Home in a Great Big World – Life as a Student Abroad

For one, I have become more aware of my speech. In part, this has to do, in my opinion, with the suddenness with which I found myself constantly surrounded by people who, though they all speak the same English language, sound quite different than I do. The reverse is therefore also true – that the way I speak, not immediately understood by some, may require a double (or quadruple) take for those words to be fully comprehended (though it probably doesn’t help my cause that I am also a fast speaker). Now please don’t misunderstand, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a Singaporean accent or ways of talking. Difficulties of comprehension may be experienced in common by all who encounter others with different manners of speech. That said, it probably wouldn't aid with comprehension if one soldiers on and continues to pepper ones’ speech with generous seasonings of Singlish. (Also, after the tenth time being asked “what does ‘lah’ mean?”, you would probably – driven by an aversion to explain it for the umpteenth time – take action to stop being asked about it again). Also, instead of kopitiams and cafes as havens to lepak (relax), a lot of socialising in London takes place, regardless of age, in pubs. Such is the local love affair with them that, on practically every other street a pub. Indeed, the pub culture here is quite strong – even on weekday evenings, it is not uncommon to see them packed with people. As someone who can count on one hand the number of times he’s stepped into anything resembling a pub prior to coming to London, this, I must admit, I haven’t fully embraced.

Indeed, I am not the only one who hasn't felt settled in. John (not his real name), a Singaporean I met through a friend, lamented about the “culture change” he experienced at school. “I feel like making friends here is more challenging. It’s as if I have to relearn how to make friends! They just don’t get me lah. Luckily, I also have my Singaporean friends to hang out with after class," he exclaims, half-laughing.

His one could be best characterised as sanguine frustration. Chris (not his real name), another Singaporean student from a university close by, remarks that while he is quite fond of the “warmth” and generally more upbeat disposition of the people here, he still hasn’t yet felt a deeper connection to the place and its people.

A common thread that runs through many of these conversations I’ve had with foreign (i.e. not only Singaporean) students – especially those who originate from quite socio-culturally different places – is consequently a longing for the convenience and familiarity of home, from the mere sight of countrymen and women, to the “simpler” pleasures of a hearty home-cooked meal.

A deracinated person might also tell you that old “tried and tested” rules about getting to know people – or more broadly speaking, socialising – may not work as well as one might expect as compared to back home. The kind of jokes one tells, for example, may conjure a different taste to the foreign tongue, not as savoury as it might be to someone else back home. Whereas one brand of humour works in one place, the same may not in another.

As was the case for me, one may also have to become acquainted with different manners of speech. This could involve (mis)perceptions of brusqueness – typically a result of more “straightforward” mannerisms of speech – as a result of freely speaking ones’ mind (especially on perceived “sensitive” topics such as politics) regardless of rebuke. In my opinion, this stems from a strong tradition of individualism within societies, as well as a more outwardly vibrant political culture that is the hallmark of many Western liberal democracies.

Of course, this is not meant to be a sweeping generalisation, or a warped twist of an “us” versus “them” rhetoric, in which people foreign to one seem to be almost subject to a particular gaze, where the “others” acquire an almost exotic tint. Nor is this about the fundamental difficulties with fitting in that Singaporeans studying abroad inexorably face. That is far from my intention. As partially alluded to earlier, I believe that the nature of differences between diverse people, rooted mainly in cultural orientations from myriad forms of socialisation, serves as a partial explanation as to why the individual experience of adapting to a quite different culture varies.

I can only speak from my unique and time-limited experience, and thereby what I have interpreted from my time here so far.

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

There is no place like home. In fact, what is home? Does it merely encompass the physical structures that provide a person with shelter, or is it a metaphysical state of being that goes further? At 26 years of age, I am surprised that it has taken me this long to give the question much thought. Home, house, place, residence – to me, they all meant the same thing. But they are not the same. Think about how strange it would be if people spoke that, say, house is where the heart is, or there’s nothing like house, or the comforts of house. It doesn't quite work the palate the same way that ‘home’ does. It doesn’t fill me with the same warmth of kith and kin, of community and camaraderie, of the friendly and familiar. Home – there is no place quite like it.