DOMA is Down

So the news has hit Asia and I can't help but feel both ecstatic and sad at the same time. Defence of Marriage Act has officially been repelled by the United States Supreme Court, sweeping over two-decades of institutional discrimination away in one sweeping move. Even better, widespread public and political support of the measure means that it is unlikely the United States legislature will ever be able to get another federal law like this one onto the books.

My Facebook and Gmail Inbox has been brimming with congratulations, explosions of happiness and lengthy declarations of support. However all have been coloured with the same running theme...

Now you can come home...

Yes, the chances for us to return to the United States as a couple protected under the law instead of separate beings subjected to discrimination and different rules designed to separate us, has just been increased by leaps and bounds.

Are we going to be boarding a plane right now and heading back to the States... no...

Unfortunately, I am one of thousands of Americans who when given the choice between being separated from their foreign-born significant other or going abroad with them, I chose abroad to stay with the man I loved. The mass exodus of bi-national LGBT-couples returning is not going to happen tomorrow, it can't... because while we'd love to return to grand ole' America, we are also Human beings... we have jobs, homes, bills and uprooting that all, picking up everything and returning them to the States is not something that can be done lightly and not without an immense amount of forethought.

Yes, I left the country very abruptly but we can consider that fortune of destiny. I had just left a job with a start up I really wasn't enjoying (I was running the fine line between over-worked and apathy to said work), decided to downgrade the Manhattan apartment when rents began to rise and was dealing with the fact that my boyfriend's work visa had expired. That was the fate's aligning in my favour.

In Singapore however I have taken a job with a company I find myself enjoying immensely, gotten a nearby apartment who's rent is lower than New York's by miles and have begun to build a small group of friends in this country... now the fates are not in my favour.

But while this is a sad moment for many of my readers who I count among my friends and were rooting for my speedy return to States, it is more of a time to root for the fact that we can now return as a legal couple, protected under the law like never before in our nation's history.

And we all have Edith 'Edie' Windsor and Thea Spyer to thank for that.

Just like my previous post Defense of our (Gay)Marriage Aspirations from almost three-months ago, let's have a quick history lesson. Listen up kiddies, cause this should be filed away with such historical civil rights achievements like the Stonewall Riots, Loving v. Virginia and almost every other great civil rights victory from Rosa Parks to Daniel Savage.

In 2007, these two New York residence, married in Toronto after more than 40-years together. Tragically Spyer passed away in 2009, just as New York legally recognized same-sex marriage performed in other jurisdictions. Spyer left her entire estate to her widow... who had to pay $363,000 in federal estate taxes for the right to inherit her wife's estate.

Here's a critical thing to pay attention to, for heterosexual couples, no taxes are owed if the spouse inherits less than $3.5 million. Since DOMA refuses the government to see same-sex couples as not married under federal estate laws and as such, the change of property regardless if they are willed to another is seen as a transfer of ownership and not inheriting to a spouse.

Windsor paid the amount... and then followed it up by suing the federal government for discriminating against her.

With her lawyer, Roberta Kaplan through the ACLU and ran the case through the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of New York which ruled that section 3 of DOMA was unconstitutional. Though she had won Windsor pushed on and when the Justice Department attempted to file notice on the appeal, the Second Circuit Court upheld the ruling again. It was the first federal court of appeals decision to hold that laws that classify people based on sexual orientation should be subject to intermediate scrutiny. Finally Windsor filed petition for the Supreme Court, the highest court in the country, to argue that DOMA violated the Fifth Amendment's right of equal protection.

In a narrow vote in favour, the Supreme Court found section 3 of DOMA to be unconstitutional, stating "as a deprivation of the equal liberty of persons that is protected by the Fifth Amendment." Justice Anthony Kennedy voted in favour of repelling the law, joined by Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Stephen Breyer, Sonia Sotomayor, and Elena Kagan. Chief Justice John Roberts and Justices Antonin Scalia and Samuel Alito voted in dissent to keep the law.

And in concurrence, Hollingsworth v. Perry nullified Proposition 8, a constitutional amendment that rendered previously legal same-sex marriage in California illegal. In 30 days post its nullification, same-sex marriage will again be legal in California, raising the number of states where same-sex marriage is legal to thirteen. Now LGBT couples can wed in California, Connecticut, Delaware, Iowa, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Hampshire, New York, Rhode Island, Vermont, and Washington, the District of Columbia and five Native American tribes.

With the support of President Obama, the first sitting president to come out in favour of same-sex marriage, a widespread ideological split in the Republican Party who had originally made opposition to same-sex marriage a party platform and 55% public support of same-sex marriage, it is expected that another law like DOMA to again re-establish a federal law against homosexual unions will now be almost impossible, if not subject to much stricter legal review before it ever gets close to vote.

And while we now exist in a legal patchwork, where certain laws and rights exist in some states and not in others, it sets a legal precedence in favour of same-sex marriage, the same precedence that DOMA tried to squash in 1996 when Hawaii was considering such laws in favour.

Gay married couples will soon be able to apply for social security and survivor benefits, file jointly for federal return taxes, gain employee benefits for the care of sick spouses, children, parents or in-laws, gain health insurance coverage and especially in the case of Ms Windsor, estate taxes. Immigration laws will of course follow, but in the interim, we are all existing in a legal free-fall to see where the issue eventually lands. The federal government is expected to pay back all the money they took from her... plus interest.

And that kiddies is the end of our story... for now...

Until next time, this is AngMoh, cheering the homeland on from far across the Pacific and wishing his fellows some luck in the next big step in the Gay Civil Rights Movement and a hope to arrive in time to see it achieve complete fruition.

401 PSI (Its Not A Radio Station!)

I wake up this morning, in my otherwise dark bedroom and thank all that is holy that our landlord invested in some heavy curtains. However in a second my still sleep addled brain registers something else. At first it senses as hickory smoked bacon and my stomach growls, demanding such a delightful treat. Then it registered there is no bacon (A great act of heresy my stomach declares!) but instead just the smell of smoke.

Most people would wake with a start, screaming fire and desperately trying to discover the source of the smoke billowing into their room.

Instead my feeling is general annoyance, I know its the smell of haze that has invaded my bedroom, through a forgotten bathroom window left open the night before!

One step outside my front door and I can't see more than a hundred or so feet from my HDB flat, the towering cranes of Singapore Harbour are faint outlines in the clouds, the boats and ocean beyond them are lost in the white wash. Every second outside and my throat burns hots from the smoke and the sting irritates my eyes.

A step back in and I can see the faint flush of white between my front door and the kitchen, noticing with great annoyance that the shirts I hung to dry the night before now smell like ash, forcing me to invent several colourful curse words as I toss them back into the washer. I know its a waste but what is the point, even if I won't wear them until weeks after the haze is finally gone, they'll still smell of smoke and make everything else in my closet smell just as bad.

