to start anew," she told me. One of the key questions I asked her was what she found bad about Perth. Her reply was, "Shops close at 5pm, the whole place like ghost town."

"Peaceful," I told her. It is interesting how perspectives can twist something into different realities. By the time I tuck my daughter to bed at 7.30pm each night, the panoramic view outside will be pitch dark, with soft lights and stars illuminating our street. Most of the shops will be long closed by then. Ghosts? Hardly. Meanwhile, some thousands of kilometres away, I can imagine how the streets of a sunny island swarming with wide-eye zombies on the streets, wobbling around mindlessly. That would be way more horrific for me than this ghost town. 

There are only two things happening in our lives. Either you are with nature, or against nature. Whether or not you believe living in the most light-polluted place on earth is with, or against, nature is up to you. Oddly enough, you actually feel happy and sleep well at night for believing in what you choose to believe. That works fine, except for some, who find ourselves in a position where we no longer can postulate the special set of beliefs we are supposed to adhere to is convincing enough to get by. I happen to be one of the unfortunate ones who can't find peace in the land where the river always flow.

That was when I knew I had to make the decision on what I wanted to do with my life - where I wanted to live or specifically, how I wanted to live. I wanted to throw myself in the wild, something I never had the courage to do for 3 decades hidden behind my mother's back. I wanted to give myself such a hard time out there, so as to punish myself for fault finding the paradise I was supposedly living in. I wanted to get home sick, so sick that I could finally return home one day vanquishing all doubts that, that was truly home. After all, didn't I read countless of accounts of people who left the island only to return to tell everyone there is no place comparable to the best country in the world?

I wanted to be like them. So I convinced myself to leave, in order to know more about my home. If I stayed where I was, I wouldn't know much. Instead, from far away, I could see. That is what we call the blind spot. Drivers will be familiar with the dreaded blind spot, right next to us yet impossible to see. Life works in a similar way. You can have a Miss or Mr Right with you all along but fail to notice it. You can be right next door to heaven ... or hell, once you switch to the third person's perspective.

Almost 5 years went by. How time flies. I've came to understand the concept of success is different here to where I came from. Imperfections and signs of age or weathering in life should be prized. I shook my head when I hear the newly arrived parents commenting about what level of achievements their children should attain at certain ages. I wonder if they will ever be able to contemplate the passage of time in the imperfect nature of life.

In this serene loneliness which inspires self reflection, I finally saw what was in the blind spot.

In just a week's time, we will be losing some privacy at home but for a worthy cause. We will be having a tenant, not just any tenant but someone special. Though the house belongs to Savvy Steve, we made a dark pact to exchange favours, the details best not to be revealed. The gist of it was me being the slave of his house by building and renovating it in exchange for doing whatever I want to do with it, including burning it down if I want to. That - obviously I will not do - because I need it to provide shelter for my family.

I would like to think that, technically, I am not about to rent out a room. Truth to be told, I will be happy to let her stay for several days for free to sort out her stuff. However, she needs a place to stay for a year. I may be pissed poor but I am not hard up so the first option was to help her find a place to stay. Since she met me once in Perth, buying me an apple pie to sweeten our meeting up, it was hard to reject her when she requested staying with us instead of bunking in with strangers.

So what the heck is Judy up to?

To put things simple, she is sick of Singapore life and want out. The problem is, neither her spouse nor her are qualified for skilled migration but she is not giving up the possibility because she "super love" Perth for ... For what, I will find out and let you know. The bigger question is how. Well, Judy hopes to find an employer to sponsor her for a work visa. That, is no small feat, for any who does a bit of research. For a start, no employer wants to go through the trouble if they can get anyone from the open market who is already permitted to work in Australia. Even if they are happy to do so, there are criteria to meet and not every employer is eligible to apply one.

