Am I a Cultural Schizophrenic?

While it may seem obvious to those who read this blog on a regular basis that my Chinese (and Asian) roots run deep, it may be less evident how deeply I’m also influenced by my Western educational upbringing. While I may observe and zealously preserve all the Chinese traditions and customs, I am also a curious, maybe even schizophrenic, blend of English thinking (partly inherited from our former imperial colonists, from whom we have also obtained the basis of our government administration, judicial system and many of our social structures and mores, and partly derived from my English schooling) and American mass culture.

Having always had nothing but a non-local education, I speak differently from the vast majority of Singaporeans. But that doesn’t mean I speak like a Westerner either. When I was studying in the UK, the English used to say to me that I had such a strong American accent, and they would inevitably ask if I had grown up in the States. But each time I visited the US or Canada, the Americans and Canadians always found my “very English” accent “so very cute”. And I spoke exactly the same way whether I was in Oxford or Vancouver! (This in itself speaks volumes about the concepts of human interpretation and contextual observations, but this is not the time and place to go down that road.)

Whenever I was home, a lot of Singaporeans thought I was simply trying to “slang” (that’s local speak for “trying to talk with an - often affected - foreign accent”). But what many didn’t realize was that if I had tried to speak Singlish, it would have been an intolerable torture on their ear-drums, and I would then really have been “slanging”. Singlish was almost a foreign language to me! When I first came back to Singapore and was in my first job, almost all the local customers couldn’t understand me when I spoke to them. I had to “un-learn” my “foreign accent” and try to speak English like a local. Now, decades later, I probably have what is called “the Singapore International accent” - - along the lines of that possessed by such people as our Prime Minister, Senior Minister and the Minister Mentor. I can manage to throw in some Singlish every now and then, but requiring me to carry out a lengthy conversation in pure Singlish simply drains me of too much energy. And even now, when I am excited, or maybe riled and irritated, unconsciously my “Singapore International accent” slips into a more pronounced English-American hybrid, and I guess that is when I start “slanging” again - unconscious though it may be.

“Wah lau” and other similar terms have great difficulty rolling off my tongue (spontaneously that is - - it is usually a conscious decision on my part to use such words, and often to achieve a certain effect), and yet “oh wow!”, “my goodness!”, “good heavens!”, “gosh!”, even “oh dear!” or “oh my!” clatter smoothly out of my mouth.

I often find it terribly trying mentally, and incredibly slow-going, when I have to read the informal writings (for example on blogs and in forums) of some Singaporeans and Malaysians. My brain seems to find it difficult to “fill in the blanks” when English is not written in full sentences with proper spelling and a good measure of grammar mixed in. So now days ah, I dun evn read mail send 2 me dat writ in sm kind of way dat I dun no also dun understand one. So dif one leh. Like wat only. Try 2 read & read also donch understand. Haiz. Mebe me old alredi & donch understand how young peeps nowadays like 2 write one. So gv up lah. Juz kp 1 side only lor. Sometimes, when confronted with a passage like that, I almost feel like I am back in my Roman Law tutorial at University and have to decipher some obscure Latin passage! And the above is not even close to an “accurate” rendition, as I do not have a deep or intimate enough knowledge of or acquaintance with the full intricacies of the special flows and rhythms of such grammar-free, syntax-completely-not-considered text. But I digress.

My friends sometimes joke that I am too Western for the East, yet too Eastern for the West. I have come to the conclusion that I am a rather mixed up, maybe even confusing, blend of Singaporean, Chinese, Asian, English and American influences in the way I think, communicate and act - - and yes, also in the way I think of, relate to and eat foods!

Take for example: up until recently, I almost inevitably choose to try out recipes that are written in cups and tablespoons. Oh, how fiddly measurements in grams and millilitres seem to me. But now, I’m equally comfortable with both - - nothing fazes me anymore (although I can’t help but suspect that the recent purchase of a nifty electronic scale has much to do with that ).