I grumble to myself on my way into work, finding that the streets are lost in this hot haze and everyone has adopted a surgical face mask as their fashion accessory of choice. Those that are not fortunate have taken to hold handkerchiefs over their faces, wrapped scarves about their heads, people have even fashioned palm leafs into woven masks to cover their nose and mouths.

I managed to snag a box from the pharmacy downstairs, though I note after my purchase that the price on the box is barely a third of what my wallet says was stolen out of it. But still I draw the mask over my face and instantly hate the feeling of my own hot breath blowing back into my face, making my cheeks and mouth literally sweat as the heat of the surrounding air seems to double in strength. Silently I thank all that is holy for a second time that morning that I went with my orange flavoured mouthwash instead of the piercing peppermint one. But it doesn't help as my hot breath keeps flushing up and out of the top of the mask, fogging my glasses and forcing me to walk nearly two avenues to work pinching the top of the cloth, trying to keep my spectacles clear.

Arriving at work, trying to work a paper napkin over my forehead to do away with the sweat that's gathered after my barely 10-minute walk to the office, I notice a few responses to my Facebook updates from the night before and have to stifle a groan at the responses some people have sent me:

• "What are you talking about? Haze?"
• "Has a volcano erupted in Asia?"
• "Why are all the pictures you post of fog? I love a foggy morning!"
• "Why does everyone in Asia wear those face masks?"

To cover all of them at once, here's the story and pardon me if I come off annoyed recounting it, but most people lost in the haze cloud are very perturbed. 

Last week, as the dry season (Summer for South-East Asia) began, farmers in nearby Sumatra, Indonesia, started to clear new land for growing. To do this they went with the cheapest and fastest way to get rid of the otherwise wall of plants and jungle, employing slash and burning tactics. Literally, they set a fire and wait as the dry air and nature's fury goes to work. It wouldn't hurt many other than the locals around the fire but Sumatra lays directly in an array of wind patterns that generally blow northward... into heavily populated Singapore. Worse, the wind patterns of the region tend to circle the island of Singapore, meaning that once the smoke has arrived, nature keeps the white burning clouds swirling around it like a suffocating hurricane. 

If it couldn't get worse, haze (the smoke ash cloud) actually traps heat and sucks up moisture, making the already tropical weather hotter and the air drier. Since the dry season entails a lack of rain, this is further exacerbated because relief from a storm is near impossible. 

The result, a hot, dry cloud of smoke has settled over the island, a fresh breeze now causes your eyes to sting, your throat to hurt and your cloths smell like smoke. 

Of course it makes people uncomfortable but one look at the Pollutant Standard Index (PSI) issued hourly by the government can make your eyes bug out. On average, Singapore enjoy's beautiful weather and has a PSI that sits on average below 50. Between 51 to 100 is considered moderate air quality, 101 to 200 is unhealthy air quality, 201 - 300 is considered very unhealthy air quality and above 300 is designated hazardous.

Today for the first in history, the Singapore PSI rating was 400!

Check out the PSI ratings for the last five days below. Hint: Black is considered BAD. 

What has Indonesia's response to a few of their farmers literally bringing the health of an entire country of five-million into question. To say it was callous and dismissive would be an understatement, insulting and pretentious is what I thought when I first read it. 

According to Channel New Asia, the Indonesia minister appointed to the crisis, Agung Laksono has publicly decried Singapore's outrage at the situation as almost laughable! 

"Singapore should not be behaving like a child and making all this noise," Laksono said, while his government concurrently blamed Singaporean and Malaysian palm oil companies (vegetable oil) who own or buy from those slash & burn farmers for allowing their suppliers to continue using the cheap practice of burning forests over the expensive practice of mechanically clearing them.

Laksono's dismissive remarks have of course sparked outrage in the country and the Singaporean government has angry rebuffed the remarks. They have both declared for decisive action to be taken while offer financial aid to help combat the fires, aid that Indonesia has refused, declaring it too small to make a difference and saying the country would handle the issue itself. An idea to use cloud seeding, dropping sodium shells into rain clouds to force them to rain, was floated about between both countries but again, we are in the first weeks of the dry season, a period of three months where rain is scarce... hence why the haze crisis is of even greater concern. 

The Minister's response is a very common one from Indonesia, who have a history of dismissing Singapore as nothing more than an island who's a little too full of itself and too prone to complaining about things. The response is also very common how Indonesia responds to most of Asia, that it can do what it wants... a disconcerting hold over attitude from 90s tenure of Indonesian President Suharto, which generally were marred by economic crisis, institutional corruption and a Western-backed invasion of East Timor, which was known for its brutal violence that led to 100,000 deaths! 

With the politicians point fingers and bicker, the people of Singapore are left to adapt however they can:

• Surgical face masks have nearly sold out, with stores refusing advance ordering to avoid hoarding. For those that are sold our, specially designed vitamin packs to help against the smoke. (Don't buy from people on the corner selling them unless your desperate, rumour has it they are just sewing cheap tissues together which are good for like an hour before they fall apart!)
• The Ministry of Manpower is considering a work stop for all individuals who work outside (construction workers, delivery men, truck drivers) because their health can not be guaranteed. Last time that happened in 1997, Singapore lost over S$6-billion in lost revenue, health claims and a slowed economy. 
• Planes at Changi Airport have been delayed as pilots are advised to take longer periods of time to land during the white-out. 
• Nurses are handing out face masks on public transit, where most transit stations are open air. 
• Malls and shopping centres have encouraged patrons to shut doors behind them, even posting security and reception to make sure none are left open to allow smoke inside. 
• Outdoor temples have begun to deploy overhead canvas, to protect their worshippers. 
• Offices have advised office workers to stay inside, if they need to go outside take a complimentary face mask to be safe. If you feel sick, stay home (Honestly the windows are better sealed in the office and the air conditioner is industrial size, I feel safer at work then at home!)
• Restaurants are selling winter melon soup by the gallon, claiming it will help battle the toxins in the air. It honestly tastes like pork broth, if you've ever had Wonton soup and you'll know the flavour! It's surprisingly invigorating. 

Well until next time, AngMoh waiting out haze and wishing all of Singapore good health in the cloud skies.

Fire! Both Digital and Real!

I am terrified of the power outlets in our home! Yes, I admit it. Every time I plug in anything that requires a converter I am petrified of the coming explosion of sparks and smoke.

Little background, in Singapore the voltage carried in the outlets is a lot higher than back home. Instead of 120 volts, its around 200-240 volts. The result, plug in any surge protector or device that can't handle that and even with a voltage converter you'll only get a puff of smoke burst in your face. Check here for the different international standards.

