My Singlish "Home"

After a couple whirlwind weeks bowing with exaggerated "sawadekaaaaaaaahhhhhhs" (and an obscene amount of coco and Pad Thai) a jet lagged Christmas (and a 2 week period of wearing as many sweaters and scarfs as possible) it was time to be back in Singapore; my forever-88-degree-humidity-swathed-home for the next 3 months. It felt good to get back to wondering my bougainvillea fringed alleyways wedged between towering skyscrapers after Utah's cold. Being January, all of Singapore was getting ready for Chinese New Year, so my traditional haunts were now decked out in red lanterns while tiny shops selling red lidded bins of cookies popped up in unsuspecting places. Enormous and weighty globe-like pomelos (or 柚) were piled high on fruit carts and everything was plastered with some sort of drawing or poster of a rooster. The year of Monkey was coming to a close...made official in my book by the gigantic and rainbow painted inflatable rooster that was blown up to sit at the entrance of Singapore's Chinatown. It was both entertaining and terrifying. I mean, come on...how is a giant inflatable chicken at least a tiny bit terrifying?

I'd grown quite fond of all the Chinese New Year celebrations (and little stands) and was sad to see them go...but not before I made the trek down to Chinatown on the actual Eve to purchase yet another red-lid-bin of my favorite cookies. I'm partial to the pineapple tarts, but think I like the little buttery rounds topped with a cashew more. Let's just say the bin didn't make it to actual New Years Day. After the maddening crowd, the lantern hung streets, inflatable rooster and swarm of tourists, I had a quiet bus ride home in the dark to come home and finish up another episode of my current binge series (with those cashew cookies not far from reach). Call it a sort of coping mechanism for the crippling sense of nostalgia I always seem to get after a visit to Chinatown. Oh, I miss China.

As January whizzed by, time was also spent in what I've dubbed as Singpore's "Little Thailand" — as if the swirling melting pot of culture found on this tiny island needed another ethnic identity. I've been keeping an ear out for the trademark "Singlish" found here in Singapore — the official English has been infused with Malay, Indian, Chinese to create a tasty linguistic creole, much like my favorite dishes at the local hawker centers. I think I'm getting the hang of it. I've decided to spend my time off the glitzy shopping streets and in grocery stores instead. I particularly like wandering the aisles of the dimly florescent lamp lit grocery store in Little Thailand, examining teeny shrimps crammed into jars and seeing gnarly knobs of ginger waiting to be grated into some sort of curry. Little Thailand is about a 40 minute bus ride away, but I make the trek to get an avocado shake at my favorite place that sits just right across the pedestrian bridge. And yes, though it takes over and hour to get there and back, I did get a punch card for a free smoothie after 10 purchases at this favorite stand. I'm determined to go through at least 1 punch card (and realistically, two) before heading back home, home (the one in America). Too bad there isn't a punch card for this waffle-and-ice-cream monstrosity below. In all honesty, I had no problem polishing this off at around 10:00 AM. Waffles are breakfast, right?

It's probably a good thing there isn't a breakfast punch card for this waffle dessert, but I have found a new favorite way to start the day: Dragonfruit. I'll saunter down to the nearest wet market and pick up a couple of the deep purple, black seed studded, and Dr. Suess-like fruits along with a couple fresh pineapples and walk home to chop them both ; always chopping the pineapple first so the golden pieces aren't stained with streaks of modena purple. Tip into a bowl and drizzle liberally with thick and floral coconut milk. It's dreamy and I have more photographs of my repetitive breakfast than I care to admit. 

Between hours of editing and entertaining Pokemon obsessed kiddos, I tried to plan my Singapore excursions in such a way that I would avoid the deluge of rain that seems to happen on the daily. I will admit that at times, I did sit in my flannel and drinking pot-after-pot of tea, imagining the brooding gray skies didn't mean it was still 80-something degrees outside. Time this month (it's hard to consider January as January when free moments are spent sipping soursop by the pool in 80° weather) has evaporated. Sure, I flip through my sketchbook and see that forts were built, avocado smoothies were sipped, hawker centers were frequented, but where did time actually go? Surely it hasn't been a month down in Singapore quite yet — I feel as though I'd just arrived.