Hungry for Love

One of the most common phrases one hears in Singapore is, “Have you eaten yet?” When everyone is concerned about you having eaten, you can forget about dieting. Food here is abundant and not only in quantity, but taste. You are sure to pack on the pounds in just a few months; the expats call it, “The Singapore Spread.” Sometimes I find myself eating while walking, eating while waiting for the bus, eating before getting onto stage, eating my feelings. I take pleasure in not being acknowledged by the sea of black haired strangers at times because I can eat anything my heart desires without being questioned.

For some reason, the times I get hit on in Singapore are the times I eat—maybe because that’s all I do, or all to do. It started with, “Chicken Rice”, Singapore’s signature dish. At the Ayer Rajah Market hawker center, I ordered my black pepper chicken for a midnight snack. The pot bellied Indian man behind the register served me my chicken rice as if it was fine Peking duck on a silver platter. “Oh your hair is so red,” (common opening line). Typical stranger banter took place and then it came… “Can I have your number?" There it was, the line I used to be so accustomed to hear.

Now for exhibit B, which took place at Marche. Marche is one of the best places to eat fresh food cooked right in front of you. Salads, pastas, grilled vegetables, fresh coconuts, ginger beer, tasty deserts, and flavorful bread color the restaurant in it’s glory. The cloud shaped dough called my name and as I approached, the baker man exclaimed, “You came for my bread!” I knew I shouldn’t be eating refined sugars, but the smile in the baker man’s eyes lead me to believe it was going to be alright. Then the words came as I picked out a cheese-mushroom-bread-melody, “You are very beautiful,” the baker man said. Did I just choose the holy grail of breads to receive such praise? I managed to smile the rest of the day...and so did my love handles.

Later in the week, I made my way to a familiar American eatery, Subway. While picking out my toppings, the sandwich maker said to me, “Your eyes are trouble. Very beautiful.” Trouble? The only trouble about these eyes is that they are too big for my stomach.

With all of these experiences, I began positive eating reinforcement. I subconsciously started to eat increasingly more until I would hear those magical words, “You’re beautiful” again. Then the day came when I saw a Mexican food stall at a hawker center. My eyes lit up; a taste of home was only a few bites away! After scarfing down my comida, eating came to a halt. I realized there is a reason why Mexican food isn’t common in Asia.

What was happening? Food has always been my go-to “man.” After a long day’s work it was there for me, after a long cry it gave me warmth, after feeling homesick it reminded me of home—food, glorious food! The one thing I became so attached to, the one thing that provided me comfort and love finally turned on me! That’s right folks, food poisoning. I never knew white porcelain would be my rebound, but it was...and for hours…hours.

For weeks after the betrayal, I had to eat the dull things in life, like soup and crackers. Was this all there was? Will my tummy ever be the same? Will I ever be able to look at a hawker center again and not be afraid? I have hope. I will eat again. And he is out there…one bite at a time.

Kiss'n Tell

They say you shouldn't kiss and tell. But someone has to break the rules, right? So far it's been 5.5 months of living in Singapore. Back when I was living in LA and striving to be an actress my love life was pretty consistent. Chances of getting asked out at a coffee shop, grocery store, or at parties were high. Did I always say yes? No. But sometimes knowing that you are wanted keeps you going...always looking for the next best thing. So what could be better than getting a job across the world and the chance of finding true love? Fantasies of dating a man with his own personal driver, who could drive me to work everyday, and fly to local hot spots like Bali and the Maldives flooded my mind. He is out there!

Upon landing in Singapore I found my redheaded self in a sea of Asians and Indians. Where have all the familiar faces gone? I started to panic. I felt alone. "Excuse me," "pardon me," were omitted from the vocabulary of strangers and I was pushed and shoved into the arms of solitude. Friendly smiles and winks that brought a spring to my step in LA were replaced with blank stares. Stares so invasive I wanted to hide. At least the Mexicans back in LA know how to express what they feel with a simple whistle. A blank stare here can mean anything from "I want to attack you with my sausage," to "What is wrong with your face?"

Allow me to summarize my dating options for you. 90% of my coworkers were in relationships when I met them; 89% of them are still in relationships. The expats that come to live out in Singapore usually enjoy having Asian girlfriends or are married to wives that live overseas. Or, best of all, there are the men that frequent Orchard Towers, a prostitution hub known for "Four floors of whores." What's most unfortunate, is that I'm not attracted to Asian men, or perhaps I just haven't met the one whom I am attracted to.

All of this leads me to the fear of being alone. So I turn to internet dating. One of the most lazy approaches to getting into someone's pants. Meeting up with countless expat men, I look for connection, for chemistry, for someone to share life with! Then I realize, what am I doing? Why am I letting my fear drive my desire for love? What is it about being alone that I'm afraid of?

After indulging in countlees chocolate bunnies and eggs, I find my replacement for men. As I bite into a raspberry truffle, I think back to the taxi drive I had this morning on the way to work.

"Oh you have such stunning eyes and so smiley and cheerful," the Chinese driver says to me in the rear-view mirror.

"Well it's better than frowning," I say with my American sarcasm.

"Oh and you have red hair...(yes there are more than one Captain Obvious out here) You must be crazy, ya?"

"Yup I am crazy, " I say as I smile and sing along to, "Walking on Sunshine," on the radio. He turns the volume up full blast and enjoys watching me dance like a 5 year old in the backseat.

"You have husband? "

"Goodness no."

"Boyfriend?"

I tell him my rant on dating in Singapore.

"I can be your boyfriend. I pick you up in my taxi and take you to work. And pick up when you done and I take you to club. See I have muscles, I am strong man." He flexes for me. Impressive actually, for a forearm. I laugh off his comments and stare out the window eying an expat in a red car next to us. Typical white man in Asia, receding hairline, dark circles under the eyes, and pale patchy skin from computer gamma rays. I become silent and "Walking on Sunshine," fades.

Then the driver starts to moan, "Ohhhhh so much pain...I work from 6AM to 11PM I need massage...right here." He leans to the side and points to his left shoulder blade. "Massage it."

"What?"

"Punch it."

"Excuse me?"

"Punch! Pow, my back please."

"I'm sorry, I have to save my energy for work."

"Punch it!"

"Ok!" I give two light punches and refrain from talking to my new boyfriend.

Well kiddies, no matter what race you are, attitude is what makes you attractive. So although I feel alone, I smile, just in case someone might smile back. And who knows, you might even get to punch them...