It all started nearly a month ago, when my boyfriend believed that by plugging an American surge protector into a converter for Asia, we could plug all our American devices into one easy row of outlets, instead of dangerously overloading the power outlets in our bedroom. Boy were we off by miles. The result, a whine of electronic agony, then a pop and smoke rising from the eight power plugs which all now looked suddenly sad for some reason. Read about it in my first real post from Singapore: Sparks Fly.

Fast forward a month and I am setting up my Xbox 360, all excited to get my hands on the newest zombie game of the year, State of Decay. So blinded by fandom I plugged the converter in into the Asian surge protector, slapped in the plug for the Xbox AC adaptor and flipped the switch. Unlike Dr. Frankenstein who cackled with triumph when lightning struck, my words were entirely different when I realized the mistake I had made.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! No... crap! Oh shit no, no, no!"

But electricity moves at the speed of light and before I could slap my hand back down on the power switch the moment I realized my folly, the AC adaptor had already shrieked in agony, let out a sound like a balloon popping and smoke burst out in a tiny mushroom cloud from both ends of my adaptor. Thankfully it had done its job and protected my Xbox from any damage, but it had died valiantly in its effort... and I was royally annoyed at my stupidity.

I was left with a now unplayable game I had been waiting for months to get my greedy hands on... disappointment didn't begin to describe it... exasperated annoyance at my misfortune and stupidity was more like it.

Shopping for a replacement 'electronic gaming accessory' in Singapore is a annoying exercise in futility and after being spoiled by Best Buy, Amazon and Google Shopper it was even more obnoxious. For the first time in years I had to call stores to confirm if a product was present and most just wrote down my information promising to call back. Of the eleven stores called and left to call me back, none have done so... I expect to hear from them sometime between now and the energy death of the universe.

With the complete failure of this endeavour it was off to the mall to hit the ground running. The Singapore store Challenger is possibly the closest analogue to Best Buy or Circuit City that this country has. But unlike at home, they rarely sell replacement items for full sets, you either can buy the complete assembly of parts or they just kind of shrug at you. Two stores down and while I could see the exact AC adaptor I wanted, it could only be possessed with the purchase of an entire brand new Xbox 360.

I was ready to scream in rage, both at my own annoyance at myself and to the actual fact I had to make an effort to find what I needed. It was only after my third time trolling through another Challenger store, seriously they're as numerous as K-Mart or Wal-Mart are at home, that I achieved some success.

Sales people in Singapore are very aggressive, when compared to their American counterparts. Expect if your shopping in most stores, barring maybe clothing, to actually be stalked by a whole mob of sales people. They will stand very overtly behind you, remaining completely quiet, then the instance you show any interest in something they pounce on you. But ask for something they don't have in store, something they can't sell you and expect to blank shrugs and for them to suddenly scatter before you can ask a second round question.

Customer service leaves much to be desired in Singapore. It was only on attempt three that the kid behind the phone counter at least pointed me towards a store that could possibly provide me with the part I needed. From the way he clammed up as a much older employee walked by him I'd have to guess providing helpful information or direction on products a store does not carry or is held by a competitor is generally frowned upon.

But the mission finally had some concrete information I was dashing to a little out of the way store across from the massive Challenger store, a store called Playtecnix PTE LDT... long name, I know... It barely rated bigger than a supply closet, every ounce of space was covered in shelves stocked to the breaking point, boxes lined the floor with just enough space to allow one person to walk by single file, the distinct smell of some's very aromatic lunch filled the entire shop with stomach turning power.

At first I turned my attention to the younger man behind the counter. As an avid game shopper, I instantly turned to the gentleman expecting that he'd put down the hand held game he was playing to assist me. However instead it was a petite woman with a pair of thick rimmed glasses that stepped up to intercept me. I know that most game shops do employ women and anyone taking a dive into multi-player gaming will eventually run into a female comrade during even the most violent Halo or Call of Duty games. I guess because I was so focused on my mission, I was a bit taken a back when a woman who looked no older than my sister and dressed as if she had been lounging in an old arm chair just seconds before, glass of wine and reading a good hardback novel in hand.

I will admit right out, pastel sweaters are very off putting in a video game store!

I explained my problem, my stupid mistake and instantly like someone who had heard such tragic confessions and mistakes a thousand times before, she offered me her condolences with a knowing grin and then produced the part I so desperately needed.

Now for you gamers out there moving to Asia listen up because this is the wisdom she imparted to me:

• While the actual power plug for a Xbox or PlayStation can remain the same, only requiring a voltage converter to be plugged in, the actual AC Adaptor (the big black box on your power cord) needs to state very clearly its voltage range. Anything that doesn't hit between 200-240 is doomed. Heads-up, the Xbox 360 Kinetic is safe. If it doesn't say it, assume based on where you bought it, the device will ONLY match the local voltage.
• American laws on gaming content are some of the most lax in the world... I know surprising! Restrictions in Asian countries are very restrictive, however can be avoided by purchasing a game abroad or on an on-line site for download.
• Some gaming stations are region locked, meaning it can't be played outside the country of its purchase (less common on American purchased models, more so on European and Asia ones). It is good to confirm on your warranty that your system will work fine because if you log onto the internet, it could assume the device is stolen and lock it down. 
• Warranty repairs are only covered in the country of your device's purchase. You'll have to hold out long enough to get it fixed on vacation, find a friend to deliver it for you or in some cases, sell it for almost nothing and have it stripped for parts. 
• Return time in Singapore is 14-days. Anything after that is un-returnable no matter what. Don't bother to argue, they won't budge. 
• Pirated game versions don't work on Xbox or PlayStation (unless you hacked your system by sacrificing your warranty). Don't listen to people trying to sell bootleg versions at the local market. First off, it the Xbox realizes you have a pirated copy, it can lock you from your system and damage the CD in the process. On the other-hand, game pirates are very good at artistically recreating the packaging and art on the front of the game CD. Only go to reputable places to buy if you're looking for used games, like malls, NEVER open markets or trading posts. 
• Never declare that you are carrying video games when travelling or when ordering from abroad. On most airport x-ray machines, the cases just look like DVD's and most security forces will ignore them. If you do, you could have the Singaporean Media Development Authority confiscate your things, censor them or force you to send them back. Same goes for videos. This is the same government ministry that also made porn illegal in Singapore... don't ask how I found that out! If it contains anything ranging from violent gore (Gears of War), blatant sexuality or homosexuality (Mass Effect and Dragon Age) or condones violence or criminal activity (Grand Theft Auto), expect that it is either banned or highly restricted for people under 18.