But please don’t ask me to give my height in meters (or metres, if you prefer - - it matters not to me), I only really know it in feet and inches. I still find it “weird” when people tell me the weight of their newborns in kilograms; I expect that piece of information in pounds and ounces, just as I measure my own weight only in pounds. Yet, at the same time, if you tell me your weight in stones, you are liable to give me a massive headache!

On the other hand, please don’t EVER try to get me to buy my food in pounds and ounces. That will only leave me completely dumbfounded and in a right old bad mood. I’ll only take my groceries when they are weighed out for me in kilograms and grams, thank you very much.

At other times, my brain seems given to doing mental gymnastics. Usually, when I have to guess or estimate the size of an object, my mind almost always switches to its “inches-and-feet” mode, yet, when I actually take a measuring tape and measure the very same object, I am more likely to read off the measurements in centimeters and millimeters - - even when there are both inches/feet and cm/mm readings on the ruler. Go figure.

I gauge my oven’s temperature in Centigrade, and find the constant necessary recipe conversion from Farenheit to Celsius rather irritating. I also know that when the mercury soars above 33C, it’s way too hot and muggy for me to want to start the oven and do some baking, but I have no real concept of how warm a “low 90s” weather is.

By the same token (or maybe not so same a token), I know how many kilometres and kilometers my car does on each litre or liter of petrol, but I haven’t a clue how many gallons of fuel it takes to fill the belly of the car. And yes, I only fill up at the petrol station, and hardly ever at the gas station - - or only when I’m in the US. The concept of speed is completely lost on me when I have to think in terms of miles per hour. I mean, geez, how am I supposed to know that 80 miles an hour is speeding? Since we are on the subject of cars, I hail a taxi just as often as I call for a cab, which is only when my car is in the workshop.

But back to food. Oh, something as simple as eating a meal can be a minefield of hang-ups that can send a person onto the psychiatrist (or shrink, depending on your side of the Atlantic) couch.

It took me almost my entire first year in England to get used to being told by someone that they were about to have their tea, round about the same time as I was about to have my dinner. Other than that, I’m just as likely to start my meal with a starter as I am with an appetizer, to be followed, with equal frequency, by either a main course or an entrée. But, while I love desserts, and think they bring all meals to a lovely, sweet finish, I find it very hard to think of the final course of my dinner as “pudding”.

Speaking of all foods sweet and wonderful, I am given to having periodic, intense cravings for brownies and huge ice cream sundaes with “the works”, yet, I hardly ever dream of or have insatiable longings for trifles and all things pudding-like. Then again, I have never quite understood the allure of the all-American apple pie.

As a child, I had a soft spot for sweets, but hardly ever gave candies much thought. Nowadays, I’m neutral to both, preferring instead the ambrosia of the gods - - chocolate!

I like cookies when they have chocolate chips, peanut butter or oatmeal and raisins in them, or when they go by the name Oreo. But I only take biscuits when they are called Digestives, Tim Tams or any other of the hundreds of varieties of small, flat-ish baked goodies. I’m also not adverse to having a bikkie or two every now and again. But be they cookies or biscuits, I have a definite preference for the crisp and crunchy kind, rather than the soft and chewy.

With other baked items, things can get a little confusing. Many years ago, when I first encountered the American biscuit, I was shocked at how different it looked and tasted from its namesakes across the sea. Something must have changed irreversibly in the gene pool during its voyage across the Atlantic. Or maybe it just suffered an identity crisis. It certainly looks like its cousin, the English scone, but it seems to think of itself as a descendant of its harder and flatter neighbour. Or, maybe, when it first arrived in America, it found that its neighbor had taken on a name change, going from biscuit to cookie, so it decided to do likewise, and took on the neighbor’s former name. Who knows. What I do know though is that while I love American muffins, I only like English muffins. While I adore English scones, I don’t particular care for their American counterparts. When it comes to breads though, I eat buns as often as I do rolls.