To increase her chance of employment, Judy has signed up for a 1 year course in bakery. That is why she needs a place to stay for at least a year. She is prepared for a rough ride, a near-impossible mission. To her credit, she is willing to skill up, to learn and integrate with the local culture, prove herself worthy or ship out. She is expecting nothing but hoping ... hoping. That is an attitude that secretly tugs my heart strings. I find myself more willing to extend a helping hand to her among the tens of emails I have been getting.

As you can imagine, some of you expect a job offer before you will move. I say. "Good luck." The others expect the migration process to be rolled out in carpet in front of you despite me having to write it several times throughout the blog. Hell, I know my writing sucks. Even if you won't read one of my posts to save your life, there are other blogs or even the main immi.gov.au to do your research. My attitude stinks I know but I have my principles. Ever since I started this blog, I never stop to help someone out, within my means. What changed over these years is, I become a lot more selective. There was a chap I conversed for 3 years over email, sincerely providing whatever information I was asked, only to receive an essay to justify why was it better for him to stay in Singapore - with proper sub-titles fit for a GP submission no less. And then there was this lady who gave my buddy hell despite her kind nanny acts to ease her into Perth. That was, not coincidentally, the last Singaporean I staked my reputation to help. It will take many pots of pork trotters to redeem the favour she gave. I think I owe her an electric air pump too.

When I told Judy to do a research on the rental market in Perth, she did it without asking me why. That left me a good impression. Later, I told her I will be beating the rent of the lowest offer in the market by 10%, regardless how shabby and how lousy the location. I'll include utilities as well as internet access (not all of them do) as well as furnish her room within my limited resources. This is to ensure there will be no buyer dissonance and her stay will be a happy one (since she can't get a better deal elsewhere.) Unfortunately, much as I want to, I can't give her a rent-free stay for the whole year. I have a family to run and bills to pay. Being pissed poor doesn't help matters. If I am loaded or have shorted the Sterling by the million last weekend, I would be hiring Judy as my baker in my new shop with a full serviced apartment on top for her. It won't be too hard to apply a 457 for her because I'll tell immigration that I am unable to find someone to make kueh for me. No such luck for Judy or me.

What I did instead, was to pass her the contact number of a "Cantonese speaking" lady looking for an assistant in her bakery some half a year back after it was posted by a member in Singaperth. I told Judy to call her immediately. Again, she did what I told her to do and (somehow) manage to get herself a chance to meet up with the prospective employer. I was impressed because the lady was patient enough to wait half a year or so to meet her. Judy made her own luck, I guess. I told Judy to make a cake to bring along when they meet up. My humble oven at home should be capable enough to help. Hopefully, Judy will hit off well enough with her to get herself a part-time job. That will help her cope with living expenses at least. Though I agreed to help Judy source her used car, she is already checking out some leads and contacting private owners while still being physically in Singapore. Providing Judy a room will allow her to settle down faster. Getting the car will make her go places. That should be a decent kick start. That is all I can do for her for now.

Judy's gamble has high stakes. She quit her job in Singapore for this and she is leaving behind a supportive husband and 2 young teenage daughters. That is a heartbreaking move for me should I be in her position, to be apart from family, carving out a non-guaranteed option for the future of the family. Hopefully they will appreciate her for making this sacrifice and bind the family closer. Should that happen, Judy will be a winner, regardless of the outcome of her gamble.

Was it late Summer? The time when Mr Lex came to Perth for a short course and bunked in at my place. Then he chatted with me one fateful night and revealed adequate information about himself that prompted me to mutter an innocent comment, "Aye, ackcherly you can migrate what."

4 months later, they submitted their EOI. Quite impressive I must say. The sense of urgency (a nicer word for kiasu) of Angie certainly showed their intent to do this. I have been a silent reader of the whatsapp group set up for this and followed how Angie kept pushing and pushing. It reminded me of the time Jen and I did the opposite. We lost our way in the concrete jungle and completely put emigration out of our mind. The hustle of Singapore life certainly had a way to extinguish any intent for change, be it on national or personal level.