And with that I departed with my new Asia speciality AC Adaptor for Xbox. I instantly dashed home, turned on my game and began smashing the heads of zombies with concerning glee. 

However it was still several hours later than I intended because of my terrible attention to details like voltage and safety warnings!

Where are you From?

So this video 'What Kind of Asian are You?" by David Neptune and Ken Tanaka has been making the rounds on Youtube recently and by far I find it is the best and most humorous portrayal of what I like to call 'Ignorant Racism'. By definition, its not intended to be racist, just in trying to appear non-racism, you actually achieve what you intended to avoid. In the video the racist, if you want to call him that, is attempting to come off as worldly, liberal and open to foreign cultures while failing to flirt with the woman, in fact his attempt comes off making him look completely ignorant and a total ass.

But this topic, while funny for some, is one that has been extensively researched by others. While its not common in many countries, it is one that has been creeping up in the increasingly politically correct and culturally liberal people of America, where our 'great melting pot' welcomes all cultures... as long as they don't exist outside our preconceived notions of what different ethnic groups should act or look like.

Author Evelyn Alsultany detailed similar interactions and classification attempts that she herself endures throughout daily life due to her ancestry as being both Arab and Cuban, more importantly in her article 'Los Intersticios: Recasting Moving Selves'. Here she showcased several deeply personal encounters of how her race and cultural identity have been so tightly defined, that to exist outside of them is a near impossibility for the everyday person to comprehend.

I seriously recommend all Americans take a read of the article, it can be a real kick in the pants to those that originally thought of themselves as liberal and open... its the reason why I actively try to avoid asking the question... "Where are you from?"

Take a few minutes to read it here, I'll wait.

Alsultany's pain, frustration and annoyance is a feeling I relate with all too commonly and worry about constantly. A worry that tends to creep up not in America where this trend predominately tends to occur more along racial lines than cultural and more out of unintended ignorance or honest confusion than any true malice or ill-intent. Instead it is in my second country, Ireland, where I feel at odds at what defines me as a true Irish citizen and as an unwanted outsider.

In Ireland, most especially in my family’s ancestral hometown of Bandon in the south, people can effortlessly identify me as Catholic due in part because of my appearance. To many it is confusing, how you can be identify by your religion based on your appearance? In this case I quickly point out what do you think a Muslim or a Buddhist looks like, and instantly they know what appearance to supply; skin colour, accent and all.

Yet in what many outsider’s view as a a racially homogeneous country such as Ireland, hundreds of years of cultural and ethnic mannerisms have been defined on only the slightest differences. To be Catholic is as simple as the shade of your hair or the colour of your eyes. I am moderately tall, thin verging on lanky, ice gray eyes, near cream skin that never seems to tan and blond hair. Most people would call these features Aryan in appearance but in Ireland this is the look of the southerner.

When I enter a restaurant they see my face and smile, chatting with me and asking a whole array of questions out of shear curiosity. Having an American accent but speaking in the native slang they quickly inquire how I have developed such combination. I speak like a native, have no problem understanding the accents and never once ask them to slow down when they talk. In fact quiet often I have to remind them that I am not just some American tourist and they don’t have to dumb down their conversations for my benefit. This ease I attribute to my mother who until the age of four was a native and a vast majority of my extended family still remains bound to the lifestyle of farming or shop keeping in the central regions of the island country.

Yet when they inquire for my name I can always see the flash on confusion and even hostility when I half-heartedly mutter my surname... I won't repeat it here, the anonymity rules apply...

"You're not Irish," one woman actually scolded me as if I was some stupid child. "You're a northerner."

I've never been to the north, as the south calls Northern Ireland. I don't know anyone in my family that has. In fact my grandmother regards the idea in the same realm as jumping off a cliff, to do so either means your insane, stupid, lost a bet or all the above.

Among the Irish, although it has officially and publicly dwindled in recent years, a general animosity between the southern Catholics of the Irish Republic and the Protestants of North Ireland, which is controlled by the United Kingdom. Many see them as traitors, foreign invaders, turncoats and secretly undermining Irish sovereignty. To the world at large this is preposterous but to the natives, it is a grave insult.

Many people don't know the history behind the animosity between the Irish Catholics and the Irish Protestants, to the direct extent the English Protestants they descend from. Most play it off as old wounds and hate that have been forgotten to time. Some even think its funny, a good laugh and another example of how stubborn and repressed the Irish can be. Few realize that until no more than a generation ago that laughable conflict came very close to escalating to same level as the Palestine-Israel Crisis, with murders, violence, bombings and brutal acts of hate that all of Ireland now regards with deep seated shame. In the Brighton Bombing of 1984, Irish militants of the IRA set off a bomb, killing 5, injured over 30 and nearly killed the British Prime Minister, one Margaret Thatcher. It was only the fact that the old Victorian architecture of the Brighton Hotel did not implode from the devastating structural damage, that the number of dead wasn't near total and killing the always defiant Mrs. Thathcher.

We call these thirty years of violence The Troubles and though its name sounds melodramatic, it lead to over 3,529 deaths, half of which were people caught in the crossfire as the Protestant North Irish battled it out with the militant Catholic North Irish.

Few would say it today but I know one or two elderly members of the community who still refer to the IRA as freedom fighters, even if our hometown of Bandon is as far south as you can go in Ireland, making it the furtherest from Northern Ireland and the conflict zone The Troubles created. There people had the luxury of loathing the North Irish Protestants without having to see the damage done by both sides, to understand that terrorism leaves no victim free of scars.

The Troubles are however and thankfully regarded with a shame by most of my hometown, but that only helps to temper the hate, a cautionary tale parents tell their children and then roll their eyes in exasperation as their elders begin to spout their almost visceral hate of the North. I'm sad to say that few bother to correct their elders, age always denotes seniority and wisdom in Irish culture, second only to the church in the power and faith it is given.

Maturity of body does not always guarantee maturity of mind and old wounds always fester when they are not addressed.

When I try to explain this relationship and inherited hate, I get a few odd glances from my friends who's countries were also former British colonies when I explain it was because of the British colonization of Ireland that lead to all this animosity and fighting. They don't seem to be able to comprehend the idea that we share a common history, that through my ancestors, the few stories that have survived and several large tomes of Irish history, I can understand how it feels to be a former colony violently trying to free itself from a foreign imperial power and feeling a sense of national failure when it legally can not. They see a white man, claiming to understand the plight of their ancestors who lived among the British colonies.

A few have actually reacted with anger or scoffing laughs that I'd even think I could ever relate to them on that topic.

Few realize that Ireland was the English's first colony, before the Americas, before Africa, before the concept of a round world was really drilled into the public mind and the colonies in Asia began to spring up.