For afternoon tea, I like nothing more than to have a couple of fresh-from-the-ovens English scones slathered with rich clotted Devonshire cream and luscious whole-fruit preserves, with maybe a few slivers of dainty cucumber sandwiches on the side. The mere thought of glazed donuts (or doughnuts, if you prefer), on the other hand, makes my temples ache from a sugar over-load. And I get indigestion just from the mention of a high-tea buffet table loaded with nasi lemak and mee siam and other such like. I’m okay with such a concept for dinner or lunch, but for tea?

I have to admit I have never quite taken a fancy to the thick, fluffy American pancake, preferring instead the thinner, lighter English version with its Continental overtones.

As far as savory foods are concerned, I only ever eat chips with deep-fried, batter-coated fish, but these never ever accompany my burgers. Oh no, for my hamburgers and cheeseburgers, only fries will do. While I have given up my habit of snacking on chips whilst veging out in front of the tellie, I have never been a potato crisps sort of gal.

My food preferences seem to defy cultural divisions. I am more likely to order a steak than Sunday roast beef. Yet, when I spy Yorkshire pudding on the table, waves of delight wash over me. But please! Don’t ever serve me black pudding - - that gives me the willies!

I think there is nothing more wonderful than tucking into a luscious omelette at Sunday brunch, and increasingly I have also become open to the idea of having smooth, rich omelets too.

While I like to buy filets of fish, I think less frequently of buying fillets. However, I’m equally at home buying a whole fish; I do not baulk at the thought of serving up an entire fish with head and tail intact. I only balk at having to clean the fish after I get it home; I always get my fish guy to do the dirty work for me.

For those who read this blog closely, you will have noticed far more spelling inconsistencies than the above in all my posts. I write about always looking to add color to my dishes with the ingredients I use, just as often as I write about the colour of the ingredients in the dishes that I cook. I seek constantly to add complex layers of flavors to my food, as I like nothing more than food that are rich with flavours. And on grey, gloomy days, a bowl of comforting, restoring Chinese-style sweet soup always manages to perk up my spirit no end. Yet, I have never had a gray day before.

This extends to the way I speak too. I try very hard to remember (though very often not succeeding) to take my vie-tamins every morning. I have never taken vee-tamins in my life. I adore fresh, juicy, sweet toe-mah-toes, but I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten a toe-may-to though.

I enjoy going on holidays and eating exotic foods, but rarely do I take vacations to do the same. Sometimes I have been more than willing to join a long, snaking queue for delicious food, but rarely do I stand in line for scrumptious delicacies. At the supermarket, I am more likely to go to the cashiers to pay for my grocery selections, rather than to go to the check-out counter. I usually pay by cash, as it is not common practice here in Singapore to pay for such things by cheques. And no, we never pay for anything with checks. And in a restaurant, we always ask for the bill, and not the check. Each time I visit North America, I usually experience at least ¾ of a day of quizzical, blank looks from wait staff before I start making the switch and ask for the check rather than the bill.

I have, on many occasions, bought take-away food, but I inevitably find it very strange to have to buy take-out. Yet, I instantly understand when the person behind the counter asks me if my food is to go, while it takes a tenth of a second longer for me to register a question about whether the food is to be taken away.

The “flip-flopping” (now, there’s a phrase de jour for you ) continues… I am just as likely to exclaim “awesome” as I am to say “how lovely” when faced with unspeakably delicious food. Then again, I say just as frequently: “wah! Shiok!”

Now that it is October, I am reminded of how I really like the autumn, but I am ambivalent about fall. I will call someone up on the phone, but I rarely ring or phone anyone.

I probably have as many Americanisms as I do English conventions in the ways I talk, write, think and see things. At the same time, there are parts of me that are totally Singaporean. But most of all, at my core - - no matter how schizophrenic I may come across at times - - I am purely Asian with deep-seated Chinese roots.

That’s me. A rather complex, multi-cultural me.

Alrighty. I think that is enough verbal diarrhea from me for a while. You have to understand - - it’s Thursday, and it’s been a very, very long week for me.

But I’m now just a little curious how many of you bothered to read this entire article, devoid as it is of the usual recipes and glossy pictures, from beginning to end, and every word in between?

Copyright © 2004 Renee Kho. All Rights Reserved.
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