Change is intimidating. It is normal that the couple started asking each other if they "would make it," in Australia. It is starting to feel real. That makes it nervy because the comfort zone is activating. At this stage, qualification for permanent residency is met. The chances of getting invited to apply looks good. When it does happen eventually, that will be when the comfort zone will be at its glaring best, attempting any last grasp effort to resist. It works often, especially when it comes to a couple or a family - where it does not lie in a sole decision maker. I've seen people who held back or were held back. I've seen marriage broken up for this. This decision may be a no-brainer for some but it is daunting for many.

Once the application is made, it is more or less cast in stone. The application stage is where cold, hard cash - a lot of it - has to be dumped in. Even for the "rich" average Singaporeans, it is a sum of money to be taken seriously with. So, one who obtain his or her Oz PR and let it expire will be quite a fool rarity. It will not happen to this couple when the time comes. For a couple who quit their jobs to self employ, they have taken a leap once. I have no doubt another leap into the unknown is a formality to them.

She called me her "migration master." The actual fact is, I did nothing, except for trivial stuff like what documents she needed to gather and how to get them notorised, The tedious ground work was still done by themselves by liaising with the relevant assessment body for their skills assessment, getting testimonials from ex-employers, as well as statutory declarations by ex-colleagues to buff up inadequate areas. With that, they skipped the agent fees they were not prepared to fork out. The funny episode where Mr Lex screwed his first IELTS up ended with a sigh of relief when he cleared the second. The work is more or less done, except for raising a fat sum of application fees. All they can do now, is wait. All signs are pointing to them coming our way one day.


If you want it hard enough, you'll find the way.

"M. A. R...," I had to spell out each letter slowly that my 8-year old niece could write it down on a piece of paper for my mother, who was English illiterate.

"1 N! 1 N only!" I ended up tearing my hair on the other end of the phone and my niece fled by quickly passing the phone over to her grandma. "That is the MRT station you have to alight at, mum," I informed her after she confirmed the correct spelling. She had to attend a wake.

Ah Pak was dead.

Over the years, I met him countless times. I was only 13 years old when I first met him. He gave mum an opportunity to run a stall in the school canteen and our family's financial condition improved gradually. With that, Mum earned just enough to run the family, with not much left at the end of the month but at least it guaranteed us some stability for many years. Later mum left and ran a few stalls in a lower Primary canteen for about 5 years before the school decided to let it out for public bidding which, unsurprisingly, we lost to a corporate that bid high and rented high to potential tenants. The hopeful tenants had to quit one by one because they weren't making any profits and the school was livid. I didn't follow what happened next. Let them fucking burn. We had bigger problems to worry about as our family savings were ran to the ground.

Ah Pak came to the rescue once again and offered us a western food stall at his school canteen for the second time, which we did, struggled like crazy but manage to turn it into a profitable self employment for 8 years.

The 8 years were particularly defining for me. I had to make myself graduate from university, help out in preparation work during the weekends as well as learning and teaching my mum (who had no clue about "western food") how to sell that genre of food to hungry boys. It was also the period I got to know Jenny better. She was a university school mate and came over to help out in the kitchen once in a while then. Once she fainted over the huge rice cooker and I had to piggyback her to the main road 400m away, not before clearing a really steep slope first. Since it wasn't an operational day, the rice cooker was, fortunately, turned off and didn't turn her into Scar-Face Jen. Else I might have to marry her for gratitude.

Through the years working in Ah Pak's canteen, I grew up quickly and realise how Singapore wasn't sustainable for commoners like us to live comfortably for long. We have one generation more to go, at best, to have what we have, going by the rate we are going. It was also the time I seriously considered moving out of Singapore for the first time in 3 decades. I also cope with separation with Jen for 2 years and found those weekends helping out at the canteen without her...lonely.