Ireland was the first test bed for an overseas British territory... we were 'colonized' first... and that carries not an ounce of pride it in... but usually is spoken with anger.

The invading Protestants of the 16th century brutalized and mistreated the ancient Irish, who were almost entirely Catholic with a fair sprinkling of Pagans. These new arrivals disenfranchised the natives and turning their ancestral lands over to British colonists, called the Protestant Ascendancy, predominately from England but a few Scots among them.  New laws were quickly enacted, baring land ownership to all Catholics and even Presbyterians.

These British colonists arrived in droves, the majority in the north, this would led to the eventual modern partition of Ireland into the Republic and North Ireland. They were more than happy to administer their new lands and the people that came with them, gleefully happy to civilize the natives, which meant working them on their farms as just a step above slaves, what you called in the contemporary world, serfs. The first act was to repress the Catholic faith, which in England at the time went against the teachings of Protestism and the faith of their most hated enemy, the Spanish. Spain attempted numerous times to conquer England in the name of their faith, leading to an inherent fear of Catholicism's spread in their country, even if it largely was misplaced. Spain was only trying to garner points with the Pope and Church, they were just plain greedy and trying to hide it with religious rhetoric... rhetoric that spawned angry prejudices in the English who saw the Irish as part of the Catholic fanaticism threatening their great country.

Sounds a bit familiar today, how a few bad apple Islamists can paint the entire faith as a danger to national security and sovereignty. Its one of the reasons I am very leery whenever organized religion springs up in politics, it is too often used to single out another minority and limit them in some form.

Anyone who know's an Irish man or woman knows one thing, we can be a stubborn people, we prefer to be left alone, almost verging on isolationist and we can take a lot of punishment before cracking... but never mess with an Irish person's faith unless you want that bloody nose...

Centuries of fighting, persecution and brutally crushed rebellions followed, coupled with the economic exploitation of Ireland's few natural resources. The English colonization radically changed the country. Most wouldn't realize it but Ireland use to be heavily wooded. The country is now the most deforested in the world, its forests used immensely by the arriving colonists for shipbuilding. The lose of those vast forests radically changed hundreds of years of Irish culture, who predominately were herders or isolated villagers.

Irish history is not something that can be looked at through rose coloured glasses, its something you have to read through with a strong stomach. The Great Famine of the 1840s, rebellions of 1803, 1848 and 1867, claims of neutrality during both World Wars, the Irish Civil War, the independence votes and trade wars of the 1930s only helped to cement some of these long standing beliefs, that a Protestant would sooner sell you out for a hot meal or stab you in the back if it got them ahead in life. While these tensions have dwindled in the more moderate and progressive regions of the country, such as the ever popular Irish city of Dublin, in my family's southern home of Bandon, those tensions are still unfortunately kept alive and prevalent.

And caught between that history of violence and hate, of clearly defined but unseen lines is someone like me. My surname is a predominately Protestant name, namely a Welsh and Northern Irish name, to have it labels you as a northern and as such, very much NOT Irish.

It gets even worse when I attempt to explain my patronage, my mother is Irish Catholic, my father is an America who was raised Protestant.

Like many bi-racial people face when having to declare their race or ethnicity on the US Census, one drop of Protestant blood automatically dilutes a long Irish Catholic family line that can be tracked back over 230-years. Great-Great-Granddad could possibly be spinning in his grave for knowing that his descendant, my mother... married a Protestant!

But it means nothing to many, they see me as just a North Irish, some of have even treated my attempts to convince them otherwise as a act of 'slumming' with the southerners.

Even if I was raised Catholic, went to a Catholic grade school, attended more masses then I care to count and read the Bible so many times I can see the words behind my eyelids, the mere mention of my surname is enough to sever me from the very heritage that makes me who I am.

It shames me to say that when given the choice to renew my citizenship papers and passport I instead took my mother's maiden name instead, a very common Catholic name that would cause far less confusion and annoyance for me in the long run. But to no end I feel like I have just put on a façade to hide myself from the constant annoyance of explaining myself, even more so from the anger of arguing my very right to call myself Irish in my own country.

Caucasian vs. Chop Stick Conumdrum

So the one odd thing about Singapore that has begun to irk me since my arrival is the assumption that I do not know how to use chomp sticks. All you American's know them, they're those wooden things that get tossed into your Chinese take out bag, along with more soy sauce than is medically acceptable.

I kid... or do I? Cue dramatic music!

But in this case I can say I'm more pleasantly confuddled than irked then. When I sit down to dinner with a group of friends, the waitress place brings our food, say a bowl of noddles, a pair of chop sticks atop each... and a fork with mine. When I was at a food court, the waitress actually delivered a dish with chop sticks, then apologized, took them away and handed me a fork and spoon even though I didn't say a word other than "Ummm, what?" following the encounter.

I know it is glaring obvious how white I am, I mean in Asia, I'm literally sticking out like an albino on a black sand Hawaiian beach. Don't think I have noticed some of the much older and very young Singaporeans just outright staring at me, I instead enjoy to think they believe me as some sort of ghost or paranormal apparition, given my bleached white appearance and blonde hair!

I finally took note to this repeating chop stick vs. fork occurrence when my boyfriend's mother delivered lunch one afternoon, handing him some chop sticks and myself a fork. I instantly and POLITELY pointed out that I didn't need the fork, I could work the chop sticks like any person. I don't think in any way she meant it as an offence, more from the surprised look she gave me I think it instead could have been construed as she assumed I'd be more comfortable with a fork then chop sticks.

She of course obliged and quickly fetched a pair for me. Then as she sat with us, she inquired how proficient I was in the art of dining with chop sticks. I claimed no expert ability to using them, I mean seriously my boyfriend fries bacon in a pan with chop sticks instead of a spatula, so my skills must range down into the some what experienced novice.

But I guess over in Asia, everyone takes it as a accepted fact that Caucasians, especially Americans, are completely void on the knowledge of chop stick usage, along with our inability to speak any language other than English, our love of pop culture and our tendency to invade Middle Eastern countries. However given how widespread the Asia dispora was, almost every city in the world has there own China-town... or like New York City where we also have a Little India, Korea Town and one street that the Japanese are slowly expanding to take control of.

I did however note to my boyfriend's mother following our fork vs. chop stick interaction, how my late exposure to eating with chop sticks came about. During college, after coming back from a bar crawl, the only food establishment open past 2:00 AM in city are the take out Chinese restaurants, you know the one's with the inch thick bullet proof glass between you and the counter and a shielded bank-box they put your money into to get your food. Being as they only provided us with chop sticks and it was too far to take the food home to our dorms which didn't even have a communal kitchen, it instead fell to the arduous quest of learning to use chop sticks without any supervision or example from an experienced expert.

