I was in a discussion a few years back, about living in Singapore. One part of the conversation was on being a Singaporean heartlander and my colleagues all disagreed that I was one. I didn’t believe them, afterall, I do live in the heartlands right (and in the deep west too, I might add)? How much more heartlander can that be?

Today, I changed my mind. Sadly, I think I am no heartlander afterall. My first time visit to the neighbourhood school (where Sara is going for her Primary studies) showed me clearly that I stuck out like a sore thumb even in my inconspicuous, black, Cotton On t-shirt. I actually feel ill at ease in the multi-purpose hall. There are some, like me, stood out in the crowd, even if we were wearing our weekend casuals. You can spot them by the wide, deer-in-the-headlights look (and expensive totes).

You can spot who are the heartlanders – they are the ones who knew many of the other parents. They uhm, definitely didn’t wear Cotton On T-shirts, mango jeans, birkies, shades or carry LV mini pochettes (heh). They don’t have the English paper or logic puzzles to keep them occupied while waiting. Nor do they take notes on their Xperia during the Tips session. They were having group breakfasts and gossiping in voices that were not exactly whispers. They have bags of groceries with them, clearly from the nearby wet market. And they looked at me funny.

So now I know. A heartland is like a big kampung and to be a heartlander you need to know your kampung; shop at the local wet/dry market (NOT supermarkets), know the neighbours and their kids, in greeting terms with some of the shopkeepers, participate in the communal activities and wear nondescript pieces of clothings that bears no name.

I have lived in my neighbourhood for 14 years now and I have not been to the wet market (heh), or the community centre. I don’t go to the hairdresser or the doctor or buy toiletries from within the vicinity. I don’t know my neighbour’s name except for two. I only know the grocery guy from the shop under my block.

I have only known the neat rows of shops in the shopping centres and the convenience of having the name of the fishes when you shop at the supermarket; where you don’t need to haggle and and the choice to pay by cash, nets or credit. I buy my clothes in town and carry pochettes and totes. A trip to the market is an excursion, one where you take the camera along for snaps on your blog (heh).

Thank God my parents brought Sara along when they do about their business. At least she’s more of a heartlander than I (yes even in her Old Navy and crocs).

Tags: Red Dot

This entry was posted on Saturday, October 10th, 2009 at 2:59 PM and is filed under Musings, Red Dot, Sara. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.