Ah Pak was ever-present in the canteen. He turned his nose when he saw my weird lofty ideas that "turned his canteen into a circus." He snorted at our menu, home-made signages, scribbles on the glass and the tendency to break the 4th wall with customers. Over the 2 decades we brushed shoulders, since I was a young boy visiting mum for a free meal to an adult helping out during the weekends, we did not have a single conversation. Yet I was quietly respectful of the old man who looked out for my mum for years.

My mum had to confirm twice when she told me Ah Pak had passed away because I couldn't believe it. He was fit, scooting around in his motorcycle even in his late 70s. There wasn't a time he ever looked sick or frail despite his greying hair over the years. He looked as fit as a bull during the last 7th month ceremony held annually in the canteen that I attended. The next thing we knew, the man was as dead as a bolt at the grand age of 85. Not bad at all, Sir.

Just the day before, I came to know the boss' wife was dead too. Apparently she passed away almost a month ago but no one actually spoke about it when it happened. Awkward. Imagine having the boss walking in after a notable period of absence and calling out, "Hey boss, how was your holiday?" The chap who knew and didn't pass the message on was mean.

What made it more uncomfortable was she was not just the spouse of the boss but also our colleague since I joined the company. She disappeared from the scene some 6 months ago all of a sudden. Nobody asked what happened. It was easy to assume. She was a casual worker from the start so it wasn't anything amiss if she decided not to work again. Moreover, she had been citing she was getting old, stuff like that. So I reckoned she decided to retire.

I heard she died of a terminal illness. Cancer, to be exact. Nobody was really surprised, since she was a chain smoker. Hey, this isn't discrimination against smokers. The bloody docs said smokers die easily not me. Perhaps we were just blinded by propaganda, who knows? So you smokers better smoke more. Life is short, make it shorter. I mean, enjoy more.

What made it chilling for me personally was that when I was diagnosed with cancer, she asked me about my condition every single day. "How is your cancer?" she would go, assuming I can measure the seriousness of my infliction with a blood glucose meter, like what Sugar M was doing sometimes back. I didn't know what to say. It was depressing enough to be reminded of my problem everyday. What was worse was that I did not have a solution and was frightened like hell I would drop dead within months like she would have some years later. What happened to her could still happen to me. I'm a walking time bomb.

The only problem is that when, or if, I explode, I won't be the one getting hurt. You see those dimwits blowing up themselves or engage in some fun target shootings before upping the lorry themselves, the living and the half-dead suffer their deeds. Those retards simply die, but victims and their families suffer for a long, long time. Dying does not frighten me, but leaving my family financially incapacitated dreads me. I have not ascended them to a level I can leave anytime, in peace. 

I often recall scenes of my death. Not many strangers will attend my funeral, since I have done little good to people, unlike someone like Ah Pak. I don't have many friends either. I may even have a few guys turning up to watch me burn before leaving with a wry smile. But don't ask me who. I don't watch my back and have no time for this sort of people. It won't be long before they are burnt to dust anyway. We are just playing a game of life and death, after which, we fold up the board and go home. The winner and losers are soon forgotten, inconsequential. I would imagine my daughter being really, really sad. It breaks my heart to imagine how my family tries to explain daddy is never coming back again and get her to accept the fact. We have been really close. I think she will miss me a lot. It may be better if this is just my ego. It may be better if she doesn't love me as much as I think. That way, everyone can move on better.

******

On the other end of the cycle, LC, Robot and M all had their babies arriving in the same month. Congratulations everyone. All of a sudden, everyone is popping babies here and there. We have arrived at the peak we experience life and death at a personal level. Family and close friends bring life to the world and sending their old folks off. It is a perspectives changing stage, no doubt.

Most of my friends would have expended around half of their lifespan or so. Many of us would be having a niggle here and there soon, or starting to get surprises from the medical reports. A few lucky or unlucky buggers, depending on how you view it, will be going on for a lot longer than the rest. I wonder if any has the time to think about their lives, on what is remaining. Perhaps they are happy to go on the way it always has been. Contentment, after all, is happiness.