I do admit my first few attempts as a college freshman trying to use these wooden implements quickly devolved into pushing the food around the styro-foam container or shoving it right into my mouth or best of all, spearing an egg roll with one. It took several months before I began to actually use the devices as they were intended to be used.

Today I can use chop sticks.. adequately.. I don't have the dexterity or flashy skills that would allow me to fry bacon, cook meat or pluck a soup dumpling with a marksmen's eye. I however am good enough that a bowl of ramen stands little chance of lasting long, regardless if I'm armed with chop sticks or a fork... and now that I am in Singapore, its going to be chop sticks.

You Speak English, I Speak English, But I Still Don't Get You

It's always interesting to witness people from different countries interact. Often language is a barrier, sometimes a clash of cultures and mannerisms add to the confusion. However, it dawned on me that it could be just as difficult to comprehend one another even when speaking the same language as I witnessed some of Ang Moh's interactions with service staff at the M1 shop and Pizza Hut yesterday.

Sure, I understand that when we speak Singlish, it can be challenging for foreigners to understand, especially since the more 'power' the Singlish, the more interspersed it is with words from Chinese dialects and Malay, e.g., "Can you don't be so kiasu" or "Why is he such a kan cheong spider?" I have to admit that I have a soft spot for speaking Singlish, which I feel fosters a sense of community, especially when engaging in conversation with other Singaporeans overseas.

But yesterday everyone we interacted with spoke English. Yet, I found myself in the interesting position of having to translate English to, well... English!

Scenario 1: The M1 shop

Ang Moh wanted to purchase a prepaid SIM card from the M1 shop in Tampines Mall and spoke to the middle-aged Chinese lady (M1 Auntie) in her 40s about it.

Ang Moh: Hello, I'd like to buy a prepaid SIM card for my phone.
M1 Auntie: Okay, no problem. What phone do you have?
Ang Moh: An iPhone 5.
M1 Auntie: Okay, you need a nano SIM. This costs $18.

[No problems so far. I figure it would be helpful to have the M1 Auntie explain to Ang Moh how the prepaid card system works and purchasing data. I wanted to absolve myself of that responsibility, so I interject.]

Me (to M1 Auntie): Can you please tell us how to use the prepaid card, like topping up the card and using it for data?
M1 Auntie: Ok, sure. After you insert the SIM card you need to dial xxxx-xxxx to activate the card. Then you can make calls. For data, you have to ...

[The auntie goes on to explain the steps required in typical rapid fire Singapore English, hardly taking a breath between sentences. I understand her completely but when I look at Ang Moh he's shaking his head and seems puzzled.]

Me (to Ang Moh): Do you understand?
Ang Moh: Nope!
Me (to M1 Auntie): Can you please explain that again? Slowly?
M1 Auntie: [Sighs, stares at me then begins repeating everything she said again, while looking at me expectantly, as if imploring me to "translate". I stubbornly refuse to translate from English to English.]
Me (to Ang Moh): Do you follow now?
Ang Moh: Yes, I get it. I get it. [But I know he's still baffled and just wants to get out of the situation. I'll have to help with this later that day.]

Scenario 2: Pizza Hut

We were in the middle of our meal when we realized that we were only given one napkin for the two of us. Ang Moh beckons our waitress over to ask her for another.

She's a young Malay girl in her early 20s with the most interesting eye shadow design I've ever seen - two triangles drawn above the sides of her eyes which looked like she had let a circus clown do her makeup. It certainly had the effect of drawing my attention to her eyes or at least to what was drawn around her eyes! Ang Moh likened it to one of those moths with distracting patterns on their wings to confuse predators, which had me cracking up with laughter.

I let Ang Moh do the talking.

Ang Moh: Can we have one more napkin please?
Clown Moth Waitress: Huh?
Ang Moh: One more napkin?
Clown Moth Waitress: [Gives me a confused look. I smile back at her innocently, again belligerently refusing to translate from English to English] Wait, ah. [She waddles away and beckons to another of her colleagues who approaches us.]
Waitress #2: Can I help you?
Ang Moh: We only got one napkin, could we have another napkin please? [This time Ang Moh holds up the one napkin we have and points at it.]
Waitress #2: Oh, tissue. Okay. [Confusion resolved and she proceeds to fulfill our request.]

I would be lying to say I was not amused by these exchanges. Yes, I suppose in different cultures, we sometimes use different words to mean the same thing, and I now recognize that communicating in the same language across cultures requires some learning as well. It's a case of I say napkin, you say tissue; I say wife-beater, you say singlet; I say flip-flops, you say slippers. Why do non-Singaporeans find it difficult at times to understand when Singaporeans speak English, and vice versa even when both are speaking English?

From my observation, it boils down to the unfamiliar accents, speed of communication, and vocabulary. Now I can't wait to witness Ang Moh place his first order at a hawker stall, perhaps ordering a plate of char kway teow!

I'm earnestly rubbing my hands together in expectant delight. Tee hee hee...

Singlish glossary

Kiasu: Hokkien derivative, literally translated as "scared to lose"; typically used to reference someone who behaves in a very competitive manner.
Kan Cheong: Hokkien, Anxious.
Kan Cheong Spider: Term used to describe someone who is very anxious; Spider imagery represents someone with eight hands trying to do many things at one time.

Homesickness & Pizza Hut Pasta Hurts!

Day two has arrived and this one came in with a crashing boom, a flash of light and me nearly falling out of bed thinking the North Koreans had finally grown a pair and done attacked. Nope, its just the early morning thunder storm, arrived just on time to scare the crap out of my jet lagged brain.

That's the norm here for this week, rain so heavy you swear Noah's Ark is going to be floating down the street any second... then snap, not a cloud in the sky and the sun so hot you swear birds in flight will burst into flames... leaving delicious roasted meat to fall from the sky! Thankfully the rain seems to drive the humidity into submission for a few hours... before it returns with a vengeance I doubt few could conceive! I have established that I can no longer wear any dark colors or heavy fabrics because its ability to suck in every ounce of heat in the room... which is cause for concern considering my wardrobe tends towards Earth-tones... well its not totally black! I do have a few blue and green shirts so we can call it Earth-tones instead of Gothic!

Whatever fashionista! Onto the news from the Ang Moh!

Well yesterday I finally got my SIM card to start making some local calls. I'm not going to hand it out here, learned my lesson after I left it in a truck stop bathroom once... it was a JOKE! How was I suppose to know that old joke was 100% true! Beside Jim Joe sounded very nice on the phone...

Anyways, in Singapore there are three major phone companies, the biggest apparently is SingTel, next and almost as common is StarHub and finally little M1 bringing up the rear.

I ended up going with M1 because it was the cheapest one with the best data plan, SingTel was a bit too expensive when I tallied up all the charges. Altogether it came out to be S$45 or $36 in America. Now for those foreigners that don't know, you need to bring two things to the store when you are buying a prepaid phone card:

• Passport (all cards have to be registered with the government with federal level ID)
• Unlocked Phone (You have to get your current service provider to unlock it before you leave, not after!)

Now to unlock you phone its just the matter of calling your phone company before you leave the country. Most of the new smartphones unlock instantly when their contracts go over a year but if you are sporting that brand new phone and going abroad like I was, a simple call to your phone company can get them to unlock it. Just say you are traveling abroad and if that company doesn't have a branch or affiliate in the country of your destination, they almost always sigh in annoyance, quibble for a few sentences, then unlock your phone. Some even (Verizon and AT&T do) will explain how to go about getting a new card for your benefit and give you some tips and suggested Apps to use when calling abroad.

Once you have the card... and in my case get a free umbrella for spending over S$30, its the simple matter of popping out the new SIM card (they come attached in little plastic cards) and inserting it into your old phone. I don't know about most other phones but for the iPhone 5, just look on the right side and you'll see a little pin hole at the midpoint. Just press a needle or a paperclip in and a little draw will drop out and you can then insert your new SIM card. KEEP THE OLD ONE! If you ever go back home getting a new one will just be a waste of money!

Now I have a working phone and a new umbrella... and not one of those cheap compact ones that you can get at the drug store and then lose in your car. This is the old style kind, the ones that can double as a cane for walking... or a cane for hitting! Now I know most people just roll their eyes at these relics, when the smaller pop up kind can be tossed in a backpack or back seat and forgotten about until your caught in a storm and its 50-miles away but in Singapore, after the first rain storm started, you realize how necessary these massive radar dishes can be.

Rain in Singapore doesn't come down in a light dustings, in more clouds of heavy mist than rain. It comes down in boulders, more like being hit by a wave of water then a fleet of droplets. Those little pop up umbrellas may be economical to buy and efficient when you store them in a purse or backpack but against this weather, mother nature shall laugh maniacally as this polyester shield collapses under her harsh hand.

But their necessity doesn't stop there. Most people I've seen here continue to use them throughout the day, to shield themselves from the powerful sun that glares down all day. It's common to see mothers walking strollers with one hand steering and another holding up a massive umbrella, in an attempt to shield both herself and her young ward from any UV contact.

Thankfully I have yet to experience the Singaporean mosquito population, which from what I hear is a plague on everyone... but for which most Singaporeans seem immune to! Oh that doesn't mean I haven't gotten a few stares of confusion when I've gone outside, as if I were covered in tiny red bites. I guess here when compared to New York or Philadelphia, I am a very obvious minority. I mean I'm Caucasian but on top of that I have traditional Irish skin... meaning that I'm the white people of the white people. We don't tan, we just turn into tomatoes with freckles!

I'll chalk that up to the fact that when I left the United States, winter was just starting the long and agonizing break into spring, so my skin is so white right now I'm verging on albino. Maybe its best to ignore the stares, possibly that small Malay lady who nearly walked into a wall while staring at me in the mall was just distracted by the glare of my porcelain skin... like staring into the sun for too long!

Get your giggles out of that because now I have a confession to make... I had some western food yesterday.

Worse yet, I had pizza!

I know, shame on me, but my excuse was that I was looking for something cold to eat. Do you realize in this country how hard it is to find something to eat that's not already steaming hot? I mean its a tropical country on the equator, you'd think there would be a lunch dish that didn't automatically come with steam pouring from it. Hey, ice cream doesn't count! I guess after searching and failing for two hours I was starting to feel the pangs of homesickness, for something... anything that I could eat that didn't require me to blow on.

And that excuse loses all its weight when I end up walking into the Pizza Hut at Tampines Mall. Fine, hiss at me, call me out but at that point I just wanted to eat some food I knew against trying to figure out how to pronounce the names on the menu at the 34 ramen shops down stairs.

I guess my excuse for when this happens is that I also was curious to see what western food in other countries tasted like.

Now everyone who has been to a Pizza Hut in America knows them for their greasy foods, in poor attempts to mass produce the basic Italian meals. I mean if it wasn't for their thick, crispy crusts (my personal favorite), they'd have been an epic failure decades ago. But here in Singapore, Pizza Hut wasn't some take out place with a few tables, the whole place smelling like grease and plastic. Instead it was like a real restaurant  with three different menus (appetizers, specials and the mains), with waitresses dressed in fine vests to seat you and a full bar to grab a cocktail with your greasy pizza. The only difference I guess at dining here was the waitresses don't take your order per say, instead you fill out a check-off card with what you want and at what quantities and then pass it off to the waitress who then will return with your dishes. I got a nice personal pepperoni pizza, garlic bread and a orange mirinda (orange soda) while my boyfriend went with the shrimp pasta, salad and root beer.

The pizza tasted a lot like at home, a lot less cheese but all the same. The pasta however was the surprise, it came with the Aglio Olio sauce, bits of basil and even shrimp... along with hot peppers all over the place. I guess in Singapore, if you can't psychically make it hotter, then you should make it taste hotter. My boyfriend nearly couldn't finish and chugged his entire root beer almost half way through. A single fork for me of the spiraled noodles and I nearly choked it was so spicy!

That's another hallmark of Singapore food I've noted. If a food doesn't look hot (i.e. red and steaming) that means it's going to be far, far more worse for your soon to be burn victim of a tongue!

The day ended somewhat early, after getting my phone setup, lunch and a key to get into the apartment we are sharing with the boyfriend's parents, jet lag took its toll and by 6:00 PM (6:00 AM back home) I was passed out in the bed at home and snoring as loud as the storm that would eventually wake me up in 8-hours... which by the way has now died down enough that the sun has begun to shine through the overcast sky.

Plans today are nothing other than some job hunting but I'll keep you posted!

Sparks fly on the First Day... Seriously They Did!

So its my first official day in Singapore and what trouble have I gotten into in this new land you may ask?

First things first, all those warnings about the humidity were lies... bold face lies I tell you... cause the reality is far... far... far worse than you could image.

Within 20-minutes of arriving at our new home in Tampines, 10-minutes drive from Changi Airport, I had sweated through my t-shirt, jeans and everything underneath. I looked as if I had been out in the morning storm and it wasn't that comfortable kind of wetness that you get after jumping into a pool with all your clothes on. Its that sticky kind of feeling, where your clothes feel like the weigh a ton and are clinging to you like chain-mail.

A quick remedy to this, take the coldest shower of your life and that causes all your sweaty pores to close right up. By the time you've dried and gotten into a nice t-shirt and shorts, the unbearable heat actually feels as if it drops to a more acceptable range. I would definitely recommend avoiding heavy fabrics like knits, denim or wool, they are fashionable death traps! If you are not going to be inside and air conditioned, completely abandon socks unless totally necessary! Believe me, your nose will thank you at the end of the first hour in Singapore!

Next up after unpacking all our clothes was setting up some of our electronics. Now this is the one thing I should mention with EXTREME WARMING! Never plug a surge protector from North America into an outlet in Asia. Even with a voltage converter it will not work! A surge protector is literally designed to dissipate sudden spikes of electricity and it completely bypasses the converter.

The end result is your boyfriend suddenly jumping back from a sparking surge protector, a whine of an electronic origin and then smoke rising from the eight power outlets on the surge protectors face... and then you have one very dead surge protector that will never work again! Just go buy a local one and a few more converters, it will save you from having to toss out a melted piece of smoking plastic.

About two-hours after arriving and one 'almost' fire it was off to the stores for a new SIM phone card, a key to be made and grocery shopping. Driving on the other-side of the road wasn't too much of a surprise, I've been in Europe before and even driven a bit so its not that odd to me. But in Singapore, the traffic is so much faster and more congested that your mind that has been trained to drive on the right side of the street keeps screaming every car is going to collide with you head on! It was like ducking in and out in a crowd and I quickly declared mentally to myself I would never... and I mean NEVER drive in this country.

However watching the motor bikes and scooters snake in and out of the traffic congestion was fun, they were like fish in those Shark Week documentaries, darting around those much bigger bodies without fear of being crushed and seeming to know where every short cut existed on these ever changing streets.

I quickly announced that the moment I had a job and enough money to afford an apartment, I would love to drive one of those bikes. My boyfriend was quick to point out the last time I had just a regular street bike in Philadelphia during college I had been hit by cars no less than three times in a year, with a motor bike he felt as if I was just going to double that number. I was quick to point out that only one of those impacts was with a moving car, the other two had been a parked car and a pedestrian... but that didn't help my case one bit and I conceded... for now.

Back to the shops, malls here are not like the one's back home, where going from one to another to shop means driving in the car for a few miles. In Singapore, its walking across the street! The only distinction between one to another is the fact they lay only a few hundred feet apart, the stores in each are different enough you won't even notice the transition.

We had lunch in a food court like place called East Link. This was no hawker center that I have heard all about, more like something you'd find back home with row table seating. The only difference was that they served only Asian food and my stomach was desperately hankering for a hoagie... for you none East Coast natives that a cold, lunch meat sandwich.

I do not recommend eating duck in front of people, yes the salted and roasted meat is among the most delicious thing I have ever had the chance to sink my teeth into but the bones... that is my one complaint about duck, the bones are browned to the point its almost unnoticeable from the meat and biting into it means chewing about to get rid of them. Don't even think of ordering this dish if you want to present yourself as an articulate and savvy Human being because eating this dish is going to make you look like a dog with a chew toy, all teeth, gnawing and gross, pained faces. Best tip, use a fork to hold down your slice of juicy meat and spoon to tear the bone free. Oh and there are no dinner knives! Cooking knives yes for slicing and dicing, meal-time knives are a nope as far as I saw in this place.

I adore a nice roasted duck with some white rice below it... but never will I again eat it in public!

Once we were done our meal it was back into the crowds of the mall. Now if the streets of Singapore are congested and crowded, the crowds in the malls were worse. But instead here the people were like the motor bikes, the fish darting in and out between the sharks, minus the sharks. In three hours walking about I only bumped into two people, emphasis on bumped, no epic impacts, no landing on my butt, nothing. I even apologized for the hits, they were my fault after all because I kept trying to read every sign but not a person paid it any attention. In NYC, you'd be cursed at, called an idiot, something unsavory about your mother would be uttered and then with a flip of the middle finger before the stranger would disappear down the street. In Singapore, it didn't even register as worth a glance back.

I attempted to buy a SIM card, in order to get a number in Singapore to use in my job hunting. SingTel is the one I'd recommend, they are the most numerous I've seen so far (I've only been around the airport and the east side of Singapore so take my words with a grain of salt) but you can top off your phone card at any drug store like 7-Eleven... Yes, they have those here too! Overall you can get around a card for S$30 (Singaporean Dollars) and every minute costs around S$0.16. Number one thing to bring is your passport. All disposable phones, data plans and/or calling cards have to be registered with the government and a United States drivers license is not enough. Took 30-minutes of hashing out the best phone plan for me only to find out I couldn't even buy it. Well now we have an new errand to run tomorrow!

The last activity of the day was some grocery shopping. Now other than a few things, the grocery store in Singapore is mostly the same as it is at home. Produce section, deli counter, heck most of the items save a few Asian additions is almost the same. There are even a lot of Western brands among the items, I even got a nice slab of Virginia Peppered Ham for lunch sandwiches tomorrow! Of course the one aspect to take quick note of it that some of the prices really swing from the high to low points. A lot of the meats in the deli section seemed very cheap compared to at home... but the confectionary treats... like Ben & Jerry's ice cream... was outright highway robbery!

S$23.00 for one pint... a PINT of ice cream. Don't believe me, here's a picture to back up my outlandish claims!

And now for what you've all been waiting for, I have met the boyfriend's Singaporean parents and they seemed to have welcomed me. I know the concept of two men being in a relationship in this country is probably new verging on alien. Singapore is just around where the USA was in the 1980s and 1990s when people were just starting to come to the conclusion that homosexuality wasn't truly a mental condition or a life choice but something your born with. Now Singapore is a bit of a conservative society and has a long way to go but they have embraced the world of modern media and information with a zeal that would make some people's head spin and they know for a fact the LGBT community exists. I honestly do expect they will go through the evolution of LGBT rights a lot fast than most of Asia, almost certainly at a rate that will make the United States feel some degree of shame over how it's dragged it feet on the issue. Change and evolution is coming and Singapore definitely is a place where it seems to be the fabric of the very society itself.

I will admit I was anticipating some reservation on the parent's part, maybe not outright confrontation or fighting but more of uncertainty at entering into a new situation you have no previous experience with. After all our level of interaction over the last three-years has been limited to a few sporadic Skype video sessions and one totally unplanned encounter in Macy's two-years ago (don't ask, just know irony and confusion were the themes of that meeting).

Perhaps I'll save our interactions for a later post, I want to spend some time getting to know them, to integrate into the family as much as I can before I allow any opinions to formulate.

Well jet lag is setting in and it is probably best I pass out soon, I'm going 38-hours no sleep and must be presentable to the family.

Good night and best wishes from the Ang Moh newly arrived in the